The Deeds of the Disturber - Elizabeth Peters [57]
Lord St John’s smile broadened. ‘You have a charming wit, Mrs Emerson. Miss Minton, then?’
‘Miss Minton had better take herself off,’ said Emerson, scowling.
Budge was forced to agree. ‘Yes, yes, be off with you, young woman. And you too, O’Connell. I am always willing to speak with the press if the proper application is made, but I do not allow common journalists –’
‘Miss Minton is not a common journalist,’ said his lordship gently. ‘You surely don’t suppose any ordinary young woman would be employed by a newspaper unless she had extraordinary influence? Her grandmother –’
‘Don’t you dare tell,’ cried Miss Minton.
‘– is the Dowager Duchess of Durham, and formerly a close – er – friend of the owner and publisher of the Morning Mirror. The old lady is a desperate woman’s-rights advocate and fully supported the aspirations of Miss Minton – the Honourable Miss Minton –’
His speech was interrupted by a cry of ‘You wretch!’ and by a small gloved hand that struck his lips with stinging force. Miss Minton then destroyed the superb effect of her remonstrance by bursting into tears and running from the room.
His lordship laughed. ‘Bless the ladies and their charming inconsistency! They demand to be treated like men, but they react like women.’
‘Much as I dislike doing so, I must agree with you,’ I said. ‘The young lady’s tears were tears of rage, I am sure, but they were demeaning. I will have to have a little talk with Miss Minton.’
‘No, you will not,’ Emerson growled. He added vehemently, ‘Curse it! Curse it!’ Then his eyes lit on O’Connell, who, except for a murmured ‘Begorra!’ when Miss Minton’s identity was revealed, had remained thoughtfully silent. ‘Well, well, Mr O’Connell,’ he said affably. ‘Why haven’t you gone after the young lady to console her?’
‘Because she would strike me with her parasol,’ said O’Connell.
‘Very possibly. Women can be the devil, can’t they?’
‘Yes, sir. I’m so glad you aren’t angry with me, Professor. You know I was only trying to do my job –’
‘Oh yes, no doubt.’ Emerson beamed. ‘And the next time my name, or that of Mrs Emerson, appears in that rag of yours, I will come to your office and thrash you within an inch of your life. Good day, Mr O’Connell.’
O’Connell precipitately vanished.
‘So much for the confounded press,’ said Emerson with satisfaction. ‘Budge, you may as well leave too; you are no help at all. Your cursed bowing and scraping and empty courtesies have already detained me too long.’
Budge took himself off, sputtering and fuming. I myself felt that Emerson’s accusation was a trifle unfair. Courtesies never detained him when he did not wish to be detained. The surprising tolerance he had displayed towards his lordship continued; he made no objection when the latter followed us, remarking pleasantly that he had always wanted to observe a famous detective at work.
However, our inquiries proved to be in vain. Once in the Third Egyptian Gallery, the fugitive had several routes of escape open to him: along the western galleries of the upper floor to the main stairs, or down the back stairs and along the lower floor to the exit. None of the guards had noticed anyone carrying a large parcel, or – it was my suggestion – an unusually obese individual.
His lordship said little, but he watched Emerson’s every move. He seemed more alert and less supercilious, and the few suggestions he made gave evidence of a keen intelligence. Emerson always does bring out the best in all those who associate with him, however briefly.
When we reached the main entrance, with his lordship still on our heels, we found the last stragglers leaving and the guards preparing to close the Museum. Emerson knew many of the guards personally; as he was conversing with them, trying to jog their memories, a young man detached himself from the pillar against which he had been leaning and strolled towards us.
‘So there you are,’ he drawled, in a faint, husky voice. ‘You’ve been