The Ape Who Guards the Balance - Elizabeth Peters [18]
“Premonition be damned,” said Emerson. “It was cold hard reason that informed me you had been guilty of a serious error in judgment.”
“In fact,” said Evelyn, “it was I who convinced you, was it not?”
At one time she would not have ventured to contradict him, but (with my encouragement) she had learned to stand up for herself—not only with Emerson but with her husband, who had been rather inclined to patronize her. Emerson quite enjoyed her independent manner. His scowling face relaxed into a smile.
“Let us say, my dear Evelyn, that your doubts confirmed my own. After dismissing Peabody so cavalierly, Mrs. Pankhurst was not likely to—”
“Oh, curse it,” I exclaimed. “You had no such suspicions or you would have attempted to prevent me from going.”
Emerson said, “Have another whiskey and soda, Peabody.”
He had bundled me into the motorcar, leaving Bob to extricate the carriage—not so difficult after all, since the entwined vehicles had untangled themselves with a quickness that might have struck some as hightly suspicious. The railway van formed a new obstruction, however. Its driver had disappeared, and so had the individual Emerson had struck senseless. This annoyed him a great deal, for, as he remarked, when he knocked people down he expected them to stay down.
When we stopped in front of Chalfont House we were set upon by our agitated friends, including Nefret and Lia, who had returned from the hospital too late to join the rescue expedition. They pulled me out of the vehicle and passed me from one pair of loving arms to the next—including those of Gargery, who was inclined to forget his station when overcome by emotion. The other servants contented themselves with shouting “Hurrah!” and embracing one another. We then retired in triumph to the library.
It was our favorite apartment in that large, pretentious mansion. Rows of books in mellow leather bindings lined the walls, and Evelyn had replaced the ornate Empire furniture with comfortable chairs and sofas. A cozy fire burned on the hearth and the lamps had been lit. Gargery drew the heavy velvet curtains and then sidled off to a corner of the room where, with our tactful cooperation, he pretended to be invisible. I would have invited him to sit down and listen in comfort had I not known he would be shocked at the idea.
I had a few questions of my own. Conversation had been impossible during the return drive; Emerson kept shouting directions and suggestions at Ramses, who ignored them as coolly as he ignored my complaints that he was driving too fast.
Now Ramses said, “I also found it difficult to believe that Mrs. Pankhurst would proffer such an invitation, and at such short notice. However, we might not have acted on such doubtful grounds had not Aunt Evelyn showed me the letter. A single glance informed me that it had been typewritten on the same machine as the one Sethos had used.”
The only thing I dislike more than being lectured on Egyptology by Ramses is being lectured on detection by Ramses. However, a rational individual does not allow childish pique to interfere with the acquisition of knowledge.
“How?” I asked.
“Individual letters may become worn or scratched or cracked,” Ramses explained. “These flaws, however minute, are reproduced on the paper when the key strikes it.”
“Yes, I see.” I promised myself I would have a close look at one of the confounded machines. One must keep up with modern advances. “So you could identify the machine that wrote that letter?”
“If I could find it. That is of course the difficulty.”
“A difficulty indeed, since you have not the slightest idea where to begin looking for it.”
“What difference does it make?” Evelyn demanded. “You have brought her back safe. Thank heaven you were in time!”
“There was ample time,” said Emerson, who is disinclined to give heaven any credit whatever. “We went straight to Mrs. Pankhurst’s rooms in Clement’s Inn and learned, as we had expected,