The Deeds of the Disturber - Elizabeth Peters [108]
The weather was (for London) fine, and a number of people were in the park enjoying the flowers and (for London) sunshine. I did not expect, however, that I would pass unobserved. Anyone who sits on the same spot for over two hours, without drinking, eating, reading, or moving, is bound to attract attention; two constables and a kindly old lady stopped to inquire whether I required assistance, and a male person stopped for inquiries of another sort. If Ayesha took note of possible spies (which she of all persons had good reason to do), she must have seen me. Four times I made up my mind to cross the road and knock at her door. Four times I changed my mind.
She had no callers. I do not include various tradesmen, who of course went round to the back. One of these was a tall, muscular individual carrying a basket of fish and wearing a very voluminous black beard. I rose and hailed a hansom cab.
At precisely half past four I sat in another such cab outside a modest building on Half-Moon Street. At precisely thirty-four minutes past four Mr Wilson came out of the house, glanced at the cab, saw it was taken, and walked to the corner, where he was successful in finding another conveyance. He was going to be early. That was unfortunate. I hoped Emerson would be there in time to receive him.
Telling the cab driver to wait, I applied the knocker to the door of Number 17. The door was answered by a comfortable motherly woman who hastily whisked off her apron when she saw me, and apologized.
‘I thought you were the baker, madam. That dratted girl is never here to answer the door when I want her . . .’
Her efforts to assure me of her gentility were wasted. ‘I have come to see Mr Wilson,’ I said, starting for the stairs. ‘His rooms are –?’
‘First floor front, madam. But, madam, he has just gone out.’
‘Really? How vexatious.’ I consulted my watch. ‘He will be returning soon, I expect. I had an appointment with him at half past four. I will wait.’
She moved quickly to bar my path. ‘Excuse me, madam. Mr Wilson is very particular about my letting people in unless he tells me in advance they are expected.’
‘Oh, what nonsense,’ I said impatiently. ‘Here – my card.’
I had hoped not to have to give it, but there was no other way. The landlady took the card. ‘Mrs Emerson?’ Then her worried frown was replaced by a broad, delighted smile. ‘Mrs Emerson! The lady who’s been in all the newspapers?’
‘Er – yes,’ I replied.
‘But you’re the one that digs up all the mummies and things in India –’
‘Egypt.’
‘Yes, madam, Egypt. Oh, madam, it is a pleasure to meet you. How is your poor little boy?’
‘My poor little . . .? Thank you, he is quite well.’
She detained me for longer than I would have liked, but I finally made my escape; and as I mounted the stairs I could not help smiling wryly as I realized it was not my respectable appearance that had gained me entry, but the notoriety I had deplored.
Mr Wilson had a nice little set of rooms, probably the best in the house, to judge from their location. The sitting room overlooked the street; behind it was a neat little bedroom. Though pleasant and nicely furnished, they were not luxurious. A few antiquities were scattered about; except for a lovely little alabaster head of an anonymous queen – whose features bore a certain resemblance to those of Miss Minton – none were exceptional, and I could not tell if any were missing. The landlady apparently dusted regularly.
A further investigation, which I was loath to make, but which I felt to be necessary, indicated that Mr Wilson’s habits were as proper as his appearance. A tantalus on the sideboard held decanters of brandy and whiskey, and there were cigars in a box nearby, but I found no trace of drugs. Only one thing defeated me – a locked drawer in his desk, for which I could not find the key and which I was afraid to tamper with. One may easily invent an excuse for calling on a young man, but it is a little difficult to explain why one ventured to break into a locked drawer.
The whole business