Amelia Peabody Omnibus 1-4 (148 page)

I had not gone far before I heard sounds indicative of haste and alarm. The sounds of haste were produced by a heavy body crashing through the reeds; the sounds of alarm were those of a well-loved voice raised to its fullest extent, which, as I have had occasion to remark, is considerable.

I answered, and Emerson soon stood face to face with me. He had dressed in such haste that his shirt was buttoned askew and hung out of his trousers. Upon recognizing me, he rushed forward, tripping over his dangling bootlaces, and lifted me in his arms.

‘Peabody! Good Gad, it is as I feared – you are wounded! You are covered with blood! Don’t try to talk, Peabody, I will carry you home. A doctor – a surgeon–’

‘I am not wounded, Emerson. It is not my blood you see, but Donald’s.’

Emerson set me on my feet with a thud that jarred my teeth painfully together, ‘In that case,’ he said, ‘you can damned well walk. How dare you, Peabody?’

His angry voice and furious scowl touched me no less than his tender concern had done, for I knew they were prompted by the same affection. I took his arm. ‘We may as well go back to the house,’ I said. ‘Donald and Enid will follow at their leisure.’

‘Donald? Oh, yes. I assume he is not seriously wounded, for if he were, you would be dosing him and bandaging him and generally driving him out of his mind.’

‘I suppose you followed Enid,’ I said. ‘And she followed me, and I followed Donald … How ridiculous we must have appeared!’

‘You may call it ridiculous,’ Emerson growled, holding my hand tightly in his. ‘I would call it something else, but I cannot find words strong enough to express my opinion of your callous disregard for every basic marital responsibility. How do you suppose I felt when I woke to find you gone, and saw a female form slip out of the gate? I thought it was you. I could not imagine why you should creep from my side unless – unless …’

Emotion overcame him. He began to swear.

‘You must have realized that only the sternest necessity could have moved me to such a step, Emerson. I would have written a note, but there was not time.’

‘There was time to wake me, though.’

‘No, for then explanations would have been necessary, delaying me even longer.’

I proceeded to render the explanations. Emerson’s face lightened a trifle as he listened, but he shook his head. ‘It was extremely foolhardy of you, Peabody. For all you knew, you were walking into a conference of desperate criminals. You did not even take your belt of tools.’

‘I had my parasol, Emerson.’

‘A parasol, though an admirable weapon – as I have been privileged to observe – is not much defence against a pistol, Peabody. Those were pistol shots I heard.’

‘They were, Emerson. As you know, the sound is quite different from the report of a rifle or shotgun. And Donald may thank heaven it was a hand weapon, for at such close range only a very poor shot could have missed with a rifle.’

Emerson stopped and looked back. ‘Here they come – positively intertwined, upon my word. I take it an understanding has been arrived at.’

‘It was most touching, Emerson. Believing him dead or mortally wounded, Enid confessed the profound attachment she had kept hidden – thought not, I hardly need say, from me. It is a great relief to have it all settled.’

‘I would say it is far from settled,’ remarked Emerson. ‘Unless you can clear the young lady of a charge of murder and the young man of embezzlement or fraud or forgery, or whatever it may have been, their hopes of spending a long and happy life together do not appear prosperous.’

‘But that is precisely why we are going to Cairo today. Do hurry, Emerson, or we will miss the train.’

Thanks to my organizational talents we did not miss the train, but it was a near thing, and not until we had settled ourselves in the carriage did we have a chance to discuss the morning’s interesting events. To my astonishment I learned that Emerson did not share my belief as to the identity of the concealed marksman.

‘But there is no other possible explanation,’ I insisted. ‘The Master Criminal is still seeking a scapegoat for the murder of Kalenischeff. Furthermore, Donald has on several occasions foiled his attacks on us. Naturally, Sethos would resent his interference. Or – here is another attractive idea, Emerson – perhaps it was not Donald, but my humble self at whom the bullet was aimed.’

