The Curse of the Pharaohs - Elizabeth Peters [127]
“And,” I added, “the idea of disguising herself as a lady in white was one of her brighter notions. The veils were so voluminous that there was no way of identifying the figure; it might even have been that of a man. Also, its ghostly appearance made some of those who saw it reluctant to approach it. Lady Baskerville made good use of the white lady by pretending to see it herself the night Emerson was so nearly hit by the stone head. It was, of course, Habib who threw the stone. Other indications, such as Lady Baskerville’s preference for an inefficient and timid Egyptian servant, were highly suspicious. I have no doubt that Atiyah observed a number of things that a sharper attendant would have understood, and perhaps reported to me.”
I would have gone on had not O’Connell interrupted me.
“Just a minute, ma’am. All this is very interesting but, if you will pardon me, it is the sort of thing anyone might see, after the fact. I need more details, not only for my editor, but to satisfy my own curiosity.”
“You already know the details of one incident in the case, though you may not care to describe them to your readers,” I said meaningfully.
Mr. O’Connell blushed fiery red, so that his face almost matched his hair. He had confessed to me in private that he had been responsible for the knife in the wardrobe. He had bribed a hotel servant to place an elaborate, ornamented knife—of the sort that is made for the tourist trade—in a prominent place in our room. His inefficient and underpaid ally had replaced the expensive trinket with a cheaper weapon and put it in the wrong place.
Seeing the journalist’s blushes, I said no more. In the last few days he had earned my goodwill, and besides, he was due for a comeuppance if my suspicions about Mary and Arthur were correct.
“Yes, well, let us proceed,” said O’Connell, gazing intently at his notebook. “How did you—and Professor Emerson, of course—arrive at the truth?”
I had decided I had better hear what Emerson had to say before I committed myself. I therefore remained silent and allowed him to begin.
“It was evident from the first that Lady Baskerville had the best opportunity to dispose of her husband. It is a truism in police science—”
“I can only allow you ten minutes, Emerson,” I interjected. “We must not tire Arthur.”
“Humph,” said Emerson. “You tell it, then, since you consider my narrative style too verbose.”
“I’ll just ask questions, if you permit,” said Mr. O’Connell, looking amused. “That will save time. I am trained, you know, to a terse journalistic style.”
“Terse” was not the word I would have used; but I saw no reason to interfere with the procedure he suggested.
“You have mentioned opportunity,” he said. “What about motive? Professor?”
“It is a truism in police science,” said Emerson stubbornly, “that a victim’s heirs are the primary suspects. Though I was unaware of the stipulations of the late Lord Baskerville’s will, I assumed his wife stood to inherit something. But I suspected an even stronger motive. The archaeological world is small. Like all small communities, it is prone to gossip. Lady Baskerville’s reputation for—er—let me think how to put it…”
“Extramarital carrying on,” I said. “I could have told you that.”
“How?” Emerson demanded.
“I knew it the moment I set eyes on her. She was that sort of woman.”
“So,” Mr. O’Connell intervened, as Emerson’s face reddened, “you inquired about the lady’s reputation, Professor?”
“Precisely. I had been out of touch for several years. I spoke with acquaintances in Luxor and sent off a few telegrams to Cairo, to ascertain whether she had continued her old habits. The replies confirmed my suspicions. I concluded