The Deeds of the Disturber (29 page)

"Oh," said Emerson. "Well, er, hmmmm. That was quite a different matter, Ramses. When one is defending oneself against a villainous criminal armed with a knife . . . er. Yes. Gentlemen settle their differences in quite another way, Ramses."

"Emerson," I exclaimed, assisting the groaning youth back onto the seat of the carriage, "how can you speak so coolly? Ramses struck the first blow; it was unprovoked, and—"

"And inept," said Emerson, frowning. "See here, Ramses; fold your thumb over your closed fingers—"

"Ramses," I said wearily, "you are confined to your room until further notice."

To my annoyance, Emerson refused to take the incident seriously. "Boys will fight, Peabody. You cannot change human nature. A few lessons in boxing might be an excellent idea. Hmmm, yes. Under my supervision, of course ..."

In honor of Percy's birthday we had plum cake for tea. Violet ate three pieces. I was too unnerved to prevent her from doing so.

My hopes of accomplishing something useful that day were not entirely disappointed. I managed to send several important letters and telegrams, and of course the attack on Ramses was not devoid of interest. When we went up to change for dinner, Emerson agreed without a murmur to assume his evening clothes, and my heart twisted painfully. But however I might deplore his reticence, all lesser grievances had been temporarily submerged. Faithless he might have been—faithless he might yet be. But when danger threatened him I found that my devotion was as strong as ever, and that anguished concern for his safety rose triumphant over all.

We were almost dressed, and the maid was emptying the bath, when I spoke.

"Are you . . . Will you . . . You will take care, Emerson, won't you?"

"Take care?" He turned from brushing his hair to consider me with surprise. "What for, Peabody?"

"For your life and safety, of course. That was another threat, Emerson."

"Ramses was the one who was carried off, Peabody."

"Ramses took no harm—except for a bump on his head, and that is too hard to be easily damaged. The threat was directed at you. Knowing how precious Ramses is to you—"

Emerson crossed the room in a few long strides and clasped me to him. "There is one object even more precious to me than Ramses," he said hoarsely. "My darling Peabody ..."

With what a pang I cannot describe I freed myself gently but firmly. "We are not alone, Emerson."

"Is that cursed—er—that girl here again?" Emerson exclaimed. "Curse it, hasn't' she anything else to do? Come along, Peabody, we may as well go down. There is no privacy in this confounded mausoleum. How much longer must we stay here?"

"Until you finish your manuscript," I replied, taking his arm as we reached the stairs.

"Curse the cursed manuscript! I want you out of this, Peabody. I want you to take the children and go home to Kent."

"Oh, do you? And why is that, Emerson?"

"Curse it, Peabody, you know why. (Hallo, Gargery; how are you this evening?) I don't like the way this fellow's mind works. He won't attack me. No one attacks ME. He will try to strike at me through those I love, and as I mentioned earlier, Peabody—"

"Yes, I have not forgotten. But you have never tried to hustle me out of danger before."

"Not true, Peabody, not true. I always try. I never succeed, but I always try."

"Excuse me, sir and madam." Gargery put a plate of soup before Emerson. "I know I ought not ask, but in view of the profound respect I feel for you both, I must inquire whether there is any imminent danger, and if so, what we servants can do to help."

So moved was I by Gargery's concern that I would never have wounded his feelings by reminding him that it was not his place to join in the conversation. Emerson was equally touched; eyes bright with emotion, he clapped the butler on the back.

"Very good of you to say so, Gargery. Mrs. Emerson and I appreciate it. You see, what happened ..."

I finished my soup while Emerson told Gargery all about it. Gargery's eyes flashed. "Sir and madam, there is not a servant in the house that would not risk life and limb in your defense. Don't you worry, sir, we won't let this chap get to Mrs. Emerson. Here's an idea, sir; supposing Bob—he's the huskiest of the footmen, sir—supposing he goes along
with Mrs. Emerson on her little errands and so on? I could find him a nice little revolver, sir—"

"No, no, no firearms," Emerson said, shaking his head. "I won't have them in the house; you know Master Ramses, he'd pepper himself or the crockery before you could say 'Jack Robinson.' Perhaps a stout cudgel—"

"Nonsense," I exclaimed angrily. "No one is going anywhere with me on any errands of any kind. Gargery, you may take away the soup and fetch the next course."

