Amelia Peabody Omnibus 1-4 (154 page)

‘Yes, Papa. Thank you for reminding me that time is indeed of the essence. A party of officials has just disembarked from a government steamer. It will not take them long to learn where we are to be found, and from the constitution of the group and the solemnity of their demeanour I deduce that some serious matter–’

‘Good Gad,’ I exclaimed. ‘We should have anticipated this, Emerson. The murderer – whose name, or epithet, rather, I need not mention – wishes to have Donald arrested for his brother’s death. Of course he would notify the police.’

The latest catastrophe had struck Donald dumb. He stood staring helplessly as Emerson ran his hands over the young man’s body. ‘He has no weapon,’ he remarked.

‘The weapon,’ I cried. ‘Without it the police cannot prove–’

‘That is not necessarily true, Mama,’ said the voice of Ramses, from somewhere nearby.

At first I could not tell where he had got to. Turning, I discovered that he had crept to the shrouded figure and lifted the blanket. After a brief and emotionless stare he let the covering fall again and stood up. ‘The situation is as I surmised,’ he said. ‘Papa, failure to find the pistol that fired the fatal shot may not save Mr Donald Fraser, for the prosecution will claim it could easily be concealed in the sand. I would not be surprised, however, if it were not found nearby, in a place easily discovered by the most cursory search.’

With a cry, Enid ran toward her tent. I knew what was in her mind and hastened to aid her; for although Ramses was right (drat him) in saying that the
absence
of the weapon would not clear Donald, the
discovery
of it would certainly strengthen the case against him.

When I reached her, Enid was crawling on the ground, brushing sand and pebbles aside in her frantic search. However, it was Ramses who found the pistol wedged in a crevice in the rock some twenty feet from the tent. Emerson hastily took it from him.

‘We ought, by rights, to turn it over to the authorities,’ he said.

‘Give it to me,’ I said. ‘I will conceal it in my sponge-bag.’

‘Whatever you do had best be done quickly,’ remarked Ramses. ‘For here they come.’

The party was an imposing one – several constables, Major Ramsay, and no less a personage than Sir Eldon Gorst, the Advisor on police matters in the Ministry of the Interior. The latter was the first to speak. Dismounting from his donkey, he approached me, his face grave. ‘Mrs Emerson! It is always a pleasure to see you; I wish our meeting could have taken place under more pleasant circumstances. Professor–’

‘Hallo, Gorst,’ said Emerson. ‘Get it over with, will you? I have a great deal of work to do. The body is over there.’

‘So it is true,’ Sir Eldon said heavily. ‘I could scarcely believe … You know Major Ramsay, I think?’

‘Yes,’ I said, nodding frostily at the major. ‘We have only just made the tragic discovery ourselves. May I ask how you happened to have been notified – hours ago, one presumes, since it would take you some time to get here?’

Sir Eldon started to speak, but was anticipated by the major. ‘The source was unimpeachable,’ he said, scowling.

‘It must have been, to send you out on what might have been a wild-goose chase,’ said Emerson. ‘Curse it, I insist upon knowing who dumped a corpse on my doorstep. I am not a man to be trifled with, Ramsay.’

‘Damn it, Professor,’ Ramsay began.

‘My dear fellow, there are ladies present,’ Sir Eldon exclaimed. ‘Speaking of ladies – I am correct, madam, am I not, in assuming that you are Miss Enid Debenham, whose prolonged absence has caused such concern to my office?’

‘I am she.’

‘And I,’ said Donald, ‘am Donald Fraser. I expect, Sir Eldon, that you have been looking for me too.’

Sir Eldon bowed. It was clear that his unknown informant had told him, not only about the death of Ronald, but the presence of Donald. ‘It is my duty to inform you,’ he began.

‘For once I agree with Professor Emerson,’ growled the major. ‘Let’s get this over with.’

He gestured. One of the constables stepped forward. There was a click, and a soft moan from Enid, and Donald stood handcuffed before us.

