The Deeds of the Disturber - Elizabeth Peters [156]
‘I suppose you were hanging on to the back of the cab,’ I said to Ramses.
‘Yes, Mama, that is correct. I knew you would go out looking for Papa, so I changed my clothing and followed you. Greatly as I was tempted to stay with you and render whatever assistance I could, I knew that would not be sensible; so I stayed with the cab when it returned to London, and immediately enlisted the aid of Mr Gargery and the others. Mr O’Connell had been here inquiring about Miss Minton, so I took the liberty of sending for him as well.’
Kevin, of course, made one of the party. In fact, the only people not at the table were Miss Minton, who was upstairs sleeping off her inadvertent debauch, and Mrs Watson, who was watching over her, and who would, in any case, have found the proceedings not to her taste.
‘I am sure your concern will touch Miss Minton deeply,’ I assured Kevin.
‘She thought I was someone else,’ Kevin muttered, staring sadly into his glass of beer. ‘All the time I held her and rained kisses on her dear face . . . Och, I know a gentleman should not take advantage, but it was more than flesh and blood could bear, finding her so yielding and soft and sweet . . . She put her arms around my neck and smiled into my eyes, and called me . . . She called me . . .’
Emerson was as red as a mahogany bureau. I let him suffer for a while before I interrupted. ‘People who are delirious or suffering from the effects of drugs are quite unaware of what they are saying, Kevin. Nor do their mutterings have any significance whatever. It is up to you to win her affection, if that is what you want. You will be well on the way to doing it when I tell her of how you pummelled Mr Wilson into unconsciousness, despite the revolver he fired at you, and with complete disregard for your own safety.’
Emerson made a rumbling noise and scowled at me. ‘Enough of this sentimental nonsense,’ he declared. ‘We promised the Inspector a statement. He has his work to do, you know. He has no time to waste on romantic twaddle. Have a little more wine, Inspector.’
‘I don’t mind if I do,’ Cuff remarked. ‘A very fine vintage, Professor; fruity and not too sweet, with just the proper touch of acidity. Hem.’
‘You see,’ Emerson explained, ‘Mrs Emerson and I are in the habit of carrying on friendly little competitions when it comes to solving cases such as this. So I am going to let her begin the narrative. Tell the Inspector how you deduced the identity of the killer, Peabody.’
There was a suspicious twitch at the corner of his mouth, which I chose to ignore. ‘Thank you, Emerson, I will be glad to begin. This has proved to be one of the strangest cases I – we – have ever investigated – a peculiar blend of vulgar crime and exotic trimmings, if I may put it that way.’
‘Put it any way you like, but get on with it,’ Emerson said.
‘Let me begin at the beginning, then – with the death of the night watchman. By the way, Inspector, I think you may want to have the body exhumed. You will find, I believe, that the poor man died of an overdose of opium.’
‘What?’ The Inspector stared at me. ‘But the medical examiner said –’
‘The effects of an excessively large amount of opium resemble those of cerebral haemorrhage, Inspector. It affects the respiratory centre in the medulla oblongata, and results in death from respiratory failure. The watchman had not taken opium before. He was given it as a treat – part of his payment for allowing the orgy – for so I must call it – to take place.
‘That was the meaning of the strange debris found in the room where the body lay. Not only an orgy, but one with an ancient Egyptian theme – wreaths of flowers, wine in crystal glasses (not so appropriate, that, but common clay cups would not be good enough for those spoiled young men), and suitable costumes, including sceptres and masks made of the ever-popular papier-mâché. It was the sort of bizarre, unseemly jest that would have appealed to these jaded men; and there was another purpose in the selection of that unlikely place, a darker and more