impossible.
Before extinguishing the lights, I recounted my adventure in the back alleys of Cairo to Holmes, and his face reflected sternness, then gravity, and finally relief.
'Good heavens, Watson, had your quick wit not come to your aid and you'd come to harm in the hands of Loo Chan, what would I have done?'
These few words were Holmes's most emotional reaction since that day when I had been superficially wounded by a bullet from the gun of Killer Evans. Once again I had a brief glimpse of the great heart that lurked behind his usual cold and austere manner. As though ashamed of himself, he shook off the mood.
'But Shakespeare was right. 'All's well that ends well.''
The next morning, following breakfast, there was a parade of local authorities to our suite, and I recognized that the situation was an uncomfortable one. It was they who had put in the time here on the edge of the Arabian desert, yet in a moment of crisis, an unofficial investigator from London was to call the shots. To have his associate, a doctor no less, in attendance would have added to the strain. To vacate the premises, I contacted Gray and asked if he would take me to the pyramids as he had volunteered the previous evening. I could tell that the Colonel felt he was being shunted off again, but he stood by his invitation.
So it was that we passed through the city to the Nile bridge. In the morning hours, Gray informed me, one encountered a true cross-section of natives and animals, and I agreed with him. There were camels and donkeys and asses in profusion carrying or being led by turbaned men, veiled women, and everywhere squalid children. I had expected to be assailed by Arabs crying for baksheesh, but such was not the case, no doubt because of Colonel Gray's trim uniform and official manner. On the other side of the Nile donkeys awaited us, and we mounted them and set off in the direction of the three huge figures, triangular lighthouses rising from a sea of sand.
Gray must have supervised many such a visit and he had, in fact, mentioned the Prince of Wales's tour of Egypt. Since I recalled that this took place in '62, he obviously had been on the scene a long time.
He had cautioned me about the heat and took pains to remind me of my weakened condition upon my arrival in Egypt. As a precaution I took my small medical kit with me. The black valise rode nicely in a saddle pouch on my donkey.
The monuments or tombs seemed but a stone's throw but proved to be considerably further. I suggested visiting the largest, that of Cheops. As we drew closer, I was amazed that the pyramid rising more than four hundred feet did not seem that tall, but the blazing sun, reflected from the stones in a dazzling manner, made an estimation difficult. At its base, I was imbued with the thought of climbing to the top, an idea that found little favor in Colonel Gray's eyes. However, it did not seem difficult since the pyramid resembled a huge staircase, if one can accept steps four feet high.
Gray decided to humor me, and close to half an hour later, sweaty and breathless, I was atop the oldest and largest of its kind. In former times it had been taller, but now its apex was a platform that extended thirty or more feet. Having Gray with me proved invaluable since he pointed out and named other pyramids, easily seen, along with various smaller tombs. From where I stood, the emerald green of the valley of the Nile was of breathless beauty. In contrast, the vast desert that was everywhere beyond the fruitful reach of the great river was awesome in its absolute desolation.
Gray's warnings about the midday heat were made in a genuinely concerned voice and I began to heed them, feeling as though I was in Neville's Turkish baths on Northumberland Avenue.
There was no shade, nor did there seem to be any at the base of the pyramid either, with the midday sun blazing on all four sides. Gray took me to the north side, saying that if we descended two-thirds of the way, we could gain the entrance to the tomb of Cheops and find refuge from the inferno. I agreed to this idea promptly. Gray cautioned me to step to the very edge of each of the great stones, a necessity if one wished to see the step below. Heights have always bothered me but did not on this occasion, for all I could think of was relief from the desert sun and heat.
Our descent was really a succession of four-foot jumps from one tier to the next. Finally we made it into a dark corridor that pitched sharply downwards. It was airy and cool, thank heavens, or so it seemed in comparison to my ill-conceived climb, which I felt must have melted the superfluous fat from my frame. Gray offered to take me to the king's and queen's chambers, but since I understood there was little to see, I declined. I knew full well that the interior of Cheops was safe and constantly traversed by tourists, but I was aware of those tons of huge stones all round us and had an irrational fear of their moving inward and downward. When I was sure that my body temperature was sufficiently lowered, I was glad to vacate the entry to the colossus and descend to our donkeys.
