Lion in the Valley - Elizabeth Peters [94]
“They are not beyond my comprehension,” said Emerson, with a vicious snap of his teeth. “Ordinary assault, abduction, and attempted murder I can put up with; but this villain has gone too far.”
“I quite agree, Emerson. To play such a trick on poor Father Todorus—”
“Grrr,” said Emerson. “Peabody, you astonish me.”
“I don’t know what you mean, Emerson. Do you think there is any hope of waylaying the deliverers of the cognac?”
“No, I do not. Sethos may tire of his joke and stop delivery, and if he continues, we have no idea when the next visit will take place. It would be a waste of time to keep the priest’s house under observation, if that is what you were about to propose.”
“I was not. I had reached the same conclusion.”
“I am happy to hear it, Peabody.”
We reached the house at teatime, and I at once set about preparing that repast, assisted by Enid. Ramses and Donald had not returned; I caught myself listening for sounds of riot and furious pursuit, such as often accompanied Ramses’ departure from home. Aside from the normal noises of awakening village life, however, the only untoward sounds were those of distant gunshots. Even these were not unusual, for shooting was a favorite amusement of the more ignorant tourists, and the swampy areas between the canal and the river harbored great flocks of unfortunate birds whom these “sportsmen” liked to massacre.
The shadows lengthened, and still the wanderers had not returned. Emerson was pacing up and down the courtyard glancing alternately at his watch and at the closed gates, when at last a shout announced the long-awaited event. Abdullah opened the gates and they rode into the compound, Donald close behind Ramses.
Ramses immediately slid off his donkey and started for the back of the house, trying, I suppose, to appear as if he were anxious to wash. Donald’s hand shot out and caught him by the collar. Holding him by that uncomfortable but convenient handle, he marched the boy toward us.
“Professor and Mrs. Emerson, I deliver to you your son. He has achieved a degree of dirtiness I once thought impossible, even after my own youthful experiments along that line, but he is intact, as I received him. I assure you that to keep him in that condition was no small feat.”
It was evident that they had been near the river, for the substance that covered Ramses was dried mud. Parts of it had flaked off, giving him a peculiarly antique appearance, like a rotted mummy.
“I will wash immediately, Mama,” he wheezed. “If you will be so good as to direct this—this person to unhand me.”
But by that time I had observed the little detail Ramses was so intent on concealing from me. It was little indeed—a hole a half inch in diameter drilled neatly into the side of his pith helmet. Moving a step to the side, I observed a second hole, slightly larger, opposite the first.
Emerson observed these unusual features at the same time, and, with a shout of consternation, he snatched the hat off Ramses’ head. He threw it to the ground and began running his fingers through the boy’s hair, completing the total dishevelment of that area.
“It is the mark of a bullet, Peabody,” he cried. “A bullet has gone completely through Ramses’ hat! Ramses, dear boy, where are you wounded?”
“Oh, do stop it, Emerson,” I said. “If Ramses had been wearing the hat when the shot was fired, the bullet would have gone straight through his cranium and you would have no difficulty in noticing the result.”
“He was not wearing the hat,” Donald said. “He was holding it in his hand. That may relieve your apprehension, Professor, but in my opinion it still calls for punishment. If this young man were my son, I would turn him over my knee and give him a good hiding.”
Ramses slowly turned his head and gave Donald a look that would have made a wiser man retract his threat. The boy’s raven curls stood up in a bush like that of a Masai warrior, and his expression was no more affable.
Emerson ignored Donald’s remark—it was not the first time he had heard suggestions of that nature