Amelia Peabody Omnibus 1-4 (149 page)

‘Oh! Oh yes.’ With maddening deliberation Ramsay turned over the pages. ‘Yes, it is all here. Congratulations from M. de Morgan of the Department of Antiquities, from Sir Evelyn Baring–’

‘Well, then,’ I said. ‘No doubt the police have been actively engaged in attempting to identify and locate this mastermind of crime. What progress have you made?’

‘Mrs Emerson.’ Ramsay closed the file and folded his hands. ‘The administration and the police are grateful to you for your efforts in closing down a ring of local thieves. All this talk of master criminals with outlandish aliases is absurd.’

I put a restraining hand on Emerson’s arm. ‘They know of Sethos in the bazaars,’ I said. ‘They whisper of the Master, and the dreadful revenge he takes on traitors to his revolting cause.’

Ramsay raised a hand to conceal his smile. ‘We pay no attention to the gossip of natives, Mrs Emerson. They are such a superstitious, ignorant lot; why, if we followed up every idle rumour, we would have no time to do anything else.’

From Emerson’s parted lips came bubbling sounds, like those of a kettle on the boil. ‘Please don’t say such things, Major,’ I implored. ‘I cannot guarantee your safety if you continue in that vein. Since we arrived in Egypt less than a week ago, we have been several times attacked by this man, whose existence you deny. There was an attempt at abducting our son, and only this morning a shot fired from ambush narrowly missed me, and actually wounded Don – er – one of our assassins.’

Ramsay was too obtuse to notice my momentary confusion. The smile had vanished from his face. ‘Have you reported these crimes, Mrs Emerson?’

‘Why, no. You see–’

‘Why not?’

Emerson leaped to his feet. ‘Because,’ he bellowed, ‘the police are consummate fools, that is why. Come along, Amelia. This jackanapes knows less than we do. Come, I implore you, before I kick his desk to splinters and perpetrate indignities upon his person which I might later regret.’

Emerson was still seething when we emerged from the building. ‘No wonder nothing is being done to stop the illegal trade in antiquities,’ he growled. ‘With a fool like that in charge–’

‘Now, Emerson, calm yourself. The major has nothing to do with antiquities. You said yourself, you had no great hopes of learning anything from him.’

‘That is true.’ Emerson wiped his perspiring brow.

‘I wish you had not been so hasty, Emerson. I wanted to ask how the investigation into Kalenischeff’s death is progressing.’

‘Quite right, Peabody. It is all the fault of that cursed idiot Ramsay for distracting me. Let us go back and ask him.’

‘Emerson,’ I began. ‘I don’t think–’

But Emerson had already started to retrace his steps. I had no choice but to follow. By running as fast as I could, I caught him up outside Ramsay’s office. ‘Ah, there you are, Peabody,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Do try to keep up, will you? We have a great deal to do.’

At the sight of Emerson the clerk fled through another door, and Emerson proceeded into the inner office. Ramsay jumped up and assumed a posture of defence, his back against the wall.

‘Sit down, sit down,’ Emerson said genially. ‘No need to stand on ceremony; this won’t take long. Ramsay, what is the state of the investigation into the murder of that villain Kalenischeff?’

‘Er – what?’ Ramsay sputtered.

‘The fellow is very slow,’ Emerson explained to me. ‘One must be patient with such unfortunates.’ He raised his voice and spoke very slowly, as people do when they are addressing someone who is hard of hearing. ‘What – is – the – state –’

‘I understood you the first time, Professor,’ Ramsay said, wincing.

‘Speak up, then. I haven’t got all day. Is the young lady still under suspicion?’

I think Ramsay had come to the conclusion that Emerson was some species of madman, and must be humoured for fear he would become violent. ‘No,’ he said, with a strained smile. ‘I never believed she was guilty. It is out of the question for a gently bred lady to have committed such a crime.’

‘That isn’t what you told my wife,’ Emerson declared.

‘Er – didn’t I?’ Ramsay transferred his stiff smile to the madman’s wife. ‘I beg your pardon. Perhaps she misunderstood.’

‘Never mind, Major,’ I said. ‘Whom do you suspect, then?’

‘A certain beggar, who was often outside Shepheard’s. One of the safragis claims to have seen him inside the hotel that night.’

‘And the motive?’ I inquired calmly.

