Lion in the Valley - Elizabeth Peters [133]
“Now,” Sethos went on, seating himself on a cushion, “shall I tell you how I captured you?”
“It is obvious,” I said with a shrug. “You slipped something into my glass of wine when you caught it to prevent it from spilling. My collapse alarmed my companion; assisted by you, she had me carried to her room. Her balcony gives onto a courtyard, from which it would not be difficult to transport a trunk or a bag of laundry to a waiting carriage. Is Miss Debenham also a prisoner, or have you added another murder to your long list?”
Sethos was offended. “I do not murder women,” he said haughtily.
“You only have them abducted, accused of murder—”
“The young woman was never in danger of being executed or even imprisoned,” Sethos said. “Nor has she been harmed. A touch of chloroform, from which she has long since recovered . . .”
“Then she must know you are the viscount—or you were—or perhaps I should say that the viscount was you. . . .”
“It does not matter. That persona is of no use to me now; it has been discarded. You never suspected me?”
“Emerson did,” I cried. “You cannot deceive Emerson; he is on your trail, and you will not escape his vengeance!”
“Emerson,” Sethos repeated, with a sardonic smile. “Never mind him; what about you?”
“I thought you were Mrs. Axhammer,” I admitted. “And Ramses—you remember Ramses—”
“Only too well.”
“Ramses—after all, he is only a little boy—suspected the detective, Mr. Gregson.”
“I was Gregson.”
“What!”
“I was also Mrs. Axhammer. I was all three!”
As the meaning of his words struck home, my spirits plummeted into the depths. I was as close to despair as I have ever been, even when I thought myself buried alive in the Black Pyramid. For I had counted on Gregson to assist Emerson in tracking Sethos to his lair. . . .
Galvanized, I bounded to my feet. “Emerson,” I shrieked. “He was to meet you—Gregson—what have you done with my husband?”
“Damn Emerson,” was the irritated reply. “Why must you keep mentioning him? I haven’t done anything to him. The appointment was a ruse, to get him out of the way. I never went near the Café Orientale, and I hope he is still sitting there swilling coffee and reeling from the conversation of that abominably loquacious offspring of yours.”
“I don’t know why I should believe you.”
“I don’t know why you should not.” Sethos rose to his feet. Slowly and thoughtfully, he said, “Radcliffe Emerson is one of the few men in the world who could be a serious threat to me. An ordinary, unimaginative villain would have him exterminated; but that is not my way. Besides, I rather enjoy a challenge, and appreciate a worthy adversary. The only advantages I have over Emerson are, first, his preoccupation with his archaeological research, from which he is not easily distracted, and, second, his atrocious temper, which leads him to act without thinking.”
“Yet,” I said wonderingly, “you have destroyed the first of those advantages by abducting me; for if I am not restored to Emerson unharmed, every ounce of his considerable energy and intelligence will be bent on finding you. As for his temper, it is a terrifying thing to encounter when it is aroused. You, sir, have aroused it.”
“Quite true. Don’t suppose I was unaware of the risks. Since I proceeded with my plan, you must believe I considered the result worth those risks.”
As he spoke, he advanced slowly toward me. I stepped back, circling the couch, until I could retreat no farther. Sethos came on, lightly as a panther stalking its prey.
I set my back against the wall, prepared to defend myself to the last. “Do your worst, you monster,” I cried. “You have taken away my parasol and stripped off my tools; but never think you can break the spirit of a Peabody! Torture me, murder me—”
“Torture? Murder?” He gasped for breath, his hands tearing at the open throat of his shirt. “Madam! Amelia! You misunderstand me totally. Why, I killed a man yesterday and left him lying before your tent only because he dared hazard your safety by shooting at the man who was with you!”
Before