The Deeds of the Disturber (45 page)

"And yet Cuff persisted? What a courageous thing to do."

"Well, not exactly," Emerson replied. "This country does suffer from a repellent infatuation with aristocracy; but to the eternal credit of British justice let it be said that neither rank nor title can save a man from the consequences of a criminal act. Cuff was told to proceed, but in strictest secrecy and alone, until he had obtained indisputable evidence of guilt. Naturally Her Majesty had to be told—warned—that Liverpool was in danger. She has, among other weaknesses less amiable, a sincere attachment to those related to her by blood; consideration for her feelings had spared the young man on a number of earlier occasions.

"When I went to see Cuff on Monday last, after our visit to the opium den, I of course knew nothing of this, nor did he confide in me at that time. I wanted . . . Er, hem. I felt I ought ..."

"You wanted Ayesha's address," I said calmly. "Never mind, Emerson. The past is buried in the grave of that unhappy woman. We will not refer to it again."

"Hmph," said Emerson. "Well, as it turned out, Cuff and I had a little discussion about the case, and afterwards he did me the honor of mentioning my name to Her Majesty. She sent for me and asked for my help in proving the young man innocent. She was in deep distress; for, though he had been guilty of a few indiscretions in the past (as the naive lady put it) she could not believe a member of her family could commit such a vile crime."

"She is worse than naive, she is rather stupid if she believes that," I remarked. "I can think of several instances—"

"As can I, Peabody. However, her request was confounded flattering, and since I felt the Earl was too much of a weakling, mentally and physically, to plan such a scheme, I promised I would do my best.

"From then on Cuff and I worked together. It was Cuff who learned of the bizarre ceremony planned for that fateful night. One of the Egyptian thugs hired for the occasion had participated in other such events, and he bragged of it to a ladyfriend, who told another friend, who told another—who was one of Cuffs informants. I committed an unforgivable act of treachery, my darling Peabody, when I locked you in our room that day; but I was in a deuced uncomfortable dilemma, between the demands of Cuff and the Crown for absolute secrecy, and my suspicion that something damnable was likely to occur in that den of iniquity. And yet, do you know, Peabody, somehow I wasn't surprised to see you come stumbling down those stairs. I might have known your brilliant, incisive mind would solve the puzzle."

"All's well that ends well," I said cheerfully. "So you saw her again today, and she gave you the emerald as a token of appreciation?"

"Better than a knighthood." Emerson chuckled. "I will have the ring cut down for you, Peabody."

"Thank you, my dear Emerson. I accept, since I cannot imagine you flaunting emeralds on your person."

"And also," said Emerson fiercely, "because the credit is as much yours as mine. You know, Peabody, I never speak ill of a woman, and she is elderly, and deserving of respect on that account at least, but. . .but . . . She really is so confounded dull, Peabody! She thinks herself capable of ruling an empire, but denigrates all other women. Even you, my dear. I told her we always worked together, but she ..."

"Never mind, Emerson. Your righteous indignation on my behalf, and that of all women, means far more to me than any token from that source. And, my dear, you were able to assure her that the young man was—was—"

"Hmph," said Emerson. "It is difficult to find an appropriate word, is it not? Hardly innocent. . . but he was innocent of murder, Peabody. And at the end he proved himself worthy of his lineage and his name. I saw nothing wrong in glossing over a few of the more unsavory details."

"And you were quite right, Emerson."

"I am glad you agree, Peabody, because if you didn't you would tell me so in no uncertain terms. Now then—what about that whiskey and soda?"