The Hippopotamus Pool - Elizabeth Peters [170]
‘No blame to you,’ Emerson broke in. ‘There was a woman, then? A strange woman?’
‘Women did not come to Abd el Hamed. He went to them. But . . . one night, not long ago . . .’
‘What did she look like?’ Emerson’s voice was gentle and encouraging. He carefully refrained from looking at me. I appreciated that.
‘She wore the black robe and veil, but she was not Egyptian. No! I cannot tell you how I knew, they spoke softly and apart, I heard no words; but it was not Arabic they spoke, there is a difference in the way the words rise and fall. And she walked like a man.’ He was panting with excitement now, his eyes shining. ‘Does it help? Do you know her? Is she the one?’
‘It helps,’ Emerson said. ‘It may be the clue we needed. Thank you, my son.’
‘I might have known there would be a woman in this,’ I remarked sometime later, after exhaustion had finally forced us to disperse.
‘That,’ said Emerson, dropping his shirt onto the floor, ‘was decidedly an uncalled-for remark, Peabody. After I politely avoided pointing out that you, of all people, ought to have realized –’
‘Yes, my dear, and I appreciate your forbearance. All the same, you cannot deny that there is always some female in your vicinity. This is the third – or is it the fourth? – time in a row. I cannot seem to get rid of . . .’
Splashing at the wash basin, Emerson was unaware of my failure to complete the sentence. When he turned (after dropping the towel onto the floor), his face was grave.
‘It helps, but not enough. We know the mysterious female was not Marmaduke; she was with us on the boat. Who the devil can it be? And don’t suggest that Sir Edward is a woman in disguise.’
‘No, there can be no doubt of his masculinity.’ Emerson’s eyes narrowed and I hurried on. ‘She must be a tourist – or pretending to be one. We will investigate them tomorrow.’
‘I wish to God it could be tonight.’ He sat down on the side of the bed and covered his face with his hands. ‘Forgive me, Peabody. I should try to put a brave face upon it – you are as worried as I, I know – but the thought of that child, imprisoned, threatened, afraid . . . I may as well go over to Luxor. I shan’t be able to sleep.’
I sat down beside him and put my arms round his shoulders. ‘You can do nothing tonight, Emerson; the managers of the hotels won’t let you roust all the female guests out of bed so that you can roar at them. You must rest, my dearest, or you will be of no use to Nefret. Come, lie down.’
‘I shan’t sleep,’ Emerson muttered.
I knew he would, though. I had slipped just a few drops of laudanum into his coffee.
I had not taken any myself. I lay down beside him, but long after his deep breathing assured me he was asleep I stared open-eyed into the darkness trying to think, not of Nefret – for I could not bear that – but of some way of finding her.
The pieces were falling into place. David’s escape, the meaning of the hippopotamus goddess, the strange behaviour of Gertrude Marmaduke . . . I had not told Emerson; it would have been cruel to raise hopes that might be dashed. And besides, he would have informed me that ‘this theory, Peabody, is even more fantastical than your usual theories, and that is saying a great deal!’
He would have been right. Moreover, there was no guarantee that my suspect would continue playing her role. She might have gone into hiding by now with her captive and her confederate.
I did not expect to sleep, but I did at last. When I woke, the cold light of dawn showed at the window; and the first object my drowsy eyes beheld was the form of a golden-haired girl sitting cross-legged on the floor next to the bed.
XV
No Mystery Is Insoluble – It Is Simply a Matter of How Much Time and Energy One Is Willing to Expend
I HIT her with the chamber pot,’ Nefret said.
It was not the first thing she said, but it was the first statement I clearly remember, out of the joyful confusion that followed. I believe I pinched myself; it was not until I had actually got hold of her that I could believe she was real and not a fantasy