The Deeds of the Disturber - Elizabeth Peters [140]
‘Is that so? Well, my dear Peabody, I have often said our minds are as one.’
‘We seem to agree on the major points,’ I mused, studying his list. ‘I see you mention the scraps of glass and paper found by the body of the night watchman. I confess I thought you would miss that, Emerson.’
‘Oh, you did, did you? What do you make of it, Peabody?’
‘I haven’t had an opportunity to speak to Mr Budge,’ I replied. ‘My answer depends on how recently the room was swept.’
‘Oh.’ Emerson’s brows lowered. ‘Oh, yes. I didn’t think of that.’
‘There was nothing that might not have accumulated in the normal course of events, as a result of the untidy habits of the museum-visiting public.’
‘Humph,’ said Emerson, scowling.
‘However,’ I went on, ‘there is confirmatory evidence of my tentative theory from another source.’
‘The unwrapped mummy,’ said Emerson.
‘And the speech the priest delivered – the invocation to Isis.’
‘“Whose speech fails not,”’ said Emerson, unable to repress a smile.
‘Quite. I see we agree so far, Emerson. Do we also agree that the man we saw last night is not only the murderer of Ayesha but of Mr Oldacre?’
‘Certainly, Peabody. Is he also the false priest?’
‘Yes and no, Emerson.’
‘Curse it, Peabody –’
‘That is not the important question, Emerson. The killer is the man who sent the ushebtis and abducted Ramses. But who the devil – that is, who is he really? Which of our suspects is the mastermind behind all this?’
‘That seems obvious,’ said Emerson.
‘It does.’
‘Would you care –’
‘Not just yet. We are still lacking one or two vital bits of evidence. Wasn’t it you who said it is a capital error to theorize before one has all the facts?’
‘No, it wasn’t. What evidence do we lack?’
‘Well – here is a question you omitted.’ Taking a pencil, I scribbled a few sentences and handed the paper to him.
Question: ‘Who is the man in the turban who called on Professor Emerson, and where did they go yesterday?’ What to do about it: ‘Ask Professor Emerson.’
Emerson crumpled the paper in his hand. ‘Confound it, Peabody –’
I held up a hand. ‘Wait, Emerson. I vowed this evening never to admit a doubt of your devotion to enter my mind. I do not doubt it. But my dear Emerson, I made no promise about anything else. If you are concealing evidence from me –’
‘Have a little more whiskey, Peabody.’
‘No, thank you, I don’t believe I will.’
‘Then I will,’ Emerson muttered, suiting the action to the words. ‘Listen to me, Peabody. I am not concealing evidence. The individual to whom you referred knows nothing, and told me nothing, that would be of the slightest assistance in solving the case.’
‘Then why won’t you tell me who he is and what he wanted?’
‘Because he . . . because I . . . I gave my word, Peabody. I swore I would not tell a living soul of what transpired yesterday afternoon. Would you have me break my solemn oath?’
‘Did the words “forever” and “never” appear in that oath you took, Emerson?’
Emerson burst out laughing. ‘Yes, my dear Peabody. I seem to recall someone also using the phrase “eternal silence.” People can be so cursed theatrical at times . . .’ Then he sobered. ‘My dear, it appears we are facing a test of that utter confidence you just expressed. The test was not of my making, but there it is. Will you live up to your word and not try to make me break mine? For you know you could make me break it, Peabody. I can’t resist you when you try.’
‘My dear Emerson, how can you possibly suppose I would do such a thing?’
Emerson took me in his arms.
For a moment we stood motionless. Emerson’s chin rested on the top of my head. I could not see his face, and I would have given a great deal to be able to read his expression. He was planning something underhanded, I had not the least doubt of it.
In the silence I heard the faint chime of the clock in the hall. Emerson moved slightly. ‘It is almost time for tea,’ I said.
‘Hmmm, yes. The day has flown by. I suppose we have to have those wretched