Lion in the Valley - Elizabeth Peters [56]
“Are you acquainted with the young lady?”
Nemo averted his eyes. “I saw her in Cairo—another vain, empty-headed society girl. Everyone knew who she was. Everyone saw her with that vile—that contemptible—”
“Language, Mr. Nemo. Language.”
“I was not going to finish the sentence. I don’t care . . . I don’t care about anything. I only want to be left alone. You took my opium, didn’t you? I don’t blame you; you had every right. But the moment I get my hands on any money, I will buy more. I cannot trust myself. You cannot trust me. Let me go back to the gutter from which you took me.”
I was not moved by his appeal, though I knew it came from the heart. The young do take themselves so seriously, poor things, and they tend to express themselves in theatrical parlance.
I sat down on the cot beside him. “Mr. Nemo, you are in deeper trouble than you know. If you return to your gutter, you will be removed from it forthwith, by the police. Are you honestly ignorant of the fact that the vile—that Kalenischeff was murdered the night before last, and that you are one of the prime suspects?”
Nemo’s reaction ended my suspicions of him once and for all. His look of abject astonishment might have been feigned, but the dark blood that flooded his haggard cheeks was a symptom beyond the skill of the most accomplished thespian.
“I know you didn’t kill him,” I said. “I am going to take you into my confidence, Mr. Nemo. I am going to share with you a secret unbeknownst even to my husband and—and, I hope, my son, although with Ramses one can never be certain.”
With a mighty effort Mr. Nemo got control of himself. “I am deeply honored, madam. To tell me something even the professor does not know—”
“I really have no choice, Mr. Nemo, since you already know it—the young lady’s true identity. The murdered man was found in her room. Fortunately for her, she fled before the police could apprehend her, but she is also a suspect. I have reason to believe she may be in even greater danger from another source. Until I can find the real murderer, she must remain incognito and in concealment. Admittedly her relationship with Kalenischeff was indiscreet, but I am convinced it was no worse than that. She needs your help; she does not deserve your scorn. Well?”
“I am in a daze of disbelief,” Nemo exclaimed. “I knew nothing of this! I was at the hotel that night. I followed—that is to say—I followed my own inclinations. . . . But I had every intention of keeping my appointment for the morning. However, after—after a while I changed my mind again. That is not atypical of drug users, you know. There seemed to be no sense in waiting there for hours, and I had some notion of showing my independence by making my own way to Dahshoor. . . . But if I told that story to the police—”
“It would sound very suspicious,” I assured him.
“I suppose so.” Nemo brushed a lock of shining copper hair from his brow. “Yet it seemed reasonable at the time. I swear to you, Mrs. Emerson, I did not kill the rascal! And how anyone could suppose that she—a girl like that—why, she is incapable of stepping on a beetle, much less murdering a man in cold blood!”
“Your incoherent exclamations testify to your good heart but are not of much assistance otherwise,” I said, rising. “Our task is to capture the real murderer of Kalenischeff, thus freeing both you and Miss Debenham from suspicion. He is the genius of crime of whom we spoke earlier—the man known as Sethos. Are you with me?”
“Every step of the way!” His fists clenched, his eyes glowed. “Wherever it may take us. Into danger, into death—”
“I don’t intend to let it take us that far. First I want you to set up that tent for Miss Marshall, as she has chosen to be called.”
Mr. Nemo wilted. “I dare not leave my room,” he muttered. “I don’t want her to see me. Not like this . . .”
“Then I suggest you creep up the stairs to the roof and lower yourself to the ground. It should be easy for a healthy young