Covert in Cairo, page 20
No wonder they were all wearing handkerchiefs. “A rotting mummy?” I didn’t take my arm away from my nose.
Poppy sniffed and wagged, clearly not bothered by the smell.
“Afraid not.” Archie wiped his brow with the back of his hand. He pointed to a shoe sticking out of the rubble. “It’s Robert.”
“Robert?” Archie was on first-name terms with the mummy?
“Agent Dankworth.” His shoulders slumped when he said the name.
“Oh, no!” Not a mummy. Another dead agent. “How do you know it’s him?”
Archie held up a silver watch and then pointed up to a shriveled hand protruding from the rocks. “It’s engraved.” He read from the back of the watch. “To Robert, with love Gertie.”
First Relish and now Dankworth… although judging from the smell, the order of their deaths was reversed. How long had Agent Dankworth been locked in this tomb?
Blimey. Had one or both agents discovered the codes delivered in the arias at the theater? Or stolen antiquities?
I rubbed my temples.
Who had killed them and why?
I was determined to find out.
20
THE CODE
After the harrowing experience of finding Agent Dankworth’s remains, we gathered in the bar at Shepheard’s to debrief and take some restorative cocktails.
The Long Bar at Shepheard’s was a dark mysterious space at the back of the hotel. Supposedly, the bartender, whose name was Gasperini, could procure anything for anyone, provided they could pay. Kingmakers, widow makers, and depressed poets all passed through the Long Bar.
My friends and I took a table in a back corner. Although we’d missed tea, none of us had much of an appetite. Kitty asked for a sweet biscuit and a plate of cream for Poppy—apparently, the little traitor had refused to act as my guard dog, insisting on going with her mistress instead.
Clifford snacked on nuts as we waited for our drinks to arrive. He insisted I have a brandy to help me recover from the shock. Of course, I’d seen dead bodies before, but never in that state of decomposition. I cringed.
Archie had gone to contact the War Office and inform Captain Hall of poor Agent Dankworth’s demise. But he promised to see me again before I left Cairo. Meeting in tombs over dead bodies was not my idea of romance. Anyway, I had no idea how much longer I’d be in Cairo. It depended on Fredrick Fredricks and his propaganda plot. If the rotter was telling the truth about lying, then the Suez Canal plot was a ruse… or a decoy. A decoy for what?
I’m sure Archie knew more than I did. He always did. I had to devise more successful means of getting information out of him. I smiled, imagining a few I’d like to try. I closed my eyes and tried not to think of Archie’s bare shoulders and that bothersome lock of hair that constantly tempted me to touch it. Fiona, get a grip. You’re not in Cairo to romance Archie.
No. I was in Cairo to catch Fredricks in an act of espionage or murder. I wouldn’t be surprised if the bounder had killed them all himself. Now if I could just prove it.
“I tested that carpet fiber,” Kitty said, sipping her Brandy Alexander, a sweet creamy concoction that made brandy almost palatable. “It appears to be the same as what I’d collected from under the victim’s fingernails.” Jean-Baptiste had been demoted from the object of her flirtations to a mere victim.
“That means Jean-Baptiste was attacked at the German Archeology Institute.” I stirred my drink to make sure the sweet cream diluted the strong liquor. “And then he was taken out to the tomb.”
“So it seems.” Kitty nibbled on her biscuit.
“Herr Hermann Gabler, the German archeologist.” I waved my spoon. “I saw evidence he is living at the institute and, since it’s closed and locked, no one else can even get inside.” I slipped my notebook from my handbag, flipped it open, and circled his name. “Herr Gabler is our prime suspect.” Along with Fredricks, of course. I would never cross off his name from my list.
“But why?” Clifford pulled the cherry out of his Old Fashioned and offered it to Kitty. “What was his motive?”
“Maybe Jean-Baptiste found out the German was dealing in stolen antiquities.” My stomach growled and I stole a biscuit from Kitty’s plate. “Or perhaps the German didn’t appreciate a Frenchman taking over his concession.”
“And what of Agents Dankworth and Relish?” Clifford asked. “Who did for them? Was that Gabler too? Doesn’t add up.”
