Amelia Peabody Omnibus 1-4 (115 page)

Emerson shot me a glance from under his brows, which I chose to ignore. ‘Go on, Ali.’

Ali put a finger under his turban and scratched his head. ‘They ran away, Sitt, both of them. We were so surprised we could not think what to do. We talked for a while and Daoud said we should stay where we were, in case the man with the gun was hiding, watching us – ’

Daoud squirmed and started to protest. I reassured him, and Ali finished his story. ‘Mohammed and I said, no, we must find you and make sure you were safe. So we came. Our honoured father is very drunk on hashish, Sitt.’

Abdullah looked so happy it seemed a shame to rouse him. So we carried him in and put him to bed, with Ali to watch over him. I ordered another of the men to go with Ramses to put his room in order.

Ramses lingered. To his meagre breast he still clutched the box containing the pectoral. ‘Do you wish to talk to me, Mama?’

‘I will have a great many things to say to you later, Ramses. Now go and do as I order.’

‘One question,’ said Emerson, absently scratching his now excessive beard. ‘What the devil induced you to climb in that window, Ramses? I thought I told you to go for help.’

‘De criminal was about to steal my pectoral,’ Ramses replied. ‘It is
MINE
. I found it.’

‘But, my dear boy, it was horribly dangerous,’ Emerson exclaimed. ‘You cannot go about demanding your rightful property from thieves; they are not amenable to such appeals.’

‘It was not dangerous,’ Ramses said serenely. ‘I knew you and Mama would not allow de men to harm me.’

Emerson cleared his throat noisily and passed his sleeve across his eyes. Ramses and I exchanged a long, steady look. ‘Go to bed, Ramses,’ I said.

‘Yes, Mama. Good night, Mama. Good night, Papa.’

‘Good night, my dear boy.’

Beneath his muscular exterior Emerson is a very sentimental person. I tactfully looked elsewhere while he wiped his eyes and got his face under control. Then he said, ‘Peabody, that was the most magnificent testimonial any child ever gave his parents. Could you not have responded more warmly?’

‘Never mind, Emerson. Ramses and I understand one another perfectly.’

‘Humph,’ said Emerson. ‘Well, my dear, what next?’

‘John,’ I said. ‘He must certainly be next.’

‘John? John! Good Gad, my dear, you are right. Where is the poor fellow?’

Emerson sprang to his feet. I waved him back into his chair, for despite his extraordinary stamina he was showing signs of fatigue. ‘There is only one place he can be, Emerson. But before we go in search of him I insist upon a bath and a change of clothing. There is no further danger in delay; if harm was intended, it must already have befallen him. Let us pray that the killer of Hamid and Abd el Atti has spared the lad.’

Emerson’s eyes narrowed. His concern for his unhappy servant was wholly sincere, but for the moment another matter had taken precedence. ‘Aha,’ he said. ‘So you believed that villain when he disclaimed responsibility for the murders?’

‘Why should he lie? We had caught him red-handed. No, Emerson, the priest – or, if you prefer, the Master Criminal – is unquestionably a villain of the deepest dye and I am certain he has several murders on his conscience (if he possesses such an organ, which is doubtful); but he did not kill Abd el Atti and Hamid.’

‘Amelia.’’

‘Yes, Emerson?’

‘Did you suspect the priest? Be honest.’

‘No, Emerson, I did not. Did you?’

‘No, Peabody, I did not.’

‘But I was not altogether wrong,’ I continued. ‘The person I suspected of being the Master Criminal is the murderer. It is a meaningless distinction, actually.’

‘Curse it, Peabody, you never give up, do you? Hurry with your bath, then, and we will go to the mission and apprehend Brother David.’

‘Brother Ezekiel,’ I said, and left the room before Emerson could reply.

T
HE
sun was well above the horizon before we were ready to set forth on our errand of justice and – I hoped – mercy. The morning air was clear and fresh; the eastern sky flaunted the exquisite golden glow of a desert sunrise. Yet we walked with dragging steps, oblivious for once to the marvels of nature. I did not anticipate danger, but the interview promised to be a painful one, and I was filled with apprehension for poor John.