In riding towards the Sphinx, we passed close by several large tents that I had noted from the top of the pyramid. Gray had explained that they indicated Arabs from the south and would be struck when the heat lessened and the Bedouins chose to continue, probably to Cairo. Some spanking horses were tethered by them, standing in the slight shade provided by these white, mobile shelters.
Gray was riding ahead of me as we drew abreast of the tents, probably computing the number of times his duties had involved escorting visiting idiots. It was then that a tall, bearded man emerged from the nearest tent. He was clad in flowing garments that to my untrained eyes seemed of excellent quality. Round his middle was a broad belt of interlocking silver links, and it supported an ornate scabbard that, judging from the hilt that protruded from it, contained a scimitar. His shoes were of a soft material, with much handiwork, and the toes were pointed. A desert dandy, I thought. Behind him came another man with an unkempt black beard. A curved scar ran from his left temple across his cheek towards his nose. The old wound had formed a puckered ridge in healing, which pulled the lower lid of his eye downward, lending a ghoulish expression to his face.
All this registered in a split second, for my attention was captured by the curved dagger the second man was pulling from a sash round his middle. My lips parted and as a shrill shout burst from them, my right hand grabbed at the saddle pouch of my donkey, plucking the medical kit from it. I threw it desperately and the object reached the assailant, catching him in the head as he lunged at the tall Arab who had whirled round at my cry.
I know not if my improvised weapon deflected the attacker's aim. The dagger plunged, into the loose robe of the Arab, and there was a cry of pain from him as he kicked his attacker in the groin. Then there was the flash of the scimitar in the sun and a dull sound like a pole-axe striking home in a slaughterhouse. The assailant was on the ground, blood pouring from his neck, his head almost completely severed from his body.
I was off my donkey in a trice, every movement from memory and without planning or thought. As I raced across the sand to retrieve my medical container, I noted the Arab wipe his scimitar in a practiced fashion on the material of his garment and return it to its scabbard. But there was a growing redness in the vicinity of his ribs, and the blood was his.
Gray had reined round and was trying to grasp the situation. From the tent four or five forms emerged pell- mell, and as I opened my kit and noted that the contents were undamaged, it seemed that the group of desert men were about to annihilate me, for knives and guns appeared like magic. The wounded man spoke sharply in a foreign tongue that I assumed was Arabic, and the others drew up short. Then the dignified bearded man made as though to address me, but did not get the chance.
'I, sir, am John Watson, M.D. You are wounded, and I insist on tending your needs.'
What I expected this to accomplish I do not know; I couldn't speak to the man in Arabic, not knowing a word. But this was no time to stand on ceremony, and I had his garment half open, exposing his chest on the right side and revealing a sizable though not fatal gash that was bleeding freely. As I touched him, there was a murmur from the Bedouins behind me, but another gesture from my patient subdued them. True to their instincts, they formed a half circle and watched intently. If an Arab cannot participate, he makes a rapt audience. Gray had recovered his wits by now and his right hand was moving away from the army issue holstered at his side, realizing that the tenseness of the situation was relieved.
I grabbed one of the Bedouins who formed my audience and pressed him into service. With gestures, I managed to have him hold the bottle of antiseptic with a peroxide base that I had automatically secured from my limited supplies, while I fashioned a padding of cotton. The man's teeth were broken and his breath was so garlic- ridden that I could have used it as an antiseptic had I nothing better at hand. His eyes were wide with fright, like an unwilling volunteer in a magician's act. Poor beggar probably felt that he was just that, I thought, as I removed the bottle stopper and indicated for him to pour the contents onto the pad. A hand gesture stopped the flow of liquid, with which I then swabbed the wound. Since I had managed to clean off the blood, the considerable gash was revealed and the peroxide went to work with its customary fizzing sound and bubbling appearance.
