The Deeds of the Disturber - Elizabeth Peters [83]
I daresay it was the unmistakable accents of cultivation and breeding in my voice, as much as the name of Inspector Cuff, that prevented the officer from laying rough hands on Emerson, who had assumed a posture of defence, while at the same time keeping a wary eye on the camera. The officer’s arm fell to his side, and the others who were hastening to his assistance stopped in their tracks. I reached into my pocket. ‘My card,’ I said.
‘What in the name of heaven possessed you to bring your calling cards on this expedition?’ Emerson demanded.
We were seated side by side in the private room I had requested, a small windowless cubicle containing only a few chairs and a deal table. The air was heavy with the accumulated aromas of countless years of fear and despair, terror and grief. Emerson had lit his pipe, which added another dimension to the smell, but I did not deem it appropriate to protest.
‘You forbade me to bring my knife, Emerson. I thought some eventuality might arise in which it would be useful to be able to prove our identity. As indeed it did.’
‘Why didn’t you hand the rest of the cursed things around to the press?’ Emerson inquired.
‘As I have had occasion to mention in the past, my dear, sarcasm does not become you. Once you had struck the policeman in your inimitable and characteristic fashion, any hope of concealing our identity was gone. What was that word to which you objected so strongly? I didn’t hear it.’
‘Never mind,’ Emerson growled.
I took off my cap, which no longer sufficed to keep my hair in place; I seemed to have lost quite a quantity of hairpins over the course of the evening, what with one thing and another. I smoothed the heavy locks as best I could and began to braid them.
‘Who was that woman, Emerson?’
‘Woman?’ Emerson took a box of matches from his pocket. He struck a match and put the flame to the bowl of his pipe. ‘What woman?’
‘She must have been very beautiful once upon a time.’
‘Mmmmm,’ said Emerson, striking another match.
‘She knew you, Emerson.’
‘A good many people know me, Peabody.’ Emerson lit a third match.
‘Your pipe is already lighted,’ I pointed out. ‘When did you know her, Emerson? And how well?’
The door opened. Emerson leaped to his feet and greeted the newcomer like a long-lost friend.
‘Inspector Cuff, I presume? Sorry we had to knock you up. Greatly appreciate your coming at this hour.’
‘Control your enthusiasm, Emerson,’ I said coolly. ‘After all, we are here at this hour of the night, are we not? Inspector Cuff is only doing his duty.’
‘Quite right, ma’am.’ Cuff freed his hand from Emerson’s grasp and blew on his reddened fingers. ‘I have long looked forward to meeting you, Professor. But I had hardly anticipated it would be under such – er – unusual circumstances.’
‘Humph,’ said Emerson. ‘I would be gratified to improve our acquaintance, Inspector, but not, as you say, under these circumstances. If you will be so good as to confirm our identities, I will just take Mrs Emerson home to – that is, home.’
‘Why, Emerson,’ I exclaimed. ‘I am surprised, after all the lectures you have given me, to see you concealing information from the official police. The object of our expedition this evening, Inspector, as you may have surmised, was to obtain evidence that the unfortunate Egyptian you arrested is innocent of the crime. At least, that is to say, of the crime of murder; for I don’t doubt that he is as unsavoury a character as –’
‘He is that, ma’am,’ the Inspector agreed, so affably that I could not resent his interrupting me. ‘But what makes you suppose he is innocent of the murder?’
‘I don’t suppose, I know. Tell him, Emerson.’
‘Tell him what, Peabody?’ Emerson clawed at his chin. The beard came off in his hand; he scowled at it and thrust it into his pocket.
‘What we overheard in the – I believe “paddy wagon” is the cant term.’
‘Ah. With your permission, ma’am . . .?’ The Inspector