“Maybe he’s a German spy.” Kitty dipped her biscuit into her drink. “He found out Dankworth and Relish were British agents, so he killed them.” She took a soggy bite.
Clifford waved the waiter over. He’d decided to order dinner after all. With promises of sweet puddings, he persuaded Kitty to join him. Poppy wagged and whirled in the girl’s lap, obviously in favor of the dinner plan. I, on the other hand, had other plans.
“Agent Relish discovered the code at the Isis Theater.” I sipped my cream brandy. The sweet burn of the alcohol made me cough. “He was just about to tell me about it before he was killed.” I regained my breath. “He was killed to stop him telling.” I planned to get back to the theater and crack that code. It was Sunday, and I didn’t plan on missing my chance. Otherwise, I’d have to wait another four whole days until Thursday.
Still, the theater and the code didn’t explain Agent Dankworth’s death. According to the pathologist I’d overheard at the tomb, he’d been killed over a week ago. So, Jean-Baptiste could have killed him.
As far as I knew, Agent Dankworth was not undercover at the theater. Had Agent Relish told him about the German spies at the theater? That didn’t make sense. If Agent Relish knew about the code over a week ago, he would have reported it to the War Office. For all I knew, he had. Were the murders of Relish and Dankworth related or not? And what about Jean-Baptiste Lorrain?
My mind was awhirl with questions. Foremost among them: Why would Herr Hermann Gabler kill two British agents and a French archeologist? What did they have in common?
Perhaps the killings were related by cause and effect. One led to the next and then to the next. But why was Agent Dankworth killed? Unless Fredricks was right, and this was all about the illegal antiquities trade. It all came down to the Isis Theater.
Bloody frustrating.
So many questions. Too few answers.
As I drained my glass, I suppressed another bothersome question: When would I see Archie again?
So far, I’d heard nothing about an explosion at the canal. Maybe Fredricks had been telling the truth when he’d said it was all a ruse. I sincerely hoped so. Then again, the whole Crocodile Lake plan could be a decoy leading us away from the real explosion.
I glanced at my watch. Nearly half past seven. If I wanted to catch another of Mori Al-Madie’s performances, I’d have to hop it. The show started at eight.
Fibbing about having a headache and needing to lie down, I left Kitty and Clifford to their supper.
If only I could break La Sultana’s secret code, then I’d learn the truth.
By the time I arrived at the Isis Theater, the opera had already begun. The usher made me wait in the hall until intermission. I paced up and down the hall, hoping I was right and La Sultana delivered coded messages only in the last act.
When the doors opened for intermission, I rushed in, swimming upstream against the soldiers hurrying to the bar for more libations. My seat was in the back of the theater, so at least I didn’t have far to go. As everyone else was getting up and stretching, I plopped into my chair, which was in the middle of row Q with only a partial view of the stage.
No matter. If I was right, I only needed to be able to hear the performance.
I scanned the audience, looking for familiar faces, one in particular. If La Sultana was delivering coded messages, then someone in the audience was receiving them. My hunch was that someone was Fredrick Fredricks.
The lights went down, and my heart sped up. I pulled my notebook and pencil from my handbag and waited. Pencil at the ready, I recorded every word La Sultana repeated.
Sure enough, in the last act, she repeated seemingly random words—words I suspected were not so random after all.
Palace. On. Rest. Tomb. Sucking. And. Is. Dark. And. Tomb. Not. O. O. No.
She repeated each of these words only once this time.
When the lights went up, I sat glued to my seat, comparing notes from the last performance.
The last time, she repeated: Beauty. Love. On. Why. Up. Up. Up. Up. Come. All. Nothing. At. Love. Come. Here. Run. I. Soul. Tomb. May. And. Smile. Day. Day. Day. Day.
The words she repeated this time were different from those before.
The type of code used would be limited, given that it was delivered in an aria. It had to be a very simple code, one easily adaptable and easy to decipher. I had an idea.
Quickly, I circled the first letter of every word.
