The Hippopotamus Pool - Elizabeth Peters [166]
Evelyn gave me a quick, agonized glance, and Riccetti laughed. ‘I doubt she would do anything so unladylike. Rather than take the chance, however, I will run away and live to fight another day. My men will remain until I am out of the house, so don’t follow me.’
He turned away. The fellow holding David was the very large man we had left bound and unconscious upstairs. Apparently he was the sort who held a grudge. His eyes glittered as he asked, ‘What shall I do with this one?’
Riccetti did not even pause. ‘Cut his throat.’
I don’t believe Evelyn meant to fire. The movement of her trigger finger was involuntary, a reflexive start of pure horror. Though it came nowhere near its target, it had the effect of hurrying Riccetti and, more important, of distracting the very large man for a vital second.
In that second Walter sprang. Murderer, victim and rescuer tumbled to the ground in a tangle of limbs. I ran forwards, knife at the ready; Evelyn was there before me, but we were both helpless to act. It was all we could do to avoid the thrashing bodies and flailing arms. First one man was on top, then the other; David lay curled in a ball, his arms over his head as feet and fists lashed out at him.
Walter’s grip failed, his knife clattered to the floor and he caught his opponent’s right wrist with both hands, exerting all his strength to loosen the fellow’s hold on his own knife. For a moment it seemed as if he would prevail. Then the man shifted his weight and Walter was flung over onto his back. His head hit the floor hard enough to stun him momentarily. His opponent wrenched his arm free, rose to his knees, and struck.
With a scream almost as piercing as O’Connell’s eldritch howl, Evelyn emptied the magazine of the repeater. Jumping over David, she pulled Walter out from under the fallen body of his foe and lifted his head into her arms.
I am seldom rendered incapable of action by sheer astonishment. I was on this occasion. However, it appeared action would not be necessary. The downstairs door had given way and our rescuers were in the house. David was sitting up, Walter’s eyes were open, and the very large man was unquestionably dead. Evelyn – my gentle Evelyn! – had shot him four times full in the breast.
Feet pounded up the stairs and men crowded into the room. ‘God and all the saints be thanked,’ Kevin exclaimed. ‘We heard shooting and feared the worst.’
I returned my knife to its sheath. ‘As you see, gentlemen, we have the situation under control. We are grateful for your assistance, all the same.’
‘My darling,’ Evelyn cried. ‘You saved him, he is unhurt. But oh, heaven, you are wounded!’
‘It is nothing,’ muttered Walter. ‘But you, my dearest, are you injured?’
‘No, sweetheart!’
‘Darling!’
‘Well, well,’ said a voice from the doorway. ‘I seem to have arrived just in time for one of those sickeningly maudlin conversations. What have you been up to, Peabody?’
‘Emerson!’ I threw myself into his arms. ‘Oh, Emerson, you are safe! My dearest –’
‘Please, Peabody, spare me another exchange of public sentimentality. From the alacrity with which you moved, I believe I may assume you are undamaged.’ He put me gently aside and knelt by his brother.
‘It is only a scratch,’ Walter assured him.
‘Good Gad,’ said Emerson, ‘what an idiotic thing to say. You have been reading too many thrillers.’ He eased Walter’s coat off. ‘Hmph. Not too bad. Don’t sit there crooning over him, Evelyn, tear up some extraneous garment or other and bandage his arm.’ His hand closed over Walter’s, and they exchanged a long look before Emerson rose to his feet.
‘Ramses is safe, Emerson,’ I said.
‘I know.’ He hesitated for a moment. ‘I am sorry, Peabody. Not a trace of her. Not to worry, I had barely begun my inquiries and I don’t believe the situation is as desperate as this one was. Which reminds me: were you careless enough to allow that bastard Riccetti