Crocodile on the Sandbank - Elizabeth Peters [109]
I ran after Emerson, who was ascending the path in great leaps. If I was not wringing my hands, it was because I needed them to keep my balance. Emerson was correct; it was necessary for one of us to tend Michael’s wounds, but I really did not see how I could bear to remain there, in ignorance and forced inactivity.
Emerson laid his burden gently upon his couch. To do him justice, he had not wasted a moment, nor did he waste time now in unnecessary directions to me. Instantly he turned back to the entrance. I reached for the lamp, meaning to light it. As I did so, there came a crack and a whine from without. Emerson’s tall form, silhouetted in the doorway, staggered and fell.
12
IT is vain to attempt to describe my sensations at that moment. I had recognized the sound as that of a bullet. I dropped the lamp; I forgot my injured servant; for an instant I even forgot Evelyn and her deadly peril. I started toward the spot where I had seen Emerson fall.
My heart had not missed more than a few beats, however, when a hand caught my ankle and brought me crashing to the ground. I fell on top of Emerson, and heard him grunt with pain. My hands, fumbling at his face, encountered a wet, sticky flow.
“You are wounded,” I exclaimed. “My God, Emerson—”
Emerson sneezed.
“I beg that you will leave off tickling me,” he said irritably. “The region around the chin and jaw is particularly sensitive. For God’s sake, Peabody, stop sniveling; it is only a cut from a bit of flying rock.”
“Oh,” I said. “But the shot was aimed at you! In heaven’s name, what are you doing now? Don’t go out there—”
He was crawling toward the entrance.
“The shot was meant as a warning,” he said over his shoulder. “We are safe enough—for the moment—unless we try to leave the tomb. Hand me that shirt of Walter’s, if you please—it is lying across his bed—and my walking stick. Thank you. Now let us see—”
A second shot rewarded his demonstration when he draped the shirt over the stick and extended it out the doorway. Emerson withdrew it.
“He is there, among the rocks,” he said calmly.
“He? Who?”
“You sound like one of the villagers’ donkeys,” said Emerson. “Who else could it be? You must have deduced his identity by now. I have known it for some time; but his motive still eludes me. What the devil ails the fellow, to seek to win a wife by such means? I would not have thought him capable of the insane passion that prompts such acts.”
Once—even a few hours earlier—his calm, drawling voice would have driven me wild. Now I was seized by the same icy calm. We had already delayed too long; even if we could escape from this ambush uninjured, Evelyn and her abductor would be out of sight. It was up to Walter now. At least he had only one enemy to face. The other was below, with rifle in his hands.
“There is motive,” I said. “I am only now beginning to see…. No, no, it is impossible. From the first I too suspected Lucas. But he was not here. He did not arrive until long after we did, long after the Mummy made its first appearance. He did not know we would stop here—”
“I think it is high time we compared notes,” said Emerson, recumbent before the entrance. “You might give Michael a little water, Peabody; I fear that is all we can do for the poor fellow now, since we dare not strike a light, and your medical supplies are in your sleeping chamber. Then come here and join me.”
I did what I could for Michael. It was little enough. He was still breathing, but that was about all I could say. I then crawled to the entrance and lay down flat, next to Emerson, who was peering out across the moonlit plain, his chin propped on his folded arms.
“You and I have been at cross purposes since we met, Peabody,” he said. “It is a pity; for we might have prevented this unfortunate business if we had taken the trouble to be civil to one another. You see, I have known for some days that his lordship has been lying. Reis Hassan talked to the reis of the Cleopatra, and passed some