B. L. O. W. U. U. U. U. C. A. N. A. L. C. H. R. I. S. T. M. A. S. D. D. D. D.
It had to be significant that she repeated “Up” and “Day” four times instead of just once. I bracketed them out for now:
BLOW[up]CANALCHRISTMAS[day]
Oh, my sainted aunt. “Blow up canal Christmas Day.”
Why didn’t I think of this simple technique earlier? Had I been away from Room 40 so long I was slipping?
Hurriedly, I circled the first letters from tonight’s repetitions.
PORTSAIDCHRISTMASATNOON
Port Said, Christmas at noon. I’d done it. Chuffed… and terrified, I slapped my notebook closed. I’d cracked the code.
Fredricks’s ruse had been a decoy.
I could only assume the British army had stepped up security and moved considerable troops to Crocodile Lake. Now I knew why there was no explosion. The real plan was to blow up the canal at Port Said on Christmas Day at noon. With the British troops elsewhere, Port Said would be nearly defenseless.
Devious. Devious and clever.
Fredricks had been counting on me to deliver false information to Captain Hall. Otherwise, why lure me to Cairo? He couldn’t seriously believe I’d help him persuade the Arabs to turn against the British. But I’d fooled him. I’d discovered the true plan. I had to report it to Captain Hall before it was too late.
Christmas Day at noon. Three days from now.
I stuffed my papers back into my handbag and jumped up. “Excuse me.” I squeezed in front of soldiers and their dates. “Excuse me.” I stepped on a few toes, making my escape from the theater.
To avoid the crowd exiting the theater, I descended the stairs, and slipped around the back. I knew my way around from previous misadventures with Agent Relish and Mori Al-Madie.
As I approached the back door, Miss Al-Madie intercepted me. “Miss, what are you doing backstage?”
“Looking for you, of course,” I fibbed. Although I was eager to ask her why she was in cahoots with the Germans, I couldn’t spare the time.
“Oh, it’s you.” She didn’t sound pleased to see me.
“Brilliant performance.” I clapped my hands together in my best imitation of Kitty. “Even with the repetitions in the last act.” I raised my eyebrows into what I hoped were the facial equivalent of question marks.
“Thank you.” Her mustache twitched. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to change.” She tugged her wig off and pulled out a few hairpins. Waves of long black hair fell over her shoulders.
“Give my regards to your costume girl.” I stepped in front of her. “And her brother.” I immediately regretted it. I’d gone too far.
She scoffed. “You British expect everyone to do your bidding.”
“We are at war with Germany.” I pointed out the obvious. “Egypt is a British protectorate.”
“Yes.” She smirked. “My countrymen are forced to fight your bloody war while your Prince of Wales hits golf balls off the pyramids.” Her cheeks darkened. “You can all go to blazes.” She pushed me out of the way and marched off.
Goodness. Miss Mori Al-Madie had quite a temper. And her insulting remarks about my countrymen only further confirmed my suspicions. She was working with the Germans.
I glanced at my watch. London was two hours behind Cairo. So, almost midnight in Cairo was just before ten in London. I hoped Captain Hall didn’t go to bed early.
Now to find a telephone… and someone who would let me use it.
Any hour of the night or day, the streets of Cairo were bursting with energy. Tonight, the pulsations of the crowds made me anxious. Although the walk back to the hotel was short, the dark of night unsettled me. I had the uneasy sensation of being watched. I glanced over my shoulder and quickened my pace.
Thank goodness. The entrance to Shepheard’s was in sight. I just had to cross the street and I’d be safely back at the hotel. Watching for motorcars and carriages, I stepped into the street. Someone jostled me from behind.
Ouch! A stabbing pain in my right side threw me to the ground. I looked up in time to see Kitty chasing a berobed man across the street. What in the world was the girl doing here?
I held my side and attempted to stand up. Another berobed passerby helped me to my feet.
“Thank you, sir.” I was so lightheaded, I had difficulty getting the words out. The pain sharpened.
“Bien sûr, ma chérie.” I knew that voice.
Oh, no. Not Fredricks, again.
He held my elbow and led me across the street.
My hand was wet. I glanced down. Blood.