Ramsay shrugged. ‘Robbery, no doubt. I haven’t much hope of finding the fellow. They all look alike, you know.’

‘Only to idiots and ignoramuses,’ said Emerson.

‘Oh, quite, quite, quite, Professor. Er – I meant to say, they all stick together, you know; we will never get an identification from the other beggars. One of them actually had the effrontery to tell me the fellow was English.’ Ramsay laughed. ‘Can you imagine?’

Emerson and I exchanged glances. He shrugged contemptuously. ‘And what of Miss Debenham,’ I asked. ‘Have you found no trace of her?’

‘Ramsay shook his head. ‘I fear the worst,’ he said portentiously.

‘That she is dead?’

‘Worse than that.’

‘I don’t see what could be worse than that,’ Emerson remarked.

‘Oh, Emerson, don’t be ironic,’ I said. ‘He is referring to the classic fate worse then death – an assessment made, I hardly need add, by men. Major, are you really naive enough to believe that Miss Debenham has been sold into white slavery?’

‘Slavery has not been stamped out,’ Ramsay insisted. ‘Despite our efforts.’

‘I know that, of course. But the unfortunates who suffer this fate – and I agree, it is a ghastly fate – are poor children of both sexes, many of whom are sold by their own families. The dealers in that filthy trade would not dare abduct an Englishwoman out of the very walls of Shepheard’s Hotel.’

‘Then what has become of her?’ Ramsay asked. ‘She could not remain concealed for long, a woman with no knowledge of the language, the customs –’

‘You underestimate our sex, sir,’ I said, frowning. ‘Next time we meet you may have cause to amend your opinion, and I will expect an apology.’

After we left the office I heard the key turn in the lock.

‘So much for that,’ said Emerson as, for the second time, we emerged into the street. ‘Not very useful, was it?’

‘No. Well, Emerson, what next?’

Emerson hailed a carriage and handed me into it. ‘I will meet you later at Shepheard’s,’ he said. ‘Wait for me on the terrace if you finish your interrogation before I arrive.’

‘And where are you going?’

‘To the bazaars, to pursue the course I mentioned.’

‘I will go with you.’

‘That would be ill-advised, Peabody. The negotiations I mean to pursue are of the most delicate nature. My informants will be reluctant to talk at all; the presence of a third party, even you, might silence them.’

His argument could not be gainsaid. Emerson had a rare, I might even say unique, rapprochement with Egyptians of all varieties and social classes, stemming from his eloquence in invective, his formidable strength, his colloquial command of the language, and – it pains me to admit – his complete contempt for the Christian religion. To be sure, Emerson was tolerantly and equally contemptuous of Islam, Buddhism, Judaism, and all other faiths, but his Egyptian friends were only concerned about the religion they equate with foreign domination over their country. Other archaeologists claimed to have good relations with their workers – Petrie, I am sorry to say, was always boasting about it – but their attitude was always tempered with the condescension of the ‘superior race’ toward a lesser breed. Emerson made no such distinctions. To him a man was not an Englishman or a ‘native,’ but only a man.

I see that I have digressed. I do not apologize. The complex nobility of Emerson’s character is worthy of an even longer digression.

However, I felt certain there was another reason why he preferred I should not accompany him. In his bachelor days, before I met him and civilized him, Emerson had a widespread acquaintance in certain circles he was not anxious for me to know about. Respecting his scruples and his right to privacy, I never attempted to intrude into this part of his past.

Feeling that I was entitled to the same consideration from him, I did not feel it necessary to inform him that I had business of my own in the old section, and that if he expected me to sit meekly on the terrace of Shepheard’s until he condescended to appear, he was sadly mistaken. First, however, there were my inquiries at the hotel to be made, so I allowed the carriage driver to follow Emerson’s directions.

However, Mr Baehler was a sad disappointment. He absolutely refused to allow me to examine the hotel registers for the previous winter. Upon my persisting, he finally agreed to consult them himself, and he assured me that Mr Ronald Fraser had not been a guest at the hotel during that period. I was disappointed, but not downhearted; Ronald might have stayed at another hostelry.

I then asked the name of the safragi who had been on duty at the time of Kalenischeff’s murder. As I had expected from a man of Mr Baehler’s efficiency, he knew the names and duties of every employee in the hotel, but again I met with a check. The person in question, whose assignment had been the third-floor wing, was no longer in the employ of the hotel.

