The Deeds of the Disturber - Elizabeth Peters [43]
‘Ah, but I think it is your fault,’ Emerson said jovially. ‘Go away, Miss Minton.’
The young lady’s smile faded as he moved towards her. ‘You wouldn’t strike a woman,’ she gasped.
‘I am deeply hurt that such an idea should enter your mind,’ Emerson answered. ‘However, there is nothing to prevent me from picking you up and carrying you, gently and respectfully, out of my house.’
‘I’ll go, I’ll go’ was the agitated response.
‘Then do so.’ Emerson followed her as she backed towards the door. But there she paused. ‘You haven’t heard the last of me, Professor,’ she cried, her eyes snapping. ‘I don’t give up so easily.’
Kevin caught her arm and dragged her out. Wilkins was still sitting on the floor, and I was vexed, though not at all surprised, to see that Ramses stood beside him, studying his frozen form with grave curiosity. I did not doubt that Ramses had heard every word that had been spoken – or shouted, rather – in the drawing room; as Miss Minton and O’Connell appeared, he turned an even more curious stare on them. Emerson called, ‘Get up, Wilkins, and close the door. Make sure you bolt it.’
He then closed the drawing-room door and turned to me. ‘Dear me, Peabody. Dear me,’ he remarked.
‘Of all the absurd things,’ I said. ‘This presumed resemblance you fancy you see –’
‘If it pleases you to deny it, Peabody, by all means continue to do so. The matter is entertaining, but irrelevant. I confess I rather admire the young woman’s ingenuity in making use of it.’ Picking up the newspaper, he sank into an armchair and began reading.
‘I suppose you will claim this is only an odd coincidence and has nothing to do with the death of the night watchman,’ I began.
‘There you go jumping to conclusions again, Peabody,’ Emerson said mildly. ‘At least let me study the facts – pardon me, the newspaper story, which is not the same thing – before I make up my mind. Hmmm, hmmm. Yes. Blood-drenched corpse found at the foot of the obelisk . . . scrap of paper with a message calling down the curse of the gods on those who profaned the tomb . . . mysterious figure clad in white robes skulking along the Embankment in the curdling fog . . . Miss Minton writes with zest, does she not? Another bond between you.’
‘Your harmless lunatic is not so harmless, it appears,’ I remarked, ignoring the last comment.
‘The police are as sceptical of the priest’s presence as I would be, my dear. It seems the witness is not noted for his adherence to the principles of temperance. I would not be at all surprised to learn that Mr O’Connell committed the crime himself. These journalists will stop at nothing to achieve –’
‘Ridiculous, Emerson.’
‘Why? Oldacre was small loss to the world. An effete snob, always toadying to titles; a gambler, a lecher, an habitué of vile dens –’
‘Dens of iniquity, Emerson?’
‘I was thinking of opium dens and low grog shops and – er – well, yes, one might call them dens of iniquity.’ Emerson tossed the newspaper aside. Frowning, he fingered the dent in his chin as is his habit when deep in thought.
I considered this a hopeful sign. ‘Then you think the matter deserves to be investigated, Emerson?’
‘It certainly requires to be investigated, and I feel certain the police are doing so.’
‘Oh, Emerson, you know what I mean!’
‘Yes, Peabody, I know what you mean.’ Emerson continued to stroke his chin. ‘There is one aspect of this case that tempts me,’ he said seriously.
‘The archaeological aspect,’ I cried. ‘I knew, Emerson, that you would –’
‘No, Peabody. The fact that this case has not the slightest aroma of aristocracy about it. Not a lord or lady, not a sir, not even an honourable! Only a lowly night watchman, and then an assistant keeper. Almost, Peabody, I am moved to interfere.’
‘Emerson, there are times when your sense of humour . . .’ I caught my breath. ‘Emerson! Do you realize what you have said? A night watchman and then an assistant . . . The lunatic is moving up the social ladder. Where will he strike next?