Dear me. “I’ve been stabbed.”
“I’ll get you to hospital.” Fredricks’s voice was full of concern.
“No,” I gasped. “Just get me to the hotel.” I had to make the telephone call, even if it cost me my life. After all, it was not just my life at stake. Given the importance of the canal, the outcome of the war was at stake.
“I really think—”
“The hotel.” I raised my voice. “Now.”
“As you wish.” Fredricks accompanied me into the lobby. “At least let me call for a doctor.”
I nodded. Judging from my experience, doctors were hard to find.
Fredricks led me to a chair in the sitting area just off reception. “Stay here until I get back.” He took my hand. “I’ll take care of you, ma chérie.” He kissed my hand, and then, robes flapping, he dashed off.
I waited until he was out of sight and then headed for the reception desk. The man at the desk was accommodating. When I told him it was a matter of life and death, his eyes went wide but he took me to a telephone in the back office. The blood seeping through my evening dress must have been convincing.
While the operator connected me to Captain Hall’s private residence in the Admiralty, I watched the red blossom spread across my lavender gown.
Captain Hall’s voice was gruff with sleep.
“The Isis Theater is a front for German spies.” I sucked in air. “La Sultana is delivering coded messages in Romeo’s aria in the last act—”
“La Sultana?” Captain Hall interrupted me. “Slow down, Miss Figg.” I could imagine his eyelids blinking a mile a minute.
“Mori Al-Madie, the theater owner and an Egyptian nationalist working with the Germans…” I pressed my hand into my side.
Papers shuffled. “Just writing this down.”
“I think Agents Relish and Dankworth discovered the code and that’s why they were killed.” My hand was wet with blood. “I cracked the code. They’re planning to bomb the canal at Port Said on Christmas Day.”
“You’re sure—”
“Yes, sir.”
“Any word about antiquities sales on the black market?” Judging from the timber of his voice, he’d just woken up.
Illegal antiquities? Were the agents investigating antiquities? A wave of nausea hit me like a tsunami. “Fredricks mentioned illegal antiquities.”
“We’ve learned that the Germans are funding their espionage operations in Cairo by selling antiquities.” Captain Hall exhaled. “Follow the antiquities and find out who is running the operation out of the theater.”
“Yes, sir.” I looked down at my hand. Big mistake. A red stripe ran from my waist to the hem of my gown.
“Well done, Miss Figg.”
“Thank you, sir.” I smiled to myself.
“Don’t let Fredricks out of your sight.”
“I won’t, sir.” The sight of blood—my own blood—made me woozy. I really must sit down before I fall down.
“No disguises.” Why was he so obsessed with my disguises? “We’ll take care of the canal. We may also send another agent to the theater.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Anything else, Miss Figg?”
I hesitated.
“Are you alright?”
No, I’m blooming bleeding. “Yes, sir.”
“Good work.”
I glanced down at my gown. My last evening dress ruined, and one of my favorites.
Espionage was indeed hard on the wardrobe.
The line went dead.
21
ANOTHER BLASTED CODE
The next morning when I awoke, my side was sore, but my arm was considerably better. As my grandmother used to say, “One nail takes out the other.”
I stretched and yawned. The room was dark, but dawn was breaking through the window. Time to get up. I may have saved the canal, but I hadn’t yet solved the murders of Jean-Baptiste Lorrain, or Agents Relish and Dankworth.
I glanced over at Kitty’s bed. The girl was asleep. Poppy curled up with her furry little head on Kitty’s pillow. Thank goodness. The girl and her dog were safe.
I rolled over. I really should get up. But the quiet and darkness helped me think.
Captain Hall said he would send another agent undercover to the Isis Theater. I wondered if it would be Archie. I cringed. What if he met the same fate as Agent Relish? Then again, Archie could charm the—I stopped myself from continuing that thought, especially if the charmee was the beautiful actress.
I didn’t mention my confrontation with Miss Al-Madie to Captain Hall. I should have. She must have figured out I was on to her. How had I been so stupid? I’d probably blown it for any undercover agents. In fact, for all I knew, she was my assailant. After all, I was stabbed from behind and didn’t see my attacker.