‘If that is your notion of an attractive idea, I shudder to think what you would call horrible,’ Emerson grumbled. ‘You were not the target of the assassin, Amelia. In fact, the whole business is unaccountable. It makes no sense.’

‘Aha,’ I exclaimed. ‘You have a theory, Emerson.’

‘Naturally, Peabody.’

‘Excellent. We have one of those amiable little competitions of ours, to see who can guess – deduce, I meant to say – the solution to this most perplexing mystery. For I feel sure,’ I added, with an affectionate smile, ‘that our opinions do not coincide.’

‘They never have yet, Peabody.’

‘Would you care to disclose to me your reading of the matter thus far?’

‘I would not.’ Emerson brooded in silence, his rugged profile reminding me of the Byronic heroes so popular in some forms of literature. The dark hair tumbling on his brow, the lowering frown, the grim set of his mouth were extremely affecting. At least they affected me, and had there not been a dour old lady sharing the compartment with us, I might have demonstrated my feelings. As it was, I had to content myself with looking at him.

Emerson went on brooding and finally I decided to break the silence, which was getting monotonous. ‘I don’t understand why you find this morning’s events puzzling, Emerson. It is obvious to the meanest intelligence that the – that Sethos used a pistol instead of a rifle because he hoped to make Donald’s death look like suicide. Donald would have been found with the weapon in his hand, and a suicide note in the other – for I have no doubt that the genius of crime could reproduce his handwriting.’

‘Oh, yes,’ Emerson said bitterly. ‘You wouldn’t be surprised to see him sprout wings like a bat and flap off across Cairo, spouting lyric poetry as he flies.’

‘Lyric poetry?’ I repeated, genuinely perplexed.

‘Merely a flight of fancy, Amelia. Your theory of a false suicide falls apart on one simple fact. You were there.’

‘Suicide and murder, then,’ I said promptly. ‘Sethos would not be balked by a little matter like that, and I am sure he would shed no tears over my demise.’

Again Emerson shook his head. ‘You astonish me, Peabody. Can it be possible that you fail to see … Well, but if the truth has not dawned on you, I don’t want to put ideas into your head.’

And he would say no more, question him as I might.

E
MERSON
was more forthcoming when I asked precisely what he intended to do in Cairo. ‘For it is all very well,’ I added, ‘to talk vaguely of getting on the trail of Sethos, but without any notion of where to start, it will be difficult to find a trail, much less follow it.’

My tone was somewhat acerbic, for Emerson’s refusal to confide in me had wounded me deeply. He appeared not to notice my annoyance, but replied amicably, ‘I am glad you raised that question, Peabody. I have two approaches in mind. First, we must inquire of official sources what they know of this villain. We have a legitimate reason to demand information, since we have cause to suppose ourselves threatened by him.

‘I have greater hopes, however, of my second approach – to wit, my acquaintances in the underworld of Cairene crime. I would not be surprised to discover that even Sethos’ chief lieutenants are unaware of his true identity; however, by putting together bits and scraps and odds and ends, we may be able to construct a clue.’

‘Good, Emerson. Precisely the approach I was about to suggest.’

‘Humph,’ said Emerson. ‘Have you any other suggestions, Peabody?’

‘I could hardly improve on your ideas, Emerson. However, it has occurred to me to start from the other end, so to speak.’

‘I don’t follow you, Peabody.’

‘I meant that instead of gathering more information, we should pursue the few facts we already have. I am convinced it was Sethos himself who brought the communion vessels to our room. And we know that he or one of his hired assassins was in the hotel on the night of Kalenischeff’s murder. I propose to question and, if necessary, bribe or threaten, the servants who were on duty upon those occasions.’

‘Of course you know the police have questioned them already.’

‘Oh yes, but they won’t have told the police anything. There is a reluctance among people of that class in all countries to cooperate with the police.’

‘True. Anything else?’

‘Yes, one other thing. Has it occurred to you that if Ronald Fraser is not Sethos himself, he may be involved with the gang?’

