The Deeds of the Disturber - Elizabeth Peters [160]
‘Ahmet,’ I exclaimed. ‘That wretched little spy! He told me nothing!’
‘Well, ma’am, perhaps you did not ask the right questions,’ said Inspector Cuff mildly. ‘We took Ahmet into custody for his own protection. Knowing the reputations of the young gentlemen, I already had some suspicions of them, and after prolonged questioning – no, ma’am, not bullying, just questioning – Ahmet admitted Lord Liverpool was one of Ayesha’s customers. Not in the opium den itself; she had rooms upstairs reserved for more distinguished visitors. Then later, when the professor –’
‘Good Gad, only look at the time,’ Emerson exclaimed, taking his watch from his pocket. ‘I don’t like to be inhospitable, Inspector – Mr O’Connell – Gargery –’
A murmur of agreement interrupted the list, and the Inspector rose to his feet. ‘Yes, sir, you are quite right. I must be getting along. With profound thanks, Professor and ma’am –’
We said good night to the Inspector in the hall, and then proceeded upstairs. I looked in on Ramses and found him sound asleep; the parts of him that showed were relatively clean. I had my suspicions about the rest, but I decided not to disturb him. Returning to my room, I found Emerson lying on the bed. He was not asleep, however, and as soon as I closed the door he rose with his customary alacrity and began to assist me in preparing for repose, remarking that it would be thoughtless to disturb one of the maids at that hour.
‘Emerson,’ I said.
‘Yes, Peabody? Curse these buttons . . .’
‘You interrupted the Inspector just as he was about to explain how you had assisted him in his investigations.’
‘Did I, Peabody? Ah, there we go . . .’
A button bounced on the floor. ‘How did you assist him, Emerson? For if you are going to tell me you knew Eustace Wilson was the ringleader –’
‘Did you know, Peabody?’
‘Did I not explain my reasoning, Emerson?’
‘Yes, Peabody, you did, and most ingeniously, too. However, the expression on your face when you saw Wilson in the carriage –’
‘You could not have seen my expression, Emerson. My back was to you.’
Emerson kicked a garment out of the way and wrapped both arms around me. ‘You thought it was Lord St John. Oh, come, Peabody; I’ll confess if you will.’
‘You too, Emerson?’
‘Everything pointed to him, Peabody. The eminence grise, the Machiavellian mentor, the power behind the throne –’
‘He was almost too perfect,’ I said regretfully. ‘He had been a soldier, hardened to slaughter and the spilling of blood; he is intelligent, cynical, quick-thinking . . .’
‘Corrupt and dissipated,’ said Emerson, snapping his teeth together.
‘Yes; but I fancy he had honestly sickened of the life that had brought his friend to such a hideous doom. He told me he had, but naturally I was somewhat sceptical of his claims of newfound virtue. I fear his manner is unfortunate; one tends to find double entendres and hidden meanings in everything he says. At any rate, he was not present this evening, and I sincerely hope he will find the good woman he purports to be seeking, and that she may assist him in attaining peace of mind and a virtuous life.’
‘There is nothing like the influence of a good woman,’ Emerson agreed solemnly. ‘Now, then, Peabody, why don’t we –’
‘With all my heart, Emerson.’
After a prolonged interval Emerson raised his head and said somewhat breathlessly, ‘That was excellent, Peabody, and I intend to continue in the same vein almost at once; but first, would you care to admit you were mistaken about –’
‘I see no reason to continue the discussion, Emerson.’
‘Mmmmmm,’ said Emerson. ‘Well, Peabody, I must confess your arguments are extremely persuasive.’
A grey, rainy dawn was breaking before we fell asleep, and the same gloomy light met my eyes when I opened them some hours later. The house was quiet and peaceful; there was no sign of Ramses, at the foot of the bed, or at the door; and I lay in sleepy content for a time, engaged in philosophical meditation. There