Poppy sniffed and wagged, clearly not bothered by the smell.
“Afraid not.” Archie wiped his brow with the back of his hand. He pointed to a shoe sticking out of the rubble. “It’s Robert.”
“Robert?” Archie was on first-name terms with the mummy?
“Agent Dankworth.” His shoulders slumped when he said the name.
“Oh, no!” Not a mummy. Another dead agent. “How do you know it’s him?”
Archie held up a silver watch and then pointed up to a shriveled hand protruding from the rocks. “It’s engraved.” He read from the back of the watch. “To Robert, with love Gertie.”
First Relish and now Dankworth… although judging from the smell, the order of their deaths was reversed. How long had Agent Dankworth been locked in this tomb?
Blimey. Had one or both agents discovered the codes delivered in the arias at the theater? Or stolen antiquities?
I rubbed my temples.
Who had killed them and why?
I was determined to find out.
20
THE CODE
After the harrowing experience of finding Agent Dankworth’s remains, we gathered in the bar at Shepheard’s to debrief and take some restorative cocktails.
The Long Bar at Shepheard’s was a dark mysterious space at the back of the hotel. Supposedly, the bartender, whose name was Gasperini, could procure anything for anyone, provided they could pay. Kingmakers, widow makers, and depressed poets all passed through the Long Bar.
My friends and I took a table in a back corner. Although we’d missed tea, none of us had much of an appetite. Kitty asked for a sweet biscuit and a plate of cream for Poppy—apparently, the little traitor had refused to act as my guard dog, insisting on going with her mistress instead.
Clifford snacked on nuts as we waited for our drinks to arrive. He insisted I have a brandy to help me recover from the shock. Of course, I’d seen dead bodies before, but never in that state of decomposition. I cringed.
Archie had gone to contact the War Office and inform Captain Hall of poor Agent Dankworth’s demise. But he promised to see me again before I left Cairo. Meeting in tombs over dead bodies was not my idea of romance. Anyway, I had no idea how much longer I’d be in Cairo. It depended on Fredrick Fredricks and his propaganda plot. If the rotter was telling the truth about lying, then the Suez Canal plot was a ruse… or a decoy. A decoy for what?
I’m sure Archie knew more than I did. He always did. I had to devise more successful means of getting information out of him. I smiled, imagining a few I’d like to try. I closed my eyes and tried not to think of Archie’s bare shoulders and that bothersome lock of hair that constantly tempted me to touch it. Fiona, get a grip. You’re not in Cairo to romance Archie.
No. I was in Cairo to catch Fredricks in an act of espionage or murder. I wouldn’t be surprised if the bounder had killed them all himself. Now if I could just prove it.
“I tested that carpet fiber,” Kitty said, sipping her Brandy Alexander, a sweet creamy concoction that made brandy almost palatable. “It appears to be the same as what I’d collected from under the victim’s fingernails.” Jean-Baptiste had been demoted from the object of her flirtations to a mere victim.
“That means Jean-Baptiste was attacked at the German Archeology Institute.” I stirred my drink to make sure the sweet cream diluted the strong liquor. “And then he was taken out to the tomb.”
“So it seems.” Kitty nibbled on her biscuit.
“Herr Hermann Gabler, the German archeologist.” I waved my spoon. “I saw evidence he is living at the institute and, since it’s closed and locked, no one else can even get inside.” I slipped my notebook from my handbag, flipped it open, and circled his name. “Herr Gabler is our prime suspect.” Along with Fredricks, of course. I would never cross off his name from my list.
“But why?” Clifford pulled the cherry out of his Old Fashioned and offered it to Kitty. “What was his motive?”
“Maybe Jean-Baptiste found out the German was dealing in stolen antiquities.” My stomach growled and I stole a biscuit from Kitty’s plate. “Or perhaps the German didn’t appreciate a Frenchman taking over his concession.”
“And what of Agents Dankworth and Relish?” Clifford asked. “Who did for them? Was that Gabler too? Doesn’t add up.”