E
NID
insisted upon accompanying Donald to Cairo. Sir Eldon tried to dissuade her, but Major Ramsay, who had no gentlemanly instincts, said she might as well come along, since she would have to give a statement and he had a lot of questions to ask her. I of course assured her I would follow as soon as possible. Instead of protesting, as I expected, Emerson only gave me an odd look and said nothing.

One of the constables was left behind to search for the weapon. As I departed from my tent with my sponge-bag over my arm, I saw him disconsolately surveying the vast and tumbled terrain.

We had to bustle in order to catch the morning train. I say we, for to my surprise I discovered that Emerson meant to come with me. I was about to express my approval and my pleasure when Emerson put an end to both by pointing out that we would have to take Ramses too. He was quite correct; leaving Ramses at Dahshoor was too fraught with terrible possibilities to be contemplated. He had Abdullah and the other men completely under his thumb. It need hardly be said that Bastet also accompanied us, for Ramses refused to be parted from her for any length of time.

I could not make out what Emerson was planning. For him to abandon his work was almost unheard of, yet he had not even given Abdullah directions as to how to proceed, only told him to declare a holiday.

As soon as we had taken our seats on the train, I began my inquiries. I thought it better not to ask Emerson point-blank what was on his mind, but instead attempted to work up to it by subtle indirection.

‘I trust,’ I began, ‘that the events of this morning have altered your appraisal of the situation and brought you around to my way of thinking.’

‘I doubt it,’ Emerson said curtly.

‘Your belief that Donald’s difficulties are purely domestic in nature – I believe you used that phrase – was obviously erroneous. Unless you think Donald killed his brother?’

‘It seems unlikely,’ said Ramses, who had recovered his breath after being yanked into the compartment and thrust into a seat. ‘Mr Donald Fraser is not distinguished by great intellectual capacity – indeed, I cannot help but wonder what a lady of Miss Debenham’s superior qualities could possibly see in him – but there is no reason why he should go to the trouble of carrying the body a long distance from the scene of the murder in order to place it conspicuously in front of your tent.’

‘Humph,’ said Emerson, tacitly acknowledging the truth of Ramses’ analysis.

‘Furthermore,’ Ramses continued, ‘if the pistol was his, it must have been procured in the last day or two, since he did not have it with him when he came, and I do not see how–’

‘Did you have the effrontery to search the young man’s belongings?’ I demanded indignantly.

‘He had no belongings,’ Ramses replied calmly. ‘Except for the opium and pipe which you took from him. Nor was there any hiding place in his room, except under the cot, which I investigated at an early–’

‘Never mind,’ Emerson said, anticipating my protest. ‘We will take it as read that Donald did not kill his brother. Some other person … Oh, curse it, I may as well admit it. We are back to your friend Sethos, Amelia.’

‘I knew that from the first, Emerson.’

‘Bah,’ said Emerson. ‘Here is something I’ll wager you don’t know. I have come to the conclusion that Sethos has played the same trick he played on us once before – that at some point he has actually introduced himself to us. In disguise, I hardly need say–’

‘Quite right, Papa,’ cried Ramses. ‘You anticipate my very words. And I know who he is. The gentleman Mama met in Cairo, the self-styled private investigator!’

‘Don’t be silly, Ramses,’ I said. ‘You have not even met Mr Gregson.’

Ramses became red in the face with frustration. ‘But, Mama, I have tried over and over to tell you – Tobias Gregson is the name of the police officer in the detective stories by Arthur Conan Doyle. I put it to you that it would be typical of the strange sense of humour of the man known as Sethos to select as a pseudonym the name of the character Mr Sherlock Holmes – the most famous private investigator in modern fiction – despised as a bungler and a fool. What do you know of this man, in fact? Did he show you his papers? Did he refer you to the police in order to verify his semiofficial standing? Did he–’

‘I will not permit that accusatory tone, Ramses,’ I exclaimed. ‘Don’t dare talk to me like a schoolmaster lecturing a dull student. Mr Gregson was working under cover. Furthermore – furthermore, he has brown eyes.’

Emerson started as if he had been stung. ‘I am shocked, Amelia, that you should go around staring into the eyes of strange men.’

