The Last Camel Died at Noon - Elizabeth Peters [126]
One of the servants was sent to fetch Reggie’s knapsack. After rummaging in its depths he produced a tin of tobacco, upon which Emerson fell like a starving man on a thick beefsteak. He filled his pipe, lit it, and blew out a great cloud of smoke. A look of blissful satisfaction transformed his face.
Reggie smiled, like an indulgent parent enjoying the pleasure of a child. “Well, sir, are you now capable of ratiocination? We have no time to lose. Tarek’s threats should have convinced you that I was right when I said we must escape before the ceremony.”
“I never disagreed with your conclusion,” said Emerson mildly. “I only wondered how you hoped to accomplish it.”
Reggie leaned closer and lowered his voice to a whisper.
“The arrangements were made before I was imprisoned.
Camels, guides, supplies—all will be ready. We can leave as soon as—”
“As soon as we are certain Mrs. Forth is no more,” I said.
Reggie’s mouth hung ajar. Emerson looked at me with a smile; Ramses nodded vigorously. Having got the floor, I proceeded. “We have only the statements of people whose veracity is questionable to prove that the Forths are not alive. We came here in haste, risking much, because we feared they were in imminent danger.”
Reggie closed his mouth. Then he opened it.
“Don’t waste your breath arguing with her,” said Emerson, smoking placidly. “It never has the slightest effect. Continue, my dear Peabody.”
I told Reggie and Ramses of our discovery that morning. “I have been accused,” I went on, “of jumping to conclusions. I do not believe anyone can accuse me of doing so if I state that we are still uncertain as to the fate of Mrs. Forth. Would you agree with that, Emerson?”
“Oh, certainly,” said Emerson, grinning around the stem of his pipe.
“But—” Reggie began.
“Let me finish, please, Reggie. In the light of what we learned today, several other points take on new significance. We were told that Mrs. Forth had ‘gone to the god.’ We took it to mean that she had died; but here, as in ancient Egypt, it might have quite another meaning. Now during the ceremony at the temple, the High Priestess of Isis recited, or sang, certain English verses. Put all these details together, and what do we have?”
“Are you asking me?” Reggie’s eyes were wide. “I fail to see what you are driving at. You cannot mean—”
“His wits are a trifle slow,” said Emerson to me. “It’s an interesting idea, Peabody. I had a strange feeling you were thinking along those lines.”
“I endeavored to suggest that possibility, Mama,” said Ramses in an injured voice. “And you and Papa implied I was imagining things.”
“We have acquired additional information since then, Ramses. I would be the first to agree that the sum total of it is inconclusive, but I must insist that we cannot depart without making absolutely certain that Mrs. Forth is not a prisoner of the priests.”
“But,” Reggie stuttered. “But Mrs. Amelia—”
“I told you not to waste your breath arguing with her,” said Emerson. “In this case I must say that I am in complete agreement. It is probable that Mrs. Forth is dead, but we can’t take the word of sinister savages, can we?”
“She is no savage,” Reggie said hotly. “And she swore—”
“She may have been deceived,” said Emerson. “You refer to your—er—fiancée, I presume.”
“Er—yes. I cannot believe.…” Reggie appeared dazed. Then he reached into his knapsack. “She gave me this.”
The object he withdrew was a small book bound in shabby brown cloth.
“The Book,” I cried. “Of course! Emerson—”
Emerson’s teeth lost their grip on his pipe, which fell onto my lap. He leapt at me and began beating out the smoldering patches.
“I do beg your pardon, Peabody. I was caught quite by surprise.”
“So I see. Curse it, I shan’t be able to mend these holes; I gave my sewing kit to Her Majesty.”
“It is certainly a book,” Emerson went on, taking it from Reggie. “The Moonstone, by Wilkie Collins. I am not at all surprised; it is precisely the sort of literature I would have expected Willie Forth to enjoy.