“Maybe he’s a German spy.” Kitty dipped her biscuit into her drink. “He found out Dankworth and Relish were British agents, so he killed them.” She took a soggy bite.
Clifford waved the waiter over. He’d decided to order dinner after all. With promises of sweet puddings, he persuaded Kitty to join him. Poppy wagged and whirled in the girl’s lap, obviously in favor of the dinner plan. I, on the other hand, had other plans.
“Agent Relish discovered the code at the Isis Theater.” I sipped my cream brandy. The sweet burn of the alcohol made me cough. “He was just about to tell me about it before he was killed.” I regained my breath. “He was killed to stop him telling.” I planned to get back to the theater and crack that code. It was Sunday, and I didn’t plan on missing my chance. Otherwise, I’d have to wait another four whole days until Thursday.
Still, the theater and the code didn’t explain Agent Dankworth’s death. According to the pathologist I’d overheard at the tomb, he’d been killed over a week ago. So, Jean-Baptiste could have killed him.
As far as I knew, Agent Dankworth was not undercover at the theater. Had Agent Relish told him about the German spies at the theater? That didn’t make sense. If Agent Relish knew about the code over a week ago, he would have reported it to the War Office. For all I knew, he had. Were the murders of Relish and Dankworth related or not? And what about Jean-Baptiste Lorrain?
My mind was awhirl with questions. Foremost among them: Why would Herr Hermann Gabler kill two British agents and a French archeologist? What did they have in common?
Perhaps the killings were related by cause and effect. One led to the next and then to the next. But why was Agent Dankworth killed? Unless Fredricks was right, and this was all about the illegal antiquities trade. It all came down to the Isis Theater.
Bloody frustrating.
So many questions. Too few answers.
As I drained my glass, I suppressed another bothersome question: When would I see Archie again?
So far, I’d heard nothing about an explosion at the canal. Maybe Fredricks had been telling the truth when he’d said it was all a ruse. I sincerely hoped so. Then again, the whole Crocodile Lake plan could be a decoy leading us away from the real explosion.
I glanced at my watch. Nearly half past seven. If I wanted to catch another of Mori Al-Madie’s performances, I’d have to hop it. The show started at eight.
Fibbing about having a headache and needing to lie down, I left Kitty and Clifford to their supper.
If only I could break La Sultana’s secret code, then I’d learn the truth.
By the time I arrived at the Isis Theater, the opera had already begun. The usher made me wait in the hall until intermission. I paced up and down the hall, hoping I was right and La Sultana delivered coded messages only in the last act.
When the doors opened for intermission, I rushed in, swimming upstream against the soldiers hurrying to the bar for more libations. My seat was in the back of the theater, so at least I didn’t have far to go. As everyone else was getting up and stretching, I plopped into my chair, which was in the middle of row Q with only a partial view of the stage.
No matter. If I was right, I only needed to be able to hear the performance.
I scanned the audience, looking for familiar faces, one in particular. If La Sultana was delivering coded messages, then someone in the audience was receiving them. My hunch was that someone was Fredrick Fredricks.
The lights went down, and my heart sped up. I pulled my notebook and pencil from my handbag and waited. Pencil at the ready, I recorded every word La Sultana repeated.
Sure enough, in the last act, she repeated seemingly random words—words I suspected were not so random after all.
Palace. On. Rest. Tomb. Sucking. And. Is. Dark. And. Tomb. Not. O. O. No.
She repeated each of these words only once this time.
When the lights went up, I sat glued to my seat, comparing notes from the last performance.
The last time, she repeated: Beauty. Love. On. Why. Up. Up. Up. Up. Come. All. Nothing. At. Love. Come. Here. Run. I. Soul. Tomb. May. And. Smile. Day. Day. Day. Day.
The words she repeated this time were different from those before.
The type of code used would be limited, given that it was delivered in an aria. It had to be a very simple code, one easily adaptable and easy to decipher. I had an idea.
Quickly, I circled the first letter of every word.
