The Curse of the Pharaohs - Elizabeth Peters [102]
I peeled his fingers from my lips. “That was unnecessary.” I said. “I was only surprised at your statement, after you have consistently disclaimed any interest in the matter. In fact, I too have discovered the identity of the person in question.”
“Oh, you have, have you?”
“Yes, I have.”
We studied one another warily.
“Would you care to enlighten me?” Emerson inquired.
“No. I think I know; but if I am wrong you will never let me hear the end of it. Perhaps you will enlighten me.”
“No.”
“Ha! You are not sure either.”
“I said as much.”
Again we exchanged measuring glances.
“You have no proof,” I said.
“That is the difficulty. And you—”
“Not yet. I hope to obtain it.”
“Humph,” said Emerson. “Peabody, please refrain from any reckless actions while I am away. I wish you could bring yourself to confide in me.”
“Truly, Emerson, I would if I had anything useful to suggest. At the present time my suspicions are based on intuition, and I know how scornful you are of that; you have mocked me often enough. I promise that the moment I obtain concrete evidence I will tell you.”
“Very well.”
“You might return the compliment,” I said pointedly.
“I will tell you what I will do. Let us both write down the name of the person we suspect and put it in a sealed envelope. When this is over, the survivor, if there is one, can see who was right.”
I found this attempt at humor not at all amusing, and said so. We proceeded to do as Emerson had suggested, placing the sealed envelopes in a table drawer in our room.
Emerson then departed. I had hoped to have a few moments to myself, in order to jot down a few notes about the case and consider methods of obtaining the evidence I had spoken of. I was not given time for reflection, for one duty succeeded the next. After sending Karl to the Valley to relieve Mr. O’Connell I interviewed Dr. Dubois, who had come to visit Arthur. When I suggested broth to strengthen the patient, his response was positively rude.
I then led the medical man to the building where Armadale’s body had been placed. I was pleased to see that an attempt had been made to lend some dignity to the poor fellow’s resting place. The body had been decently swathed in a clean white sheet and upon the breast of the still form lay a bouquet of flowers. I fancied that Mary must have supplied these, and regretted I had not been there to support the girl as she carried out this sad task.
Dubois was of no help whatever. His examination was cursory in the extreme; his conclusion was that Armadale had died of exposure—a perfectly ridiculous idea, as I pointed out. He was even more vague about the time of death. The atmospheric conditions that produced so many excellent mummies prevailed in the cave where Armadale had been found, so that desiccation rather than decay had affected the body. Dubois declared he had been dead no less than two days and no more than two weeks.
I then turned to the needs of the living, first ordering the chicken broth from Ahmed and then hastening to my room to carry out a task which had been too long delayed. Only the succession of unnerving incidents that had required all my attention had made me neglect this pressing duty. At least by waiting I had more hopeful news to send Arthur Baskerville’s long-suffering mother. As I sat trying to compose a message that would be both peremptory and soothing, it occurred to me that I did not know Mrs. Baskerville’s full name or address. After some thought I decided to send the message to the authorities in Nairobi; surely, with all the publicity attendant on Lord Baskerville’s death, they would be able to locate his brother’s widow.
Scarcely had I finished this task when I was summoned to the drawing room to assist Lady Baskerville in explaining to the police how Armadale’s body had been discovered. After much fuss and bureaucratic delay the requisite documents were completed. Armadale had no living relatives, except for distant cousins in Australia. It was decided that he should be buried