‘Who is this Khedive-person?’ I asked, my voice slightly unsteady.
Mr Ambrose had risen beside me. His legs didn’t seem to have been filled with pudding.
‘The ruler of Egypt,’ he responded curtly.
‘Lord Dalgliesh can tell the King of Egypt what to do?’
Mr Ambrose lowered his eyes until he met mine.
‘Lord Dalgliesh can tell the Queen of the British Empire what to do. Ali Pasha hardly presents a challenge to him. And neither, apparently, do I.’ His left little finger twitched, once. ‘It cost me a fortune to negotiate these secret treaties! It will cost me another to renegotiate, now that Dalgliesh knows. This is… quite inconvenient.’
‘Inconvenient? Dear me. Such strong words, Sir.’
‘Mr Linton?’
‘Yes, Sir?’
‘Shut and get up.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
Unsteadily, I got to my feet. ‘What now?’ I wanted to know.
Holding up a finger, Mr Ambrose took two quick steps to the corner of the building and spied across the corner.
‘There is only one other building up here,’ he said, his voice hardly audible. I leaned closer. ‘Two guards, one on either side of the door.’
‘How will we get past them?’
‘I will trick them the same way I tricked the officer on the stairs.’
‘And what if they don't fall for it?’
He didn’t answer. And he didn’t really need to. I already knew.
‘Ready, Mr Linton?’
I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders and tried to appear as male and soldierly as I possibly could.
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘Three, two, one…now!’
We emerged from behind the building in what I hoped looked like lockstep, and not like a pair of gallivanting giraffes. The guards’ eyes immediately focused on us, and their hands closed more tightly around their rifles. Oh-oh. That was no good sign.
‘Afternoon, fellows.’ Mr Ambrose nodded to the men. He didn’t stop in his move towards them, obviously expecting them to step aside. ‘Ye can go and have a nice lie-down, now. Me and my mate, we’re taking over.’
The two men didn’t move an inch.
‘It ain’t time for the changing of the guard yet,’ Soldierly Exhibit A said. He was a broad-shouldered man with curly, blond hair and long ears. I had never trusted people with long ears. Spaniels had long ears, and so had the Prime Minister.
‘It ain’t?’ Again, Mr Ambrose took the watch out of his pocket and opened it. ‘Aye, it is. Look.’
Soldierly Exhibit A took a brief look at Mr Ambrose’s watch, then slid his hand into his pocket and took out his own.
‘Your watch is going wrong,’ he stated after a short examination. ‘I swear, it ain’t time yet! It’s still more than half an hour.’
Mr Ambrose sighed. ‘My watch ain’t never wrong. Yours must be. Look, if ye don't believe me, go ask Colonel Townsend.’
The soldier’s long ears twitched at the name. ‘Colonel Townsend? He knows ye're here?’
‘He’s the one that sent us up here, pal. You can have it out with him, if ye want, but you ain’t gonna stop me and my mate from staying. This is our shift, and we’re gonna do as we was told.’
The long-eared guard bit down on his lower lip. The name of the officer had apparently eradicated his suspicions and simultaneously sown doubts in his mind about the reliability of his watch. You could almost hear the words - after all, the modern trash today ain’t very reliable, things ain’t what they used to be…
‘All right,’ he growled. ‘But if I find out ye've been pulling one over on me, pal, I’ll get back at you, don't ye doubt it.’
Mr Ambrose gave a little snort of derision. ‘Why d'ye think I’d wanna do that, eh? Do I look like I enjoy pushing my legs in my liver? I’d rather sit down and have a drink than stand around all day for no good reason.’
‘There’s a reason, all right,’ the guard growled. ‘Whatever’s in that place,’ he pointed to the hut he had been guarding, ‘is pretty important.’
‘Aye, aye, be off with you.’ Mr Ambrose waved them away. ‘Don’t ye fear. We ain’t gonna let anybody nick My Lord’s stuff.’
‘Ye'd better not.’
With that, the long-eared guard waved to his silent companion, and the two disappeared down the stairs.
I opened my mouth to speak, but immediately Mr Ambrose held up a warning hand. I shut my mouth again. With a jerk of his head, he indicated for me to follow him, and took up his position to the right of the door. I placed myself to the left and stood straight, arms hanging loosely down my sides, just as he did. In this position we remained - one minute, two minutes, three. I was beginning to wonder what we were waiting for, when I heard it, or rather its absence: footsteps. They were gone. We had been waiting until the guards were out of hearing distance.
As soon as there was silence, Mr Ambrose sprang into action. Fishing two small pieces of metal out of his pockets, he bent down in front of the door of the wooden hut and began fumbling at the keyhole.
‘Where in God’s name do you have the keys for this place from?’ I hissed.
‘I don't,’ was his calm reply. ‘These are no keys. They are lock picks.’
‘Lock picks? What does a respectable gentleman want with lock picks?’
‘Nothing, probably.’ He threw me a cool glance. His fingers didn’t stop. They moved in an intricate dance, producing clicking noises from the lock. ‘But then, I never claimed to be respectable.’
He turned his eyes towards the lock again.
‘Listen closely now, Mr Linton. We have exactly twenty-six minutes and thirty-one seconds until the next shift of guards arrives - less even, if those two who just left should happen to meet Colonel Townsend and discuss with him our appearance here. I will need approximately another three minutes to open this lock, and there might be other, more complicated locks between us and the file inside the hut, so we will have to move fast. As soon as the file is in our possession, we will move to the tunnel at the end of the cave…’
‘What tunnel, Sir?’
‘Didn’t you see the tunnel at the other side of the cave as we came in?’
‘No, Sir.’
‘Well, I did. As I passed it, I felt a breeze come up the tunnel. It smelled of sea air. There’s a direct connection to the coast through that tunnel. Judging from the general direction of the passage, it should come out somewhere near the harbour you told me about. If we go by that route, we might be able to make our escape before the soldiers realize they’ve been hoodwinked.’
‘And we might end up at a dead end and be trapped.’
‘We might. But better a risk in life than certain death, Mr Linton.’
I couldn’t argue with that.
‘What should I do?’ I ask him. ‘Can I help?’
‘Yes.’
‘How?’
‘Be quiet.’
I bit back a sharp reply. This time, his terseness might actually be more than simply annoyance at my presence and general feminine existence. I had no idea if one needed quiet to pick a lock; it might very well be.
‘And you can keep an eye on the stairs,’ he added in a voice that wasn’t quite as granite-hard as usual - rather more akin to slate, or sandstone. ‘Tell me immediately when somebody approaches, understood?’
For some reason, a smile appeared on my face. ‘Yes, Sir.’
I had been staring at the empty stairs for a few minutes when from behind me, I heard a click.
‘Done! Let’s go, Mr Linton.’
When I turned my head, I saw that the door was indeed standing open a crack.
‘What now?’ I whispered. ‘Should I stand guard outside while you go in and get the file?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I don't want you to stay out here alone.’