B. L. O. W. U. U. U. U. C. A. N. A. L. C. H. R. I. S. T. M. A. S. D. D. D. D.
It had to be significant that she repeated “Up” and “Day” four times instead of just once. I bracketed them out for now:
BLOW[up]CANALCHRISTMAS[day]
Oh, my sainted aunt. “Blow up canal Christmas Day.”
Why didn’t I think of this simple technique earlier? Had I been away from Room 40 so long I was slipping?
Hurriedly, I circled the first letters from tonight’s repetitions.
PORTSAIDCHRISTMASATNOON
Port Said, Christmas at noon. I’d done it. Chuffed… and terrified, I slapped my notebook closed. I’d cracked the code.
Fredricks’s ruse had been a decoy.
I could only assume the British army had stepped up security and moved considerable troops to Crocodile Lake. Now I knew why there was no explosion. The real plan was to blow up the canal at Port Said on Christmas Day at noon. With the British troops elsewhere, Port Said would be nearly defenseless.
Devious. Devious and clever.
Fredricks had been counting on me to deliver false information to Captain Hall. Otherwise, why lure me to Cairo? He couldn’t seriously believe I’d help him persuade the Arabs to turn against the British. But I’d fooled him. I’d discovered the true plan. I had to report it to Captain Hall before it was too late.
Christmas Day at noon. Three days from now.
I stuffed my papers back into my handbag and jumped up. “Excuse me.” I squeezed in front of soldiers and their dates. “Excuse me.” I stepped on a few toes, making my escape from the theater.
To avoid the crowd exiting the theater, I descended the stairs, and slipped around the back. I knew my way around from previous misadventures with Agent Relish and Mori Al-Madie.
As I approached the back door, Miss Al-Madie intercepted me. “Miss, what are you doing backstage?”
“Looking for you, of course,” I fibbed. Although I was eager to ask her why she was in cahoots with the Germans, I couldn’t spare the time.
“Oh, it’s you.” She didn’t sound pleased to see me.
“Brilliant performance.” I clapped my hands together in my best imitation of Kitty. “Even with the repetitions in the last act.” I raised my eyebrows into what I hoped were the facial equivalent of question marks.
“Thank you.” Her mustache twitched. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to change.” She tugged her wig off and pulled out a few hairpins. Waves of long black hair fell over her shoulders.
“Give my regards to your costume girl.” I stepped in front of her. “And her brother.” I immediately regretted it. I’d gone too far.
She scoffed. “You British expect everyone to do your bidding.”
“We are at war with Germany.” I pointed out the obvious. “Egypt is a British protectorate.”
“Yes.” She smirked. “My countrymen are forced to fight your bloody war while your Prince of Wales hits golf balls off the pyramids.” Her cheeks darkened. “You can all go to blazes.” She pushed me out of the way and marched off.
Goodness. Miss Mori Al-Madie had quite a temper. And her insulting remarks about my countrymen only further confirmed my suspicions. She was working with the Germans.
I glanced at my watch. London was two hours behind Cairo. So, almost midnight in Cairo was just before ten in London. I hoped Captain Hall didn’t go to bed early.
Now to find a telephone… and someone who would let me use it.
Any hour of the night or day, the streets of Cairo were bursting with energy. Tonight, the pulsations of the crowds made me anxious. Although the walk back to the hotel was short, the dark of night unsettled me. I had the uneasy sensation of being watched. I glanced over my shoulder and quickened my pace.
Thank goodness. The entrance to Shepheard’s was in sight. I just had to cross the street and I’d be safely back at the hotel. Watching for motorcars and carriages, I stepped into the street. Someone jostled me from behind.
Ouch! A stabbing pain in my right side threw me to the ground. I looked up in time to see Kitty chasing a berobed man across the street. What in the world was the girl doing here?
I held my side and attempted to stand up. Another berobed passerby helped me to my feet.
“Thank you, sir.” I was so lightheaded, I had difficulty getting the words out. The pain sharpened.
“Bien sûr, ma chérie.” I knew that voice.
Oh, no. Not Fredricks, again.
He held my elbow and led me across the street.
My hand was wet. I glanced down. Blood.
Dear me. “I’ve been stabbed.”
