tomorrow if you wish. No trip at all. Over the Nile bridge and you're practically there.'
I shrugged, disinclined to be definite about anything at the moment. When we had arrived in Alexandria, it was immediately apparent that Holmes had been burning up the cables and that there were definite plans afoot. He had placed me in the hands of Colonel Gray for safekeeping to Cairo whilst he involved himself in who-knows-what in the port of Alexandria and, possibly, that of Rosetta as well. The Colonel was obviously an old Egyptian hand, though what his exact duties were in the protectorate was not made clear to me. He got me to Shepheard's Hotel, which was all I cared about. That sedate establishment, center of British society in Cairo, was welcome indeed, and I'm sure some color came back to my face at the mere sight of it.
We were seated on the veranda acceding to a hallowed custom of the area known as the 'sunset drink.' Gray, a fountain of general knowledge, regaled me with stories of Richard Lepsius's German expedition in '43, his excavations at the Sphinx, which had led to mention of the adjacent pyramids.
Frankly, I was rather surfeited with discussions of the wonders of this ancient land and sought to divert the conversation to more modern and informative channels.
'Colonel, aren't there an unusual number of military in the area?'
For a moment his eyes registered surprise over the rim of his glass. Then he grunted. Colonel Gray commanded a large variety of grunts, all uninformative.
'Has there been local trouble?' I persisted.
'Nothing on the surface,' he finally said cautiously.
'A feeling, then? Understand you chaps can sense that sort of thing.'
He agreed with this and set about to prove that I was right.
'Egypt has closer ties with the Orient than with Europe, you know. Orientals are, underneath, a frightfully superstitious lot. Then, one of those religious revival periods is overdue among the Moslems. The native town seems to have the wind up over some prophecy or rumor. Probably the latter.'
Since he seemed disposed to drop the matter, I prodded him.
'Not something like that Mahdi business?'
'Heavens, no! A wild tale, no doubt. Something about a prophet from the grave. A squib appeared in the
He registered on my puzzled expression.
'—Our leading paper. Unusual for them to comment on the gossip of the mosques and bazaars, but. . . .'
Colonel Gray's glass made contact with the table between us. 'Care for another?' he asked tentatively.
'Thank you, no. Look here, awfully grateful for your acting as guide and whatnot, but I rather imagine I am an inconvenience. I'll have dinner here at the hotel and fancy a good long sleep.'
'Mr. Holmes did express concern about your condition,' said Gray. I sensed he was glad for the opportunity to unload me.
'I'll drop by, come morning, and see if Mr. Holmes has showed up,' he said, shaking my hand perfunctorily. This idea produced another of his grunts, and he delayed his departure.
'You know, in London it is a bit hard to understand how things are out here.'
'On the borders of the Empire, as 'twere.'
'Humph! But your friend seems rather up on things.'
How Colonel Gray had become aware of this fact puzzled me. I wondered if he was really the choleric-faced, stereotyped colonial official that he seemed to be.
I luxuriated in a cool tub in the suite secured for us by Gray, donned a suit of lightweight that the Colonel had helped me select in an arcade shop opposite the hotel, and dawdled over a dinner. Still somewhat weak, I ate lightly.
Afterwards I walked through the lobby and out onto the terrace of Shepheard's. It was comforting to have solid ground beneath my feet. With the setting of the sun the Egyptian heat had moderated, though the evening was muggy. However, in my tropicals I was comfortable enough. With no news from Holmes I was a bit at loose ends and debating whether to cross the street and view the arcade shops or return to my room when I saw him.
He was walking on the Sharia Kamel, squat, short-legged, and progressing at a fair rate of speed. It is said that to an Occidental all Chinamen look alike, but I disproved this by recognizing the man immediately. It was Loo Chan, the Chinese lawyer employed by Chu San Fu. As he passed under a street lamp I noted the perpetual sheen of his olive features and the drawn lips, revealing alarmingly white teeth so large and perfect as to seem false.
I did not even consider my next move but threw aside my cigarette and took after him. The lawyer was headed in the direction of the Ezbekiyeh Gardens and, with a flash of inspiration, I hastened to the other side of the street to continue my pursuit. My brain was working feverishly, trying to recall what I had heard of the exploits of Slippery Styles, whose uncanny skill at trailing men was a legend. There was sufficient traffic so that my presence was not noticeable and plenty of shop windows available to turn towards if the Chinaman happened to take a look over his shoulder.
Having acted instinctively, I now mentally paused to take stock of the situation. The fact that the London lawyer was in Cairo was at first surprising, but with Chu San Fu headed for the Nile, what more reasonable than that members of his criminal group were already in Egypt. Could I but locate Loo Chan's place of residence, I might be able to relay important information to Holmes on his arrival in Cairo. It occurred to me that it would be most comforting if the great detective were with me now as I walked the streets of a city virtually unknown to me on the heels of a member of a criminal conspiracy. But this was no moment for the faint-hearted, especially since my task was becoming more demanding.
We were on the outskirts of the European city, and ahead were the bazaars and narrow streets of the native quarter. Pedestrian traffic thinned out, and soon the thoroughfare we followed was deserted. Loo Chan continued forward, never once looking back, which might have seemed strange to a wiser dog on the scent. Then the Chinaman did pause and glance over his shoulder before turning into an alley. His move could not have happened at a worse time for I was, though on the opposite side of the street, badly positioned near one of the infrequent street lamps. However, Loo Chan made no note of me, turning purposefully into the dark alley, and it was then that some sense forced itself upon me.
'He's leading me into a trap,' I thought. 'Somehow he or a cohort spotted me at the hotel, and he has baited me into the open. Well, two can play that game,' I thought with a surge of confidence.
I continued down the street, steeling myself not to even glance at the alley mouth into which the lawyer had ducked. At the next intersection, I turned to the right and passed the corner. The native quarter was deserted, all inhabitants having withdrawn to their lodgings. No surprise that, since Cairo was known to wake early. With no observers about, I accelerated into a trot that brought me, somewhat short-winded, to the next corner. I did not round it but rather peered towards where I felt the alley opening might be. If Loo Chan emerged, I would have him under observation whilst hidden myself. But there was no sign of the Chinaman. Now I faced an impasse. My best bet seemed to be to try to return to Shepheard's, but if the minions of Chu San Fu were after me, they could well overtake me in the darkened streets of this quarter of Cairo and no one would be the wiser. I had no weapon to forestall them and chided myself for leaving my revolver in my suitcase at the hotel. But then I had not anticipated a foray into nighttime Cairo after dinner.
Well, peering round a corner was getting me nowhere, so I took a deep breath and rounded it, cautiously making my way down the block. The alley did open on the street I had chosen and I slipped into it, feeling somewhat the better for the total darkness that enveloped me. I could see nothing but could not be seen either. Such was my thought. Loo Chan must have entered a building facing the alley. Perhaps after all he was not conscious that he was being followed. I could traverse the narrow footway, regain the street on the other side, and beat a hasty retreat, making note of the locale for a report to Holmes.
Keeping the fingers of one hand on the wall on my right, I moved in the planned direction at a snail's pace indeed, for I was in horror of stumbling over some obstruction like a baggy-pants clown in a circus. Somewhat surprisingly, I moved silently in the Stygian darkness and was conscious of the dim light at the alley end, which spelled escape. Then I heard the soft, sibilant sound of a voice, and a curtain was raised almost by my head, allowing a shaft of light to split the night. I froze, and then instinctively moved to the wall beside me, pressing my back to it.
The voice was a mumble of sound, and then I heard a chair being moved within the ground-floor room on the other side of the wall. A shadow crossed the light emanating from the window. I eased closer to the aperture,