‘Oddly enough, that had occurred to me,’ Emerson replied, fingering the dimple in his chin. ‘Or, if not Ronald, then Donald. Curse these people,’ he added, ‘why can’t they have distinctive names? I keep mixing them up.’

‘I am sure we can eliminate Donald, Emerson. He was with me this morning, and it was a miracle he was not killed.’

‘What better alibi could there be?’ Emerson demanded. ‘If he is Sethos, he could instruct a confederate to fire at him and miss – as indeed he did.’

‘He couldn’t know I would awaken and follow him, Emerson.’

‘That isn’t why you want to eliminate him, Peabody,’ Emerson grumbled. ‘You have a pernicious weakness for young lovers.’

‘Nonsense, Emerson. I eliminate Donald on purely logical grounds. We both heard Ronald Fraser ask his brother to meet him; as Donald explained to me, the reference was to a place where they had been accustomed to meet as children. How did Ronald learn the whereabouts of his brother, and of Enid, unless he is in touch with that mysterious personage who knows all and sees all? And how did Sethos know Donald would be by the river at dawn unless Ronald told him?’

‘Curse it, Peabody, you have a positive genius for overlooking the obvious! It is because you are obsessed with this villain. You see him everywhere and credit him with well-nigh supernatural powers!’

‘Really, Emerson–’

‘The simplest and most obvious explanation,’ Emerson continued angrily, ‘is that Ronald tried to kill his brother. An act of purely private villainy, Peabody, with not a Master Criminal in sight! Why Ronald should hate Donald I do not know, but there are several possibilities – an inheritance, or rivalry for the hand of the young lady, for instance. People do kill people for the most ridiculous reasons.’

‘In either case,’ I replied with equal heat, ‘it behooves us to learn more about Ronald Fraser. At least I can ascertain whether he was in Egypt last winter. He would have to enter the country in his true name, and he would probably have stayed for a time at Shepheard’s. Mr Baehler can tell me whether this was the case.’

‘Your sweeping generalizations are, as usual, unfounded; but it can’t do any harm to ask,’ Emerson grunted. ‘Here we are, Peabody; get your traps together.’

The train pulled into the main station. Emerson opened the door of the carriage and turned with a benevolent smile to assist the old lady who had been our sole companion during the journey. She was sitting at the extreme end of the seat watching us with wide eyes, and when Emerson offered his hand she let out a scream.

‘Get away!’ she shrieked. ‘Murder – assassins – bats – leave me, monster!’

My attempts at reassurance only maddened her more, and we were forced to abandon her. She appeared, poor creature, to be rather lacking in her wits.

We went first to police headquarters, on the Place Bab el-Khalk. Major Ramsay was rude enough to keep us waiting a good ten minutes, and I daresay it would have been longer had not Emerson, with his habitual impetuosity, brushed the protesting clerk aside and flung open the door to the inner office. A brisk exchange followed, in which I did not interfere since I felt Emerson’s criticisms to be fully justified. During the discussion Emerson held a chair for me and sat down himself, so Ramsay finally resigned himself to the inevitable.

Emerson wasted no more time on compliments. ‘You are of course familiar, Ramsay, with the matter of the antiquities thieves Mrs Emerson and I apprehended last season.’

‘I have your file here before me,’ Ramsay replied sourly, indicating a folder. ‘I was perusing it when you burst in; had you given me time to study it–’

‘Well, the devil, man, how much time do you need to read a dozen pages?’ Emerson demanded. ‘You ought to have known all about it anyway.’

I deemed it appropriate to calm the troubled waters with a soothing comment. ‘May I suggest, Emerson, that we save valuable time by avoiding reproaches? We are here, Major Ramsay, because we want you to tell us all you know about the Master Criminal.’

‘Who?’ Ramsay exclaimed.

‘You may know him as “the Master,” which is one of the names his henchmen call him. He is also known as Sethos.’

Ramsay continued to stare at me with a particularly feebleminded expression, so I tried again. ‘The head of the ring of antiquities thieves. If you have indeed read the report, you know that he unfortunately eluded us.’