The Curse of the Pharaohs - Elizabeth Peters [114]
“Well, if you really think so,” Mary said doubtfully. Her morose expression lightened a little. One may be determined to embrace martyrdom gracefully, but a day of reprieve is not to be sneezed at. I am sure even the early Christian saints raised no objection if Caesar postponed feeding them to the lions until the next circus.
Tiring of Emerson’s nagging, I finished my breakfast and we prepared to leave. “Where is Mr. Vandergelt?” I asked. “He wanted to be with us, I thought.”
“He has taken Lady Baskerville over to Luxor,” Emerson replied. “There were matters to arrange for their approaching nuptials; and I persuaded the lady to stay there and do a little shopping. That always cheers ladies, does it not?”
“Why, Professor,” Mary said with a laugh. “I had no idea you were so well acquainted with the weaknesses of our sex.”
I looked suspiciously at Emerson. He had turned his back and was attempting to whistle. “Well, well,” he said, “Let us be off, shall we? Vandergelt will join us later; it will be some time before we can actually breach the wall.”
II
It was, in fact, midmorning before our preparations were complete. The air in the depths of the tomb was still bad, and the heat was so unbelievable that I refused to let Mary work for more than ten minutes at a time. Impatient as Emerson was, he had to agree that this was reasonable. In the meantime he occupied himself with supervising the construction of a stout wooden cover for the well. Karl had taken over the operation of the camera. And I?
You know little of my character, dear reader, if you are unable to imagine the nature of the thoughts that occupied my mind. I sat under the shade of my awning, supposedly making scale drawings of pottery fragments, but the sound of Emerson’s cheerful shouts and curses as he supervised the carpenter work roused the gravest suspicions. He seemed very sure of himself. Was it possible, after all, that he was right in his identification of Lord Baskerville’s murderer, and that I was wrong? I could not believe it. However, I decided it might be advisable to go over my reasoning once more, in the light of the most recent developments. I could always think of a way of changing the name in my envelope if I had to.
Turning over a page of my sketching pad, I abandoned pots for plans. I would make a neat little chart, setting forth the various motives and means and so on.
So I began.
THE DEATH OF LORD BASKERVILLE
Suspect: Lady Baskerville.
Motive in the murder of:
Lord Baskerville. Inheritance. (How much Lady Baskerville would inherit I, of course, did not know yet; but I felt sure it was enough to account for her willingness to do away with her husband. By all accounts he had been a singularly boring man.) Armadale. He witnessed the crime. The room he had occupied was next to Lady Baskerville’s. (To be sure, this did not explain why Armadale had disappeared. Had he lost his mind from horror after seeing Lady B. massacre her husband? And how the devil—as Emerson might have said—did she massacre him? If some obscure and unidentifiable poison had been used, all Armadale could have seen was Lord Baskerville sipping a cup of tea or a glass of sherry.
Hassan. Hassan had seen Armadale and observed something—perhaps the particular window to which the “ghost” had gone—that betrayed the identity of the murderer. Attempted blackmail; destruction of blackmailer.
I read over this last paragraph with satisfaction. It made sense. Indeed, the motive for Hassan’s murder would apply to all the suspects.
The next section of my little chart was not so neat. Lady Baskerville’s motives for bashing Arthur on the head were obscure, unless there was some clause in his lordship’s will that allowed certain properties to revert to his wife in the event of the death of his heir. That seemed not only unlikely, but positively illegal.
I went doggedly on to the question of opportunity.
Lord Baskerville. His wife’s opportunity of getting at him was excellent. But how the devil had she done it?
Armadale. No opportunity. How