The Illusion of Murder Read Free Page B

bicycle defies gravity with the help of a generous application of wax. His style of dress and mustache is very much in vogue with men of wealth and position and those who imitate such models of success.
    It always amazes me to what great lengths men go in order to portray a certain look. And they say women are vain.
    I was secretly amused when after several overtures on board toward me in his blunt, Central European manner—approaches that my mother would have deemed cheeky—I asked if Frau Von Reich will be joining him en route.
    After assuring me rather stiffly, “Frau Von Reich is faithfully awaiting my return,” he broke out laughing and told me that the only Frau in his family is his mother.
    He certainly is a handsome figure of a man, but a shipboard flirtation is not in the stars for me. As I tell myself each morning, I have rivers to cross, mountains to climb, castle walls to storm, dragons to fight … and in this case, pulling a man along would slow me down.
    After I refused an invitation for a walk on the deck and a libation afterward, his ardor cooled significantly.
    However, when he told me that he was going with friends to the bazaar, I boldly hinted that I would be delighted to join him. Cheeky of me, indeed, but I am cabling my experiences back to New York and it will provide local color.
    Kids swarm across the street, causing our carriage to stop. A bike rider wearing an Arabic robe with a closely drawn hood quickly swerves to avoid them. His front wheel catches in a deep pothole and both man and bike go down hard.
    “I hope he’s okay,” I blurt out.
    “What does it matter if one of these lazy natives is bruised?” Lady Warton asks.
    Charming woman . Her husband refers to her as Eleanor, but she is Lady Warton to me, Eleanor being much too sweet for the woman’s sour personality.
    As the bike rider gets up, his hood parts to show the side of his brown face, but oddly enough a flash of pale white skin above the boot on his right leg is also exposed. Rather than the sandals that the Egyptians prefer for their hot climate, the bike rider’s footwear appears to be the same type of brown boots I’ve seen on British soldiers.
    Brown face, white legs, army boots. How odd is that?
    I start to share the observation with my companions when a racket erupts that sounds like the hounds of hell have broken out of their cage.
    “Good gracious!” Lady Warton snaps. “What is that horrid noise?”
    “Hopefully it’s not trouble with the Mahdi,” Von Reich says.
    “What’s the Mahdi?” I ask.
    “A fanatical group who have unleashed a jihad, a holy war, to drive the British and other Europeans from Egypt and to kill Egyptians who consort with them. The name actually refers to a Muslim messiah, a Christ-like figure who will return to Earth during the End Days to rid the world of evil.”
    I recall reading about the movement. “Are they the fanatics who defeated a British army several years ago?”
    “Actually, it was a British general leading an Egyptian army that was overwhelmed by vastly superior forces. Cutting off the head of Chinese Gordon, the general, and mounting it on a pike fired the movement. Had the self-proclaimed Mahdi not died of typhus, he may well have continued down the Nile, driving Europeans and the Egyptians who tolerate them into the sea.”
    “Is there any danger to tourists?”
    “There have been incidents of violence against foreigners but we will be safe.” He pads his chest near his heart. “Lord Warton and I are armed.”
    Wonderful. After battling rowboat pirates who threaten to cast me into the sea, I have been dropped into a hornet’s nest of murderous terrorists.
    “The Egyptian government’s rather ineffective, isn’t it?” I ask. “Under British control?”
    “Yes, the government went broke and couldn’t pay its debts. However, the real interest of other nations isn’t Egypt herself, but the Suez Canal. The country that controls it can put an economic