He Shall Thunder in the Sky Read Free Page A

not a touch of gray in that jetty-black hair . . .” He moved toward me, and for a moment I thought affection would triumph over morbidity; but then his expression changed, and he said thoughtfully, “I have been meaning to ask you about that. I understand there is a certain coloring material —”
         “Don’t let us get off the subject, Emerson.” Glancing at my dressing table, I made certain the little bottle was not in sight before I went on. “Look on the bright side! David is safe, and he will join us again after . . . afterwards. And we have Nefret back, thank heaven.”
         “She isn’t the same,” Emerson groaned. “What is wrong with the girl?”
         “She is not a girl, she is a full-grown woman,” I replied. “And it was you, as her legal guardian, who insisted she had the right to control her fortune and make her own decisions.”
         “Guardian be damned,” said Emerson gruffly. “I am her father, Amelia — not legally, perhaps, but in every way that matters.”
         I went to him and put my arms around him. “She loves you dearly, Emerson.”
         “Then why can’t she call me . . . She never has, you know.”
         “You are determined to be miserable, aren’t you?”
         “Certainly not,” Emerson growled. “Ramses is not himself either. You women don’t understand these things. It isn’t pleasant for a fellow to be accused of cowardice.”
         “No one who knows Ramses could possibly believe that of him,” I retorted. “You aren’t suggesting, I hope, that he enlist in order to prove his critics wrong? That is just the sort of thing men do, but he has better sense, and I thought you —”
         “Don’t be absurd,” Emerson shouted. My dear Emerson is never more handsome than when he is in one of his little tempers. His blue eyes blazed with sapphirine fire, his lean brown cheeks were becomingly flushed, and his quickened breathing produced a distracting play of muscle across his broad chest. I gazed admiringly upon him; and after a moment his stiff pose relaxed and a sheepish smile curved his well-shaped lips.
         “Trying to stir me up, were you, my dear? Well, you succeeded. You know as well as I do that not even a moronic military officer would waste Ramses’s talents in the trenches. He looks like an Egyptian, he talks Arabic like an Egyptian — curse it, he even thinks like one! He speaks half a dozen languages, including German and Turkish, with native fluency, he is skilled at the art of disguise, he knows the Middle East as few men do . . .”
         “Yes,” I said with a sigh. “He is a perfect candidate for military intelligence. Why wouldn’t he accept Newcombe’s offer?”
         “You should have asked him.”
         “I didn’t dare. The nickname you gave him all those years ago has proved to be appropriate. I doubt if the family of Ramses the Great would have had the audacity to question him, either.”
         “I certainly didn’t,” Emerson admitted. “But I have certain doubts about the new Department myself. Newcombe and Lawrence and Leonard Woolley were the ones who carried out that survey of the Sinai a few years ago; it was an open secret that their purpose was military as well as archaeological. The maps they are making will certainly be useful, but what the Department really wants is to stir up an Arab revolt against the Turks in Palestine. One school of thought believes that we can best defend the Canal by attacking the Turkish supply lines, with the assistance of Arab guerrillas.”
         “How do you know that?”
         Emerson’s eyes shifted. “Would you like me to lace your boots, Amelia?”
         “No, thank you, I would like you to answer my question. Curse it, Emerson, I saw you deep in conversation with General Maxwell at the luncheon; if he asked you to be a spy —”
         “No, he did not!” Emerson