I had barely time to say to Emerson, "If you set a bodyguard on me, Emerson, I will never—" before Gargery was back, breathless and bubbling with ideas.

"Has it occurred to you, sir," he said, slamming a platter of turbot with lobster sauce down in front of me, "that this incident may be not directed against you personally? Like those ushbers—shabters—"

"That is a point I was about to make myself," said Emerson. "We agree, do we not, that the (temporary) abduction of Ramses was perpetrated by the same individual who sent the ushebtis?"

"I am of that opinion, sir," said Gargery judiciously.

I frowned at Gargery. "If I may be allowed to speak, at my own dinner table ..."

"I beg your pardon, madam," said Gargery, retreating to the sideboard.

"Thank you, Gargery. I agree—if a woman's humble opinion is of any worth in the presence of two such great intellects—that the same person is responsible for both incidents." Gargery and Emerson exchanged glances. Emerson shrugged and rolled his eyes; I went on, "It would behoove us, I suggest, to find out whether the others who received the ushebtis had anything unusual happen to them."

Gargery remained discreetly silent. Emerson exclaimed with false heartiness, "An excellent suggestion, Peabody. I will go around and pay a few calls after dinner. Would you care to accompany me?"

"No, thank you, Emerson. You and Gargery have a good time."

At breakfast next morning I remarked to my husband, "You might have spared yourself the effort of paying calls, which you generally dislike, Emerson. It is all here in the
Morning Mirror."

"What is?" Emerson snatched the newspaper. "Oh, good Gad. How did they find out about Ramses and Madame Tussaud's?"

"Whom did you mention it to, Emerson?"

Emerson frowned at the newspaper. "Budge and Petrie and Griffith and . . . not Pritchett, he was not at home. They claimed—as you have surely read—that nothing untoward occurred to them."

"Which would suggest that the unknown has decided to concentrate on you, Emerson."

"Not necessarily. Except for Budge, who would court publicity at his mother's funeral, the others might not want to mention anything so out-of-the-way. Especially Petrie—you know what a dull stick he is—"

"So you learned nothing from any of them?" We had not talked the night before; it was very late when Emerson came to bed, reeking of tobacco. I pretended to be asleep.

"Griffith let me have a look at his ushebti. It was the image of the one I received, Peabody. Someone, somewhere, is missing a rare and valuable set of antiquities. If they could be traced ..."

"That would certainly be a useful clue," I agreed politely, remembering my little list (which was locked in a drawer of my desk for safety's sake). "No one knew of any such objects, I assume?"

"No. Which strongly suggests that they came from a private collection. Even Budge would notice their disappearance from the Museum."

"What about University College, Manchester, Birmingham—"

"I could certainly inquire."

"There is something else you might do," I said, taking the morning post from Mary Ann, who had just brought it in.

"And what is that, Peabody?"

"Most citizens would report to the police an attack such as was made on our son."

Emerson looked startled and stroked his chin. "I suppose they might. I wonder, Peabody, if we are becoming too accustomed to going it alone."

"Oh, no, Emerson; considering who we are and what we are, we are behaving quite logically. Here are your letters."

"Thank you." Emerson ripped through them in his usual vigorous style, remarking only, "Confounded Oxford Press," as he flung the communication away. "Perhaps I might drop by the Yard later," he said casually.

"What a good idea, Emerson."

"Would you care to go along?"

"I see no reason why both of us should go, Emerson."

"I would—I would enjoy your company, Peabody."

"Thank you, Emerson, that is very kind of you. However, I have other things to do."

"Oh?"

"Yes."

"How are you getting on with your paper?"

"Very well, thank you."

Emerson threw his napkin and his remaining letters onto the floor and jumped to his feet. His chair fell over with a crash. "Damnation," he shouted, and rushed out of the room.

"Try to be home for tea, Emerson," I called after him. "I expect a guest."