He had gone to the mission, of course. I could not blame him for disobeying my express command; when we failed to return he must have feared for us as well as for his beloved. Since I had not told him where we were to meet the girl, he would search for her in the most obvious place.

Arriving, he had found … what? What scene of horror or massacre had met his astonished eyes, and made it necessary for the killer to add another crime to his list? That John had failed to return made it certain he had been prevented from returning; but was it murder or kidnapping that had prevented him? Whatever had happened had happened hours before. If John was no more, we could only avenge him. If he was held prisoner, we would be in time to save him.

One of my first acts, even before bathing and changing into fresh attire, had been to dispatch a message to de Morgan. I mentioned this to Emerson, hoping to cheer him, for his expression as he tramped along was gloomy in the extreme.

He only grunted. ‘De Morgan has no evidence on which to arrest Kalenischeff, Peabody. Even if the rascal has stolen antiquities, he is under the protection of the baroness. It would take a direct order from Cromer to interfere with such a distinguished visitor.’

‘Kalenischeff must be one of the gang, Emerson. It is too much of a coincidence that he should be leaving Dahshoor at the same time as the Master Criminal.’

‘Oh, I agree. His job was to act as spotter. If de Morgan found anything of interest, Kalenischeff would notify his leader. But we will never prove it, Peabody, nor even convince de Morgan that he was taken in.’

‘It appears that this is one of those cases where everyone is guilty,’ I said.

‘You exaggerate, Peabody. The baroness was duped; de Morgan is innocent of everything except congenital stupidity; and of the three at the mission, only one is guilty.’

‘Ah, do you think so? What about two out of three?’

The challenge roused Emerson from his depression. ‘Which two – or which one?’

‘I did not say two were guilty. I only present it as a possibility.’

‘Are you sticking to your guns, then? Ezekiel?’

‘Er – yes.’

‘It was at Brother David that Bastet spat, Peabody.’

I was sorry he had noticed that. I had had some difficulty fitting it into my theory and had finally decided to ignore it altogether. ‘The incident was meaningless, Emerson. Bastet was in a bad mood – ’

‘And why was she in a bad mood, Peabody? Her keen sense of smell had recognized the spoor of the man who had been in Abd el Atti’s shop – ’

‘You are becoming as fanciful as Ramses where that cat is concerned, Emerson. Oh, I don’t doubt that was what the child intended when he returned to the shop and found out that Abd el Atti had been murdered; he is only a little boy, and does not understand that animals can’t be trained to do what he wants. But if you are naive enough to suppose that Bastet tracked the murderer through the extensive and odorous byways of Cairo and that, many days thereafter, recalled the scent of the individual who threw a boot or some other missile at her – ’

‘Humph,’ said Emerson.

It did sound absurd, when put into words. But I wondered. Brother David had not been the only stranger present that day.

The village ought to have been teeming with activity, for the working day in such places begins at dawn. Not a soul was to be seen. Even the dogs had slunk into hiding. Not until we reached the well did a timid voice call out to us. Then I realized that behind every window were watching eyes, and that the doors stood a trifle ajar. One of them opened cautiously and a head appeared. It was that of the shy little
sheikh el beled.
We stopped and waited, and finally he summoned up courage to emerge.

‘The peace of God be upon you,’ he said.

‘And upon you,’ Emerson said automatically. Then he added, ‘Curse it, I have no time for this sort of thing. What the devil has happened here?’

‘I do not know, effendi,’ the mayor said. ‘Will you protect us? There was much shouting and shooting in the night – ’

‘Oh, heavens,’ I exclaimed. ‘Poor John!’

‘He is just making a good story of it,’ Emerson said in English; but he looked grave. ‘Shooting, your honour?’

‘One shot,’ the mayor admitted. ‘One, at least… And when we woke this morning, the priest was gone and all his friends with him; and the sacred vessels are gone too. They were very old and very precious to us. Has he taken them to Cairo to be repaired, perhaps? Why did he tell no one he was going?’

‘He is half right,’ said Emerson. ‘I don’t doubt that the sacred vessels are on their way to Cairo by now.’

