The Deeds of the Disturber - Elizabeth Peters [77]
VIII
I PERSUADED Mr O’Connell to take a chair and join us in a whiskey and soda. ‘For,’ I explained, ‘although your dramatic announcement has certainly captured our full attention, I would appreciate a careful, ordered narrative, which you do not appear at present in a fit state to deliver.’
I also hoped, by this little stratagem, to improve Emerson’s relations with Kevin O’Connell. Once a man has taken refreshment in your home and a chair in your sitting room, you are less likely to pitch him into a pond.
Gargery served us and then retired. But I noticed he left the door open a crack.
Once Kevin had imbibed a quantity of whiskey, his reportorial instincts returned, and he told a coherent, if somewhat lurid, story.
The man who had been arrested was a member of London’s Egyptian community, one Ahmet, who was distinguished from his numerous compatriots of the same name by the significant epithet of ‘the Louse.’ He described himself grandly as a merchant, but according to Kevin he was only a small trader, and an unsuccessful one at that, probably because he consumed much of his stock.
‘Opium, hashish, and other popular commodities of that sort,’ Kevin said. ‘Oh, I admit he is a thoroughly unsavoury character. He’ll do anything for money, and when he is desperate for the drug, he would inform on his own mother. I’ve used him myself on occasion. But he is a pathetic little swine in his way, without the courage or physical strength to commit such a brutal murder.’
‘Then he will be freed in due course,’ Emerson grunted around the stem of his (Gargery’s) pipe.
‘The police have been under a great deal of pressure to solve the case since the riot at the Museum,’ Kevin insisted. ‘The trustees have pressed the Home Secretary, who has pressed the Commissioner, who has had his subordinates on the carpet; and that fool Cuff has selected Ahmet as the scapegoat. No one will come to his defence –’
‘You are absolutely right, Kevin,’ I exclaimed. ‘The poor fellow is in great danger. I was not at all impressed with Inspector Cuff’s acumen.’
Stroking his well-modelled chin, as is his habit when deep in thought, Emerson was not so deep in thought as to miss this slip of the tongue. ‘What?’ he shouted. ‘What did you say? When did you –’
‘Never mind that now, Emerson. Mr O’Connell is in the right. No uneducated, petty criminal planned this series of crimes.’
‘Humph,’ said Emerson. ‘Well, but –’
Kevin leaned forward. ‘You must intervene, Professor, in the interests of justice. The Metropolitan Police don’t know the Egyptian character as you do. Even those who have lived in Cairo have had little to do with the natives, they don’t speak the language, they –’
‘Yes, Emerson, yes,’ I cried. ‘It is our duty to assist the police in this matter. When I think of that poor chap under interrogation, being jostled and struck by large constables –’
‘Oh, come, Peabody, the police don’t torture suspects,’ Emerson growled. But he was disturbed; fingering the cleft in his chin, he went on, ‘What do you expect me to do? Surely, Mr O’Connell, you don’t expect me to visit an opium den –’
I finished the sentence. ‘– on the Sabbath. I appreciate your thoughtfulness, Emerson, for as I am well aware, such considerations do not weigh heavily with you. However, the Sabbath ends at midnight, and that hour, we know, is a good time to find such dens functioning, although, I have been assured, they are in operation at all hours, since to their wretched clients day and night are alike.’
‘Who said anything about opium dens?’ Kevin stuttered.
‘Peabody,’ Emerson bellowed, ‘I am not taking you to an opium den on the Sabbath or at any other time.’
‘Your syntax gives you away, Emerson,’ I replied, with a playful shake of my finger. ‘You do not deny that you mean to visit an opium den. You cannot suppose I would