‘I have good reason to notice the colour of a suspect’s eyes,’ I replied stoutly. ‘As for Mr Gregson, I hope and believe you will meet him shortly. He is not Sethos. But I know who is. Mrs Axhammer, the elderly American lady who visited us at Dahshoor!’

I expected Emerson to say ‘Bah,’ or ‘Humbug,’ or something equally insulting. His response offended me even more. He burst into a peal of laughter. ‘Come, now, Peabody, that is too absurd. On what basis–’

‘Several. She was careful to wear a veil, but it did not conceal the lively sparkle of dark eyes. When on one occasion the veil was displaced, I observed that her teeth were firm and white and that her chin, though close-shaven, showed signs of stubble!’

‘I have known old ladies with full moustaches and beards,’ said Emerson, grinning. ‘You are both wrong. I know who Sethos really is. His lordship, Viscount Everly!’

He gave me no time for rebuttal, but went on. ‘Ronald was in his entourage. It was while the presumed viscount and his friends were shooting at Dahshoor that both the incidents involving firearms occurred. It was his horse that bolted, endangering Ramses–’

‘Pure coincidence,’ I said. ‘Sethos cannot be his lordship. He is Mrs Axhammer.’

‘The viscount,’ Emerson growled.

‘Mr Gregson,’ piped Ramses.

His high-pitched voice contrasted so oddly with his father’s baritone grumble that Emerson and I both burst out laughing. Ramses contemplated us haughtily down the length of his nose. ‘I fail to see the humour in the situation,’ he said.

‘You are quite right, my boy,’ said Emerson, smiling. ‘I suppose we must agree to disagree. Time will tell which of us is correct.’

‘If we are not all wrong,’ I said more seriously. ‘I cannot get it out of my head, Emerson – your reminder that the god Set was red-haired. But I will wager that I will be the first to come face to face with his evil emissary.’

‘You had damned well better not be,’ said Emerson, and refused to apologize, even though he had promised me he would try not to swear in front of Ramses.

When we entered the lobby of Shepheard’s, the first person we saw was Enid. She sat reading a newspaper, apparently oblivious to the curious stares and whispers of the other guests, but the moment we appeared she jumped up and hastened to meet us.

‘You came,’ she whispered, seizing my hand. ‘I was afraid you would not. Thank you, thank you!’

‘I said I would come,’ I replied. ‘When I say I will do something, Enid, you may be certain I will do it.’

Ramses studied her from under lowered brows; and indeed she little resembled the demure archaeologist of Dahshoor. She was wearing an extravagantly frivolous gown, all ruffles and puffs and lace, and her lips and cheeks were rouged. I daresay she wore no more paint than usual, but owing to the pallor of her face, the red patches stood out with garish effect.

Retaining her tight grasp on my hand, she reached out her other hand to Ramses. ‘Don’t you know your old friend in this costume?’ she asked, with a brave attempt at a smile.

‘I hope you do not suppose that a superficial alteration of that nature could deceive my trained eye,’ Ramses replied in evident chagrin. ‘I was merely endeavouring to decide whether I prefer this persona to the other. On the whole–’

It had taken only a few days to teach Enid that if someone did not interrupt Ramses, he would go on talking indefinitely. ‘No matter what my outward appearance, Ramses, my feelings will never change. I am your true friend, and I hope I may consider you mine.’

Ramses was moved. A casual observer might not have realized it, for the only outward expression of his feelings was a rapid blink of his eyelids. He replied in his most dignified manner, ‘Thank you. You may indeed rely upon my friendship, and if at any time in the future you have need of my services, they are at your disposal, although I sincerely trust that you will never regret your decision to accept the hand of a person who, though not entirely devoid of admirable qualities, is not–’

I suppressed Ramses. At least he had made Enid smile; turning to me, she said, ‘Perhaps you think me bold to sit here in full view of all the gossips. But I will not skulk in my room as if I had done something to be ashamed of. Donald and I are victims, not villains.’

I am entirely of your opinion,’ I replied warmly. ‘Mr Baehler gave you your rooms back? I was concerned about that, since it is the height of the season, and Shepheard’s is always crowded.’