The Curse of the Pharaohs - Elizabeth Peters [95]
“Hers, yes,” said O’Connell, still invisible. “What about yours, Professor?”
“Don’t be a coward, man! The danger is over; I fired a few warning shots to keep the rascals off. Though,” Emerson added, smiling at me, “I might not have gotten off so easily had not Mrs. Emerson arrived, masquerading as an entire squad of policemen. She made enough noise for a dozen men.”
“That was what I planned,” I said.
“Ha,” said Emerson. “Well, well; sit down, both of you, and tell me what you found.”
So we took seats on the blanket he had spread out before the entrance to the tomb and I narrated the events of the evening.
A lesser man than Emerson might have exclaimed in horror at the dreadful experiences I had undergone—but then a lesser man would never have allowed me to face them. When I had finished my story he simply nodded.
“Well done, Peabody. I have no doubt that it was Ali Hassan’s band of burglars who attacked just now; if you had not caught on to his trick and forced him to move more quickly, you might not have arrived here in time to rescue me.” I thought I detected a trace of amusement in the last words and looked at him suspiciously; but his face was quite serious, and so was his voice when he continued. “Never mind that; we have scared them off, for this evening at least. What interests me more is the news about Armadale. There was no indication of how he died?”
“None,” I said.
“But there was the scarlet cobra on his brow,” O’Connell said.
I gave the young man a hard stare. I had been careful to brush Armadale’s hair back over his forehead before I allowed the others to enter the cave, and I had hoped this omen had escaped the reporter.
“Then,” said Emerson, “we must face the probability that he was murdered, even though no signs of violence were visible. Furthermore, I cannot believe that the body would have reached the state you describe in less than three or four days. Who, then, was responsible for the attack on young Arthur?”
“Madame Berengeria,” I said.
“What?” It was Emerson’s turn to give me a hard stare. “Amelia, the question was rhetorical. You cannot possibly—”
“I assure you, I have been thinking of nothing else since I found Armadale. Who had an interest in his death? Who but the madwoman who clings like a leech to her daughter’s youthful strength, and who would be loath to relinquish her to a husband? Mr. Armadale had proposed marriage to Mary—”
“The spalpeen!” Mr. O’Connell exclaimed. “Did he have the infernal gall to do that?”
“He was not the only one to find Miss Mary an object worthy of devotion,” I retorted. “Is not jealousy one motive for murder, Mr. O’Connell? Would you commit the sin of Cain to win the woman you love?”
Mr. O’Connell’s eyes popped. The moonlight drained all color from the scene; his face had the pallor of death—or guilt.
“Amelia,” said my husband, grinding his teeth. “I beg you to control yourself.”
“I have barely begun,” I cried indignantly. “Karl von Bork is also a suspect. He also loves Mary. Don’t forget that the other person who was murderously attacked is also an admirer of the young lady. But I consider Madame Berengeria the most likely person. She is mentally deranged, and only a mad person would commit murder for such a trivial reason.”
Emerson clutched his hair with both hands and appeared to be trying to pull it out by the roots. “Amelia, you are arguing in circles!”
“Wait, now, Professor,” O’Connell said thoughtfully. “I think Mrs. E. may be on to something. The only reason I’ve been allowed to be friends with Mary was because I pretended to admire her mother. The old—er—witch has frightened off a good many men, I can tell you.”
“But murder!” Emerson exclaimed. “Curse it, Amelia, there are too many holes in your theory. The old—er— witch hasn’t the figure or the stamina to go running around the Theban hills striking down strong young men.”
“She may have hired assassins,” I said. “I admit I have not worked out the idea in detail, but I hope to do so soon. There is no sense in discussing it further tonight; we all need