‘I ought to have anticipated this,’ I said in some chagrin. ‘To be honest, Emerson, I did not notice the vessels when I attended the service.’

This exchange had been in English. The little man looked timidly from me to Emerson. Emerson patted him on the back. ‘Be of good cheer, my friend,’ he said in Arabic. ‘Go back to your house and wait. It will be explained to you later.’

We went on through the deathly silence. ‘I have the direst forebodings, Emerson,’ I murmured.

‘I expected you would, Peabody.’

‘If we have brought that boy to his death, I will never forgive myself.’

‘It was my idea to bring him, Peabody.’ That was all Emerson said, but his haggard look expressed the depth of his remorse.

‘Oh no, my dear. I agreed; it was as much my fault as yours.’

‘Well, let us not borrow trouble, Peabody,’ Emerson said, squaring his shoulders and exhibiting the dauntless spirit I expected.

We reached the open space before the mission. The small neat buildings looked peaceful enough, but the same brooding silence hung over the place.

‘Let us hurry,’ I said. ‘I can bear the suspense no longer.’

‘Wait.’ Emerson drew me into concealment among the trees. ‘Whatever awaits us in that ominous place, there is one thing we know we will find – a raving madman. Our theories agree on that, at least?’

I nodded. ‘Then it behooves us to behave with extreme circumspection,’ Emerson said. ‘We don’t want to push the fellow into a rash act.’

‘You are correct as always, Emerson. But I cannot wait much longer.’

‘You won’t have to.’ Emerson’s voice dropped to a thrilling whisper. ‘By heaven, there he is – as unconcerned as if he were not a murderer twice over. Amazing how normal he looks; but that is often true of madmen.’

He spoke of Brother David. The young man did not appear mad, but neither was he unconcerned. He stood just outside the door of the house looking nervously from side to side. After a long, suspicious survey of the scene, he summoned the courage to proceed. Emerson waited until he had got halfway across the clearing; then, with a roar, he bounded out of concealment.

When I reached them, Brother David was flat on his back and Emerson was sitting on his chest. ‘I have him safe,’ my husband cried. ‘There is nothing to be afraid of, Peabody. What have you done with my servant, you rascal?’

I said, ‘He can’t answer, Emerson; you are squeezing the breath out of him. Get off him, why don’t you.’

Emerson shifted his weight. David took a long shuddering breath. ‘Professor?’ he gasped. ‘Is it you?’

‘Who the devil did you think it was?’

‘That fiendish priest, or one of his adherents – we are beset with enemies, Professor. Thank God you are here. I was just going to try to reach you, to ask for your help.’

‘Ha,’ said Emerson sceptically. ‘What have you done with John?’

‘Brother John? Why, nothing. Has he disappeared?’

No theatrical person could have counterfeited the bewilderment on the young man’s face, but Emerson is notoriously hard to convince, once he has set his mind on something. ‘Of course he has disappeared! He is here – you have kidnapped him, or worse… What of the shots in the night, you wretch?’ Seizing David by his collar, he shook him like a mastiff worrying a rat.

‘For heaven’s sake, stop asking him questions and then preventing him from answering,’ I exclaimed.

Emerson let go of the young man’s collar. David’s head hit the sand with a thud and his eyes rolled up in his head. ‘What was it you asked? … I am not quite myself … Shots in the night. Oh, yes – Brother Ezekiel was forced to fire his revolver at a would-be thief. He fired high, of course, only to frighten the fellow off.’

‘Brother Ezekiel.’ Emerson fingered his chin and glanced at me. ‘Hmmm. Where is Brother Ezekiel? He is usually the first on the scene.’

‘He is at prayer, in his study. He is asking the Almighty to defend his saints against the enemies that surround them.’

Still astride his victim, Emerson studied him intently while he continued to stroke the dimple in his chin. ‘You were right, Amelia,’ he said at last. ‘I concede defeat. This helpless weakling is not a murderer.’

Rising, he lifted David to his feet. ‘Mr Cabot, your leader is a dangerous maniac. For his own sake, as well as the sake of others, he must be put under restraint. Follow me.’