The Curse of the Pharaohs - Elizabeth Peters [35]
We declined this offer, and Mr. Vandergelt took his leave, remarking, “You haven’t seen the last of me, folks. You’re dining with Lady Baskerville tonight? Me, too. I’ll see you then.”
I fully expected a diatribe from Emerson on Mr. Vandergelt’s manners and motives, but he was uncharacteristically silent on the subject. After a further examination of what little could be seen we prepared to go; and then I realized Habib was no longer with us. The other guard burst into a garbled explanation, which Emerson cut short.
“I was about to dismiss him anyway,” he remarked, addressing me but speaking in Arabic for the benefit of anyone who might be listening. “Good riddance.”
The shadows were lengthening when we started the climb up the cliff, and I urged Emerson, who was preceding me, to greater haste. I wanted ample time to prepare for the evening’s encounter. We had almost reached the top when a sound made me glance up. I then seized Emerson by the ankles and pulled him down. The boulder which I had seen teetering on the brink missed him by less than a foot, sending splinters of rock flying in every direction when it struck.
Slowly Emerson rose to his feet. “I do wish, Peabody, that you could be a little less abrupt in your methods,” he remarked, using his sleeve to wipe away the blood that was dripping from his nose. “A calm ‘Watch out, there,’ or a tug at my shirttail would have proved just as effective, and less painful.”
This was a ridiculous statement, of course; but I was given no time to reply to it, for as soon as Emerson had ascertained, with one quick glance, that I was unharmed, he turned and began to climb with considerable speed, vanishing at last over the rim of the cliff. I followed. When I reached the top he was nowhere in sight, so I sat down on a rock to wait for him, and—to be candid—to compose my nerves, which were somewhat shaken.
The tentative theory I had briefly considered in Cairo was now strengthened. Someone was determined to prevent Emerson from continuing the work Lord Baskerville had begun. Whether the latter’s death had formed part of this plan, or whether the unknown miscreant had made use of a tragic accident in order to further his scheme I could not then make out, but I felt sure we had not seen the last of attempts aimed at my husband. How glad I was that I had yielded to what had seemed a selfish impulse and come with him. The apparent conflict between my duty to my husband and my duty to my child had been no conflict. Ramses was safe and happy; Emerson was in deadly danger, and my place was at his side, guarding him from peril.
As I mused I saw Emerson reappear from behind a heap of boulders some distance from the path. His face was smeared with blood, and his eyes bulged with rage, so that he presented quite a formidable sight.
“He got away, did he?” I said.
“Not a trace. I would not have left you,” he added apologetically, “but that I felt sure the rascal had taken to his heels the moment the rock fell.”
“Nonsense. The attempt was aimed at you, not at me— although the perpetrator does not seem to care whom he endangers. The knife—”
“I don’t believe the two incidents can be related, Amelia. The hands that pushed this rock were surely the filthy hands of Habib.”
This suggestion made a certain amount of sense. “But why does he hate you so much?” I asked. “I could see you were on bad terms, but attempted murder….”
“I was responsible for his being apprehended on the criminal charge I spoke of.” Emerson accepted the handkerchief I gave him and attempted to clean his face while