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The Deeds of the Disturber - Elizabeth Peters [152]

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from the others only in the fact that it had a stout door, which was now closed and bolted.

‘One or two,’ I replied.

‘I hope they are better than the last one,’ Emerson said grumpily. ‘You said the bars on those windows were rusted through –’

‘On the other windows they are. Someone has renewed these recently. I wonder how many unhappy prisoners have languished in this foul cell?’

Neither of them replied. I went on thoughtfully, ‘It is Miss Minton I am chiefly concerned about. We must hasten to make our escape and hope we are in time to save her.’

‘I wouldn’t object to saving myself – and you, ma’am,’ said the Inspector. ‘And may I say how much I admire your composure?’

‘Thank you. I have no great fear for our safety. If he had meant to kill us, he would have done it on the spot, instead of imprisoning us.’

‘Now that is just the sort of unfounded conclusion you are always jumping to, Peabody,’ Emerson exclaimed. ‘We make a fairly formidable trio; even though the odds were against us, we might have inflicted some damage on our friend the priest if he had tried to murder us then and there. Now he can exterminate us at his leisure, without risking his precious hide.’

‘But his options are limited, Emerson, you must confess. It is only in sensational novels that the villain floods the cellar room with water or poison gas. And he must know that the first person who comes in that door will be subject to violent attack.’

Emerson began, ‘Starvation –’

‘Takes a long time. Someone will certainly find us before that eventuates, even if we are unable to free ourselves, which I consider probable.’

Another dismal silence fell. I was about to make a little joke about pessimism, and the necessity of keeping up one’s spirits, when I became aware of an odd sensation. Something cold and slimy slid across my foot. There are very few dangers I cannot accept with equanimity; but I really do not like reptiles.

‘Oh, Emerson, I am afraid there is a snake in here,’ I said.

‘It is not a snake, Peabody,’ Emerson said in a strangled voice. ‘It is water. Curse it, Peabody, aren’t we in enough trouble without you offering suggestions to a killer? Let him invent his own murder method.’

‘Now, Emerson, that is nonsense. This is only an unfortunate coincidence. Where do you suppose the water is coming from? Strike another match, will you?’

‘They are almost gone, Peabody, and so are the pages from the inspector’s pocketbook,’ Emerson replied calmly. ‘We used several when we first investigated the room and the window, if you remember. But I expect that pipe, which you insisted was a drainage pipe –’

‘Yes, to be sure. Save the matches, then, Emerson.’

The storm had passed and the moon was out; a faint ray illumined a narrow patch of floor, and as I watched I saw the ripple of water spread and deepen. It looked very pretty and silvery and harmless.

‘I wonder how long it will take to fill the room,’ I mused.

‘I don’t care how long it will take to fill the room,’ Emerson replied furiously. ‘Here, Cuff, let me have another go at those bars. If you can raise me on your shoulders –’

‘Keep calm, Emerson, I beg you,’ I said. ‘This is really rather an inefficient way of killing people, you know. The door, though quite tight, is not sealed shut, and when the water rises to window level it will run out –’

‘Not as fast as it is running in,’ Emerson replied; and indeed he was probably correct, for already the icy water was over my ankles. ‘And since it comes from the river, there is quite a lot of it at his disposal.’

‘Yes, I expect so. In that case . . . Inspector, will you please turn your back?’

‘I don’t know what you intend to do, ma’am,’ said Cuff mildly, ‘but I assure you I cannot see a blooming thing. You could – er – disrobe in perfect propriety.’

‘That is what I am going to do,’ I replied. ‘So, your protestations notwithstanding, I would prefer that you turn your back. As a gesture, you understand.’

Emerson splashed to my side. ‘Peabody, what the devil – you don’t have another belt of tools under those trousers, by any chance?’

‘No, Emerson,

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