Emerson's footsteps stopped. He returned to the door and looked in. "Who?" he asked apprehensively.

"Mr. Wilson. He has been kind enough to accept my invitation."

"Oh," said Emerson. "Oh, I see. I will be here, Peabody."

He had been relieved at my answer, I had no doubt of it. What name, I wondered, had he expected—and dreaded? That of Ayesha?

Having received no answer to the note I had sent Miss Minton, I decided to call on her personally. The article in the
Morning Mirror
made me suspect she was still away, for it did not carry her name; but I went anyway, since I wanted exercise. As I had hoped, brisk walking calmed me, but the visit was in vain; the landlady said she had not seen or heard from her tenant and had no idea when she would return.

I consulted my list. Miss Minton would have to wait. Mr. Wilson was arranged for. A (flatteringly) prompt reply to my letter to Lord Liverpool invited me to have luncheon with him next day, and view his collection. Under the heading WHAT TO DO ABOUT IT there remained three names: Budge (on his housekeeping methods), Inspector Cuff (on a variety of questions he would probably not answer), and one other.

I spent the next few hours sitting in Hyde Park opposite Number 4, Park Lane. I will never forget those hours, and I venture to believe that they were unique in my experience; for I, Amelia P. Emerson, continued for that long period in a state of indecision and vacillation! The anomaly is worthy of being recorded, I believe.

The weather was (for London) fine, and a number of people were in the park enjoying the flowers and (for London) sunshine. I did not expect, however, that I would pass unobserved. Anyone who sits on the same spot for over two hours, without drinking, eating, reading, or moving, is bound to attract attention; two constables and a kindly
old lady stopped to inquire whether I required assistance, and a male person stopped for inquiries of another sort. If Ayesha took note of possible spies (which she of all persons had good reason to do), she must have seen me. Four times I made up my mind to cross the road and knock at her door. Four times I changed my mind.

She had no callers. I do not include various tradesmen, who of course went round to the back. One of these was a tall, muscular individual carrying a basket of fish and wearing a very voluminous black beard. I rose and hailed a hansom cab.

At precisely half past four I sat in another such cab outside a modest building on Half-Moon Street. At precisely thirty-four minutes past four Mr. Wilson came out of the house, glanced at the cab, saw it was taken, and walked to the corner, where he was successful in finding another conveyance. He was going to be early. That was unfortunate. I hoped Emerson would be there in time to receive him.

Telling the cab driver to wait, I applied the knocker to the door of Number 17. The door was answered by a comfortable motherly woman who hastily whisked off her apron when she saw me, and apologized.

"I thought you were the baker, madam. That dratted girl is never here to answer the door when I want her ..."

Her efforts to assure me of her gentility were wasted. "I have come to see Mr. Wilson," I said, starting for the stairs. "His rooms are—?"

"First floor front, madam. But, madam, he has just gone out."

"Really? How vexatious." I consulted my watch. "He will be returning soon, I expect. I had an appointment with him at half past four. I will wait."

She moved quickly to bar my path. "Excuse me, madam. Mr. Wilson is very particular about my letting people in unless he tells me in advance they are expected."

"Oh, what nonsense," I said impatiently. "Here—my card."

I had hoped not to have to give it, but there was no other way. The landlady took the card. "Mrs. Emerson?" Then her worried frown was replaced by a broad, delighted smile. "Mrs. Emerson! The lady who's been in all the newspapers?"

"Er—yes," I replied.

"But you're the one that digs up all the mummies and things in India—"

"Egypt."

"Yes, madam, Egypt. Oh, madam, it is a pleasure to meet you. How is your poor little boy?"

"My poor little . . . ? Thank you, he is quite well."

She detained me for longer than I would have liked, but I finally made my escape; and as I mounted the stairs I could not help smiling wryly as I realized it was not my respectable appearance that had gained me entry, but the notoriety I had deplored.

Mr. Wilson had a nice little set of rooms, probably the best in the house, to judge from their, location. The sitting room overlooked the street; behind it was a neat little bedroom. Though pleasant and nicely furnished, they were not luxurious. A few antiquities were scattered about; except for a lovely little alabaster head of an anonymous queen—whose features bore a certain resemblance to those of Miss Minton—none were exceptional, and I could not tell if any were missing. The landlady apparently dusted regularly.

