The Deeds of the Disturber - Elizabeth Peters [18]
‘Hmmm,’ I said thoughtfully. ‘The rival to whom you refer is the M. M. Minton of the Morning Mirror? I recall seeing the name on several stories, and wondering that the Mirror would stoop to such sensationalism. You weave a touching tale, Mr O’Connell, but the fact remains that you have exploited your acquaintance with me in a contemptible manner.’
‘But you are my greatest asset,’ O’Connell explained guilelessly. ‘My acquaintance – dare I say friendship? No, perhaps not . . . My acquaintance, then, with you and the professor is the only advantage I have over rival journalists. It was my personal connection with the Baskerville case that made my reputation – and yours, insofar as the reading public is concerned. You and the professor are news, Mrs E. People are fascinated by archaeology and archaeologists. Add to that your – how shall I put it? – your panache, your disregard for convention, your remarkable talent for criminal investigation –’
‘I prefer the term “panache,”’ I interrupted. ‘I cannot explain why Emerson and I are so often involved with violent crime; I am inclined to attribute it to a certain frame of mind, an awareness of suspicious circumstances that elude persons of duller wit.’
‘No doubt that is the case,’ Kevin said, nodding seriously. ‘So you understand why I was forced to mention your names.’
‘To understand all is not to forgive all,’ I replied. ‘This must cease, Mr O’Connell. Our names must never again appear in your periodical.’
‘But I was hoping for an interview,’ O’Connell exclaimed. ‘The usual interview, concerning your archaeological excavations this past season.’
His soft blue orbs met mine with a look so open, that a person unacquainted with him would instantly have offered him her confidence. I smiled ironically. ‘You must take me for a fool, Kevin. We read your effusions on the Fraser case.1 Emerson raged for days. I feared for his health.’
‘I got my information from Mrs Fraser,’ Kevin exclaimed. ‘The effusions, as you call them, were direct quotations from the young lady and her husband.’
It was difficult for me to be angry with him, since I secretly agreed. Enid Fraser, née Debenham, had spoken no more than the truth, and the word ‘effusions’ was Emerson’s, not mine.
Watching me shrewdly, O’Connell went on, ‘She and the others whom you have rescued from death and disgrace have sung your praises to the world. And why not? How seldom are courage and kindness given the recognition they deserve! You are an inspiration to the entire British nation, Mrs E.’
‘Hmmm. Well. Since you put it that way . . .’
‘Risking your life – and a commodity more precious than life – in the defence of the innocent,’ Kevin went on enthusiastically. ‘How the professor must have suffered – what anguish he must have endured – fearing that even your indomitable spirit and physical courage must falter before that desperate villain . . . What were your feelings, Mrs E.?’
I had been nodding and smiling like an idiot. Then the sense of what he was saying penetrated, and I emitted a cry that made him cringe away and raise his arms in a posture of defence. ‘Curse you, Kevin – how dare you insinuate . . . Who told you? There is no truth whatever in . . . Wait till I speak with Enid. I will –’
‘Calm yourself, Mrs Amelia,’ Kevin begged. ‘Mrs Fraser did not betray your confidence; indeed, she absolutely denied the story after her husband (he is not the most intelligent of men, is he?) let something slip. She threatened me with the direst consequences if I printed a word.’
‘Her threats will pale, I assure you, in comparison to Emerson’s,’ I informed him. ‘If the slightest hint of . . .’
I did not finish the sentence; there was no need. Kevin’s countenance had paled visibly. With a sincerity I could not doubt, he exclaimed, ‘Sure,