‘He had a bit of good luck,’ Baehler said with a smile. ‘An aged relative died and left him a large sum of money. He has retired to his village and I hear he is living like a pasha.’

‘And what village is that?’ I asked.

Baehler shrugged. ‘I don’t remember. It is far to the south, near Assuan. But really, Mrs Emerson, if it is information concerning the murder you want, you are wasting your time looking for him. The police questioned him at length!’

‘I see. I understand the police have fixed on some anonymous beggar as the killer, and that Miss Debenham is no longer under suspicion.’

‘So I believe. If you will excuse me, Mrs Emerson, I am expecting a large party–’

‘One more thing, Mr Baehler, and I will detain you no longer. The name of the safragi who was on duty in our part of the hotel while we were here.’

‘I hope you don’t suspect him of wrongdoing,’ Baehler exclaimed. ‘He is a responsible man who has been with us for years.’

I reassured him, and upon hearing that the man in question was even now at his station, I dismissed Mr Baehler with thanks, and went upstairs.

I remembered the safragi well – a lean, grizzled man of middle age, with a quiet voice and pleasant features marred only when he smiled by a set of brown, broken teeth.

The fellow’s smile was without guile, however, and he answered my question readily. Alas, he could not remember anything unusual about the porters who had delivered our parcels. There had been a number of deliveries from a number of different shops; some of the men were known to him, some were not.

I thanked and rewarded him and left him to the peaceful nap my arrival had interrupted. I was convinced he was unwitting. His demeanour was that of an innocent man, and besides, if he had been aware of the identity of the delivery man, he would have been pensioned off, like the other safragi – who was, I felt sure, the same one who had claimed to have seen Donald inside the hotel. Sethos rewarded his loyal assistants liberally.

Since some of my inquiries had proved abortive, I found myself with plenty of time to carry out my other business, and I determined to proceed with it rather than pause for luncheon. Emerson would be occupied for several more hours, and if I hurried, I could be back at the hotel before he got there.

I was crossing the lobby when the concierge intercepted me. ‘Mrs Emerson! This letter was left for you.’

‘How extraordinary,’ I said, examining the superstructure, which was in an unfamiliar hand. There was no question of a mistake, however, for the name was my own, and in full: Amelia Peabody Emerson. ‘Who was the person who left it?’

‘I did not recognize the gentleman, madam. He is not a guest at the hotel.’

I thanked the concierge and hastened to open the sealed envelope. The message within was brief, but the few lines set my pulses leaping. ‘Have important information. Will be at the Café Orientale between one-thirty and two.’ It was signed ‘T. Gregson’.

I had almost forgotten the famous private detective – as perhaps you have also, dear Reader. Apparently he had seen me enter the hotel. But why had he written a note instead of speaking to me personally?’

I consulted my watch. The timing could not have been better. I could visit the shop of Aziz before keeping the appointment with Gregson.

Do not suppose, Reader, that I was unconscious of the peculiarity of the arrangement. There was a chance I might be walking into a trap. Mr Gregson could not be Sethos; his eyes were not black, but a soft velvety brown. Yet he might be an ally of that enigmatic villain, or someone else might have used his name in order to lure me into his toils.

This seemed, on the whole, unlikely. I knew the Café Orientale; it was on the Muski, in a respectable neighbourhood much frequented by the foreign community. And if my suspicion was correct – if Sethos himself lay in wait for me – I was ready for him. I was alert and on guard, I had my parasol and my belt of tools.

However, I felt it advisable to take one precaution. Going into the writing room, I inscribed a brief note to Emerson, telling him where I was going and assuring him, in closing, that if I did not return he was to console himself with the knowledge that our deep and tender love had enriched my life and, I trusted, his own.

Upon rereading this, I found it a trifle pessimistic, so I added a postscript. ‘My dear Emerson, I do not suppose that the M.C. will slaughter me out of hand, since it would be more in character for him to hold me prisoner in order to arouse in you the anguish of uncertainty as to my fate. I feel confident that if I cannot effect my own escape, you will eventually find and free me. This is not farewell, then, but only
au revoir
, from your most devoted, et cetera, et cetera.’

I left the envelope at the desk with instructions to give it to Emerson no earlier than 5 p.m. if I had not collected it myself before then.