A further investigation, which I was loath to make, but which I felt to be necessary, indicated that Mr. Wilson's habits were as proper as his appearance. A tantalus on the sideboard held decanters of brandy and whiskey, and there were cigars in a box nearby, but I found no trace of drugs. Only one thing defeated me—a locked drawer in his desk, for which I could not find the key and which I was afraid to tamper with. One may easily invent an excuse for calling on a young man, but it is a little difficult to explain why one ventured to break into a locked drawer.

The whole business only took ten minutes, for I can move like lightning when I must. Descending the stairs, I called to the landlady— whom I could hear banging pots around in the kitchen—to tell her I would wait no longer, and then I made my escape before she could engage me in conversation again.

I was only forty minutes late. When he saw me, Gargery's face went pink with pleasure. "Oh, Mrs. Emerson, we were beginning to worry. The gentleman is here—"

"Yes, thank you," I said, handing him my parasol and coat. "I will go right in."

I don't know who was more relieved to see me, Emerson or Mr. Wilson. I knew why Emerson was relieved, and I guessed that Mr. Wilson was glad to be freed from the relentless quizzing on Egyptology Emerson had been giving him. After greetings, apologies, and (on Emerson's part) scowls had been exchanged, I said cheerfully, "I am late because I made a silly mistake, Mr. Wilson. Somehow I got the notion
that I was having tea with you, instead of the other way around. I waited for you for half an hour before I realized I must have been in error. Wasn't that absurd?"

The only possible answer was "Yes, it certainly was," but since Mr. Wilson could not in courtesy make it, he mumbled and grinned foolishly.

"Humph," said Emerson, giving me a hard look. "Yes, it certainly was. You missed a very interesting discussion of the pottery of the early dynastic period at Quesir, Peabody. Mr. Wilson was there two years ago. However, he doesn't seem to remember—"

"I am sorry I missed it, Emerson. However, if Mr. Wilson doesn't mind, I would like to speak of something else."

Mr. Wilson was quick to assure me he did not mind in the slightest.

"I don't apologize for introducing the subject, Mr. Wilson, for the matter is becoming so serious it demands action. I want you to tell me all you know about Mr. Oldacre."

I had expected I would have to explain—for most people waste time in unnecessary discussion of the obvious—but Mr. Wilson proved himself superior to most people. Leaning back in his chair, he smiled faintly. "I see. I am sorry to disappoint you, Mrs. Emerson, for I believe I understand your reasons for raising the subject, and I am in complete sympathy with them. But I knew Oldacre only slightly. He was not the sort of man who could ever be a close friend of mine. Perhaps if you were to ask me questions—"

"Excellent," I said crisply. "I like the way your mind works, Mr. Wilson. Was he a user of drugs?"

"Not to my knowledge," was the prompt response. "It would not surprise me to learn that he dabbled in them—it is the fashionable thing to do in some circles—but he showed none of the signs of the habitual user."

"You don't know, then, whether he visited an opium den?"

"He would hardly have invited me to accompany him to such a place," was the smiling answer.

"Who were his friends—his intimates?"

Wilson mentioned a few names, all of which were unfamiliar to me, adding, "As I have said, I was not a close friend of his. I would be unlikely to know—"

"Yes, quite. What about Lord St. John?"

Wilson laughed. He was quite a nice-looking young fellow when he was at ease, as he was then; his teeth were white and even, and his features finely cut. "If his lordship had anything to do with Oldacre, it
would not be as a friend. He has a keen sense of social position, does Lord St. John."

"No doubt you are right. Well, then, you have nothing to suggest? Bad habits, debts, gambling, women?"

Wilson looked a little startled. "As to women ... I hardly like to mention the subject in the presence of a lady ..."

"Ah, I understand. Fallen women, is that it?"

"Er—yes. Only the usual thing, you know ..."

"Hmph," I said.

