The Hippopotamus Pool - Elizabeth Peters [131]
‘I understand. There is no use telling you not to worry about him.’
‘No. I hope you are not worried about Walter. I think he is only suffering from exhaustion.’
‘He is asleep,’ Evelyn said dismissively. She sat down and arranged her skirts. The lamplight aureoled her golden hair. ‘I wish there were something I could do. If only I were a man!’
‘Well, as to that, I would not say that men have all the advantages. Poor creatures, they are singularly lacking in certain intellectual qualities.’
Evelyn’s tight lips relaxed into a smile. ‘That is not the common view, Amelia. Are not men supposed to be ruled by reason, and women by irrational emotion?’
‘Ah, but who defines those views? Men, my dear – men! Only consider the facts. I have been attempting for weeks to convince Emerson to take a rational view of the situation, but he won’t even admit the facts, much less the logical conclusions to be drawn from them. They would be self-evident to any woman.’
‘Perhaps not to me,’ Evelyn said with a smile. She seemed easier now; her hands lay loose in her lap and her stiff shoulders had relaxed.
‘You do yourself an injustice. In case I have not mentioned it, Evelyn, I have come to have great respect for your ratiocinative abilities. I feel certain that if we put our heads together we can solve the problem of who our enemies are and decide on the best method of defending ourselves.’
‘My abilities, such as they are (and I fear affection makes you rate them too highly), are at your disposal, Amelia dear. You have already given me a brief account of what has transpired. Perhaps you would be willing to go over it again in greater detail?’
She was not really interested in hearing my account; she was hoping to keep my mind occupied so that I would not fret about Emerson. Mine had not been an empty compliment, however. I launched immediately into my narrative, beginning with the visit of Mr Shelmadine. Evelyn listened in silence, and I must say it was a pleasure to talk with someone who did not interrupt every thirty seconds.
When I had finished she drew a sheet of blank paper to her and selected a pen. ‘I find it easier to keep things straight in my mind when I write them down. Do you object?’
‘Not at all. I do that myself occasionally, though I have found that my mental processes do not readily lend themselves to organization of that variety.’
‘Your mental processes are too complex,’ Evelyn agreed gravely. ‘Let me see if I can summarize them.’ She inscribed a list of names. ‘These, if I understand you, are the persons of whose integrity you are not certain.’
‘That is a genteel way of putting it. You must add another name, Evelyn. I am fond of the boy too, but we cannot clear him completely of suspicion.’
‘Yes, of course.’ With a steady hand she added David’s name to the list, and took another sheet of paper. ‘Let us start with the assumption – which seems to me reasonable – that there are two different groups of thieves involved. Which is which?’
By the time we finished, the paper was all scribbled over and crossed out. ‘Well,’ I said doubtfully, ‘I cannot say my mind is any clearer on this.’
‘But we have made a beginning.’ She pointed with the pen as she spoke. ‘Riccetti is the head of one such group. Shelmadine was his man. The horrible old man at Gurneh – Abd el Hamed – is connected with the second group. Shall we call them A and B, for easier reference?’
‘More distinctive names are easier to keep straight,’ I said. ‘Let me see. Nefret calls Riccetti “the Hippopotamus Man,” and there is unquestionably a certain resemblance to that beast. Supposing we refer to his gang as the Hippopotami and to the other group as the Jackals.’
Evelyn laughed. ‘Those are certainly distinctive names. Then we can assume Abd el Hamed is a Jackal. His hatred of the man who crippled his hands must be intense. And if that is so, then David . . . Oh, Amelia, I cannot believe the boy would betray you. Any of you!’
‘It would be a serious error to believe we can understand his motives,’ I said soberly. ‘An old, long-established fear may be