The Deeds of the Disturber - Elizabeth Peters [78]
‘Oh, do be quiet, Peabody! And don’t quote Scripture to me!’
‘Very well, if it disturbs you. A little more whiskey, my dear? I am sure Mr O’Connell would like another glass.’
I took it from the journalist’s limp hand. ‘Do you mind my asking why you are talking about opium dens?’ he asked weakly.
I took it upon myself to enlighten the young man, since Emerson had fallen into a kind of blank-faced stupor and was muttering to himself. Now and then a phrase was audible: ‘Lock her in a room? Absurd . . . she would find a way out, she always does . . . And the servants would suppose . . . oh, good Gad!’
‘Surely, Kevin, you must see that an opium den is the most obvious place in which to begin our investigation. Ahmet is an opium trader and an opium eater. His friends (if he has any) and colleagues are likely to be found in establishments catering to the trade. I am not myself acquainted with those particular locations in London favoured by Egyptians who indulge in opium – for birds of a feather, as the saying has it, tend to flock together, and so, one must suppose, do Egyptians and other groups of expatriates. However, Emerson’s wide experience and acquaintance with a variety of . . . Emerson, I do wish you would stop mumbling. You distract me.’
‘. . . bound and gagged . . . but I should never hear the end of that . . .’
‘What was I saying, Mr O’Connell?’
‘You were explaining your reasons for – for visiting an opium den,’ said Kevin, struggling to control the nervous contractions of his lips.
‘Oh yes, thank you. It is the Egyptian connection, you see. I have overlooked this aspect thus far, since the business seemed to me to have a distinctly European, not to say English, cast. Yet no one has seen the face of the false priest; what if he is not an Englishman but an Egyptian, better educated than some of his fellows, but not entirely free of the pagan superstitions that continue to flourish despite British educational efforts? We have encountered such phenomena in other cases. You remember, Emerson, the mudir who tried to prevent you from opening the Baskerville tomb?’
Lost in reverie, Emerson did not respond, but Kevin exclaimed, ‘Right enough. I remember him well. Your own workmen were so afraid of the supposed curse they refused to enter the tomb until Professor Emerson performed one of his famous exorcisms.3 But I say, Mrs E., if superstition is indeed the motive for the murder, it doesn’t bode well for poor old Ahmet.’
‘I mentioned that only as one possibility among many,’ I said. ‘But it is one that ought to be investigated. My husband has friends and acquaintances in a number of peculiar places, you know. Being a singularly modest individual, he does not boast of his connections, but I would not be at all surprised to discover that he is familiar with the habitats of Egyptians residing here in –’
Emerson’s eyes came back into focus. ‘Dismiss the idea, Peabody. We are not visiting any opium dens.’
‘I thought I would dress as a young man,’ I explained. ‘A woman would be more noticeable in such an ambiance, and the convenience of trousers –’
Emerson looked me over, head to foot and back again. ‘Peabody,’ he said, ‘under no possible circumstance and in no conceivable costume could you pass for a man. The prominence of your –’
‘One of the footmen must have something I could borrow,’ I mused. ‘Henry is about my height. Mr O’Connell, you appear to have something caught in your throat. Sip your whiskey more slowly.’
‘I – er – swallowed the wrong way,’ Kevin said hoarsely. ‘Hem. That’s better. Your scheme is brilliant, Mrs E. I’m sure you can manage the – er – difficulty the professor mentioned, and in any case it will be dark. We will take care no one gets close enough to look at you closely.’
‘We,’ I repeated.
‘Yes, ma’am – we. The professor may protest all he likes, but I know you, Mrs E., and I know you will have your way. And whither you go, Mrs Emerson, I will go.’
‘Oh dear,’ I