"Oh, quite, Mrs. Emerson. I myself would never ... As for other habits—yes, he gambled; he was always bragging about being a guest at one exclusive club or another, and I know he often lost heavily— for he bragged about that too, as if it were something to be proud of. And I have seen him show the effects of overindulgence. But really, you know, it is no more than most young fellows do."

"How true—and how sad, that such things should be so common. Well, that is very disappointing, but it is not your fault, Mr. Wilson. Emerson, have you any questions to ask?"

"No," Emerson said shortly.

"Then we can return to the discussion of predynastic pottery."

Mr. Wilson pulled his watch from his pocket, glanced at it, and jumped to his feet. "Dear me, I had no idea it was so late. I must be running along. I have to assist Mr. Budge with his lecture tonight—"

"Is it tonight?" I asked. "I had quite forgotten."

"Yes, he moved the date up, for some reason. He doesn't explain himself to me," Wilson added, with his attractive smile. "He tells me what I am to do and I do it. Tonight I am to assist him with the famous mummy. Perhaps I will see you there. Thank you, Mrs. Emerson—Professor—it has been most enjoyable—next time you must come to me."

"I will hold you to that," I said, giving his hand a hearty shake.

"You may count on it," said Mr. Wilson, smiling.

After he had taken his departure, Emerson growled, "Well, Peabody, curse you, I hope you are proud of yourself. You worried the devil out of me—"

"And Gargery," I said. "I am particularly sorry to have worried Gargery."

Emerson ground his teeth, but curiosity overcame his anger. "Did you find anything of interest in Mr. Wilson's rooms?"

"No."

"Would you tell me if you had?"

"Of course, Emerson. You would do the same for me, would you not?"

Emerson's eyes fell. Struggling to conquer my emotions, I said, "I will have cook put dinner up half an hour. You are planning to attend the lecture, I assume?"

"Yes. Will you come?"

I smothered a yawn. "I think not, Emerson. I am a trifle fatigued, and as you know, mummies hold little attraction for me. Run along and enjoy yourself."

Emerson started for the stairs. Then he stopped. "If you change your mind, Amelia, you won't be able to get in. This is not a lecture but a scientific demonstration; it is not open to the general public, and it is by invitation only."

"It is?" Curiosity was throttling me, but I would rather have died than admit it. "Well, you will tell me all about it when you get home."

I waited a full ten minutes after Emerson left before I rang for Gargery and asked him to order the carriage. Emerson had gone on foot; the Royal Society, where the demonstration was to be held, was at Somerset House, not far away.

I had my reasons for using the carriage, and they had nothing to do with the danger or the propriety of a lady walking alone through the darkened London streets. Emerson was up to something. He had not gone to Somerset House to hear Mr. Budge expound on the subject of mummification. He would not have crossed the room to hear Mr. Budge on the subject of mummification. He had, on an early occasion, explained to me why he felt it would be expedient to unwrap the mummy, but I had suspected even then that he had other motives he had not explained. Whatever these might be, I knew he did not want me to go. If he had, he would have forbidden me to attend.

There was another possibility, which I hated to contemplate, but for which I was prepared. Emerson might not mean to attend the lecture. He might go ... elsewhere. If I did not see him at Somerset House, I would follow him, and ... I was not sure what I would do. If my suspicions proved to be correct, I refused to be responsible for what I might do.

Eleven

T
HE NAIVETE of the male sex never ceases to amaze me. I thought I knew why Budge had moved up the date of his lecture. He hoped thereby to avoid the attentions of the false priest, his last encounter with that individual having proved embarrassing in the extreme; and perhaps he also hoped to avoid the attentions of Emerson. This was, of course, a vain hope. Emerson was an acknowledged expert on the subject, and he was bound to hear of the changed date from someone, as indeed he had.

If Emerson had been managing the affair—as ought to have been the case—he would have made certain the "priest" did not have a previous engagement. He had not admitted it to me, but it required very little intelligence to deduce that that was one of his reasons for wanting to unwrap the mummy in public and with the greatest possible fanfare. Twice he had failed to capture the rascal; he would be all the more determined to succeed on a third attempt.