Lion in the Valley - Elizabeth Peters [129]
“But, Emerson—”
“It is a trap,” squeaked Ramses. “There is some diabolical mystery in this; I beg you, Mama—”
“Please, Amelia, don’t leave me.” Enid added her entreaties to those of the others. “I had counted on your support later this afternoon, when I go to police headquarters to give my statement.”
“I tell you, Mama, it is a trap,” Ramses insisted.
“If it is, I am forewarned and shall be forearmed,” Emerson declared. “Amelia, you must guard Miss Debenham. She will be especially vulnerable when she leaves the hotel. This could be a ruse, to lure us away and leave her unprotected.”
“I had not thought of that,” I admitted. “Very well, Emerson; your argument has convinced me.”
“I thought it might,” Emerson said, rising.
“Don’t go alone, Emerson,” I begged.
“Of course not. Ramses will go with me.”
That was not what I had had in mind, but before I could say so, Ramses and his father had left us.
“I would feel very bad if I thought my selfish needs had caused you to neglect a more important duty,” Enid said anxiously. “Do you believe they are going into danger?”
“No. Were that the case, I am afraid I would choose to neglect you instead. For you know, Enid, that my dear Emerson and I are joined by bonds of affection of the strongest kind. I would be the first to rush to his side if peril threatened him.”
“Or Ramses.”
“Oh yes, or Ramses, of course. The fact that I can sit here and quietly sip my soup”—which I proceeded to do, the waiter having brought the first course as we conversed—“testifies to my perfect confidence in Mr. Gregson. Just think, Enid, when Emerson returns he may have in his possession the evidence that will clear Donald.”
Enid’s eager questions prompted me to explain more fully about Mr. Gregson’s involvement in the case. She had not heard the full story, and as she listened she began to look grave.
“Of course I am only an ignorant girl, with little experience in such things,” she said hesitantly. “But I have never heard of this Mr. Gregson. He said he was a famous detective?”
“Famous in his own circles, I presume he meant,” I replied. “People in that line of work have reason to remain inconspicuous.”
“No doubt that is true,” Enid said.
The dining salon was filling rapidly. We had been among the first ones there, since Enid’s appointment with the police was for one o’clock. I watched the entering guests, wondering if “Mrs. Axhammer” would dare to make an appearance. She did not, but before long I saw another familiar form—that of Viscount Everly. He was alone, and for the first time since I had met him he was wearing proper morning dress instead of a bizarre costume. His eyes met mine, and after a moment of hesitation, he squared his shoulders and approached.
“Er—” he began.
“Don’t dither, young man,” I said. “If you have any sensible remark to make, make it.”
“Well, ma’am, it’s deuced difficult to do that with you looking at a chap as if he’d stolen your handbag,” said the viscount plaintively. “It puts a chap off, you know.”
“I am attempting, your lordship, to ascertain the color of your eyes.”
The young man shied back, but not before I had discovered what I wanted to know. His eyes were an indeterminate shade of muddy brownish-gray, with flecks of green. . . . It would have been hard to say what color they were, but at least I was certain they were not black.
Enid stared at me in bewilderment, but I did not explain. I must confess I sometimes enjoy little mystifications of that nature. “Sit down, your lordship,” I said. “I presume you wish to offer your condolences to Miss Debenham on the death of her kinsman?”
“He said he was her affianced husband,” said Everly, taking a chair.
“He was mistaken,” Enid said shortly.
“Well, er—in any case—deuced sorry, you know. He was a fine chap—splendid shot—held his whiskey. . . . No, forget that.”
“Had you known him long?” I asked.
“Never met the fellow before I came to Cairo.” Seemed a good sort. Ran into him at the Turf Club.”
“And how did you know he was dead?”
I meant to catch him