“I’ll get you to hospital.” Fredricks’s voice was full of concern.
“No,” I gasped. “Just get me to the hotel.” I had to make the telephone call, even if it cost me my life. After all, it was not just my life at stake. Given the importance of the canal, the outcome of the war was at stake.
“I really think—”
“The hotel.” I raised my voice. “Now.”
“As you wish.” Fredricks accompanied me into the lobby. “At least let me call for a doctor.”
I nodded. Judging from my experience, doctors were hard to find.
Fredricks led me to a chair in the sitting area just off reception. “Stay here until I get back.” He took my hand. “I’ll take care of you, ma chérie.” He kissed my hand, and then, robes flapping, he dashed off.
I waited until he was out of sight and then headed for the reception desk. The man at the desk was accommodating. When I told him it was a matter of life and death, his eyes went wide but he took me to a telephone in the back office. The blood seeping through my evening dress must have been convincing.
While the operator connected me to Captain Hall’s private residence in the Admiralty, I watched the red blossom spread across my lavender gown.
Captain Hall’s voice was gruff with sleep.
“The Isis Theater is a front for German spies.” I sucked in air. “La Sultana is delivering coded messages in Romeo’s aria in the last act—”
“La Sultana?” Captain Hall interrupted me. “Slow down, Miss Figg.” I could imagine his eyelids blinking a mile a minute.
“Mori Al-Madie, the theater owner and an Egyptian nationalist working with the Germans…” I pressed my hand into my side.
Papers shuffled. “Just writing this down.”
“I think Agents Relish and Dankworth discovered the code and that’s why they were killed.” My hand was wet with blood. “I cracked the code. They’re planning to bomb the canal at Port Said on Christmas Day.”
“You’re sure—”
“Yes, sir.”
“Any word about antiquities sales on the black market?” Judging from the timber of his voice, he’d just woken up.
Illegal antiquities? Were the agents investigating antiquities? A wave of nausea hit me like a tsunami. “Fredricks mentioned illegal antiquities.”
“We’ve learned that the Germans are funding their espionage operations in Cairo by selling antiquities.” Captain Hall exhaled. “Follow the antiquities and find out who is running the operation out of the theater.”
“Yes, sir.” I looked down at my hand. Big mistake. A red stripe ran from my waist to the hem of my gown.
“Well done, Miss Figg.”
“Thank you, sir.” I smiled to myself.
“Don’t let Fredricks out of your sight.”
“I won’t, sir.” The sight of blood—my own blood—made me woozy. I really must sit down before I fall down.
“No disguises.” Why was he so obsessed with my disguises? “We’ll take care of the canal. We may also send another agent to the theater.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Anything else, Miss Figg?”
I hesitated.
“Are you alright?”
No, I’m blooming bleeding. “Yes, sir.”
“Good work.”
I glanced down at my gown. My last evening dress ruined, and one of my favorites.
Espionage was indeed hard on the wardrobe.
The line went dead.
21
ANOTHER BLASTED CODE
The next morning when I awoke, my side was sore, but my arm was considerably better. As my grandmother used to say, “One nail takes out the other.”
I stretched and yawned. The room was dark, but dawn was breaking through the window. Time to get up. I may have saved the canal, but I hadn’t yet solved the murders of Jean-Baptiste Lorrain, or Agents Relish and Dankworth.
I glanced over at Kitty’s bed. The girl was asleep. Poppy curled up with her furry little head on Kitty’s pillow. Thank goodness. The girl and her dog were safe.
I rolled over. I really should get up. But the quiet and darkness helped me think.
Captain Hall said he would send another agent undercover to the Isis Theater. I wondered if it would be Archie. I cringed. What if he met the same fate as Agent Relish? Then again, Archie could charm the—I stopped myself from continuing that thought, especially if the charmee was the beautiful actress.
I didn’t mention my confrontation with Miss Al-Madie to Captain Hall. I should have. She must have figured out I was on to her. How had I been so stupid? I’d probably blown it for any undercover agents. In fact, for all I knew, she was my assailant. After all, I was stabbed from behind and didn’t see my attacker.
