The Last Camel Died at Noon - Elizabeth Peters [16]
“Hardly unusual, though,” said Walter innocently.
“I hope the rain will let up. You will have a wet journey home otherwise.”
“Quite,” said Walter.
I cleared my throat. Emerson said hastily, “And what are you giving us tonight, Peabody? Ah—roast saddle of lamb. And mint jelly! I am particularly fond of mint jelly. A splendid choice.”
“Mrs. Bates is giving us the lamb,” I said, as Gargery, visibly pouting, began serving the plates. “You know I leave the menu to her, Emerson. I have no time for such things. Especially now, with so many extra supplies to order—”
“Quite, quite,” said Emerson.
“Mint jelly, sir?” said Gargery, in a voice that ought to have frozen that wobbly substance into a solid chunk. Without waiting for an answer, he proceeded to give Emerson approximately half a teaspoonful.
Like his brother, Walter was inclined to ignore conventions, not because he necessarily shared Emerson’s radical social theories but because he forgot all else when professional enthusiasm overcame him. “I say, Radcliffe,” he exclaimed. “That bit of papyrus was quite fascinating. If an ancient Egyptian scribe had known how to write English, the result would have looked precisely like that message. I wish I had had a chance to examine it more closely.”
“You may do so after dinner,” I said. “By a strange coincidence, and in the haste of his departure, Lord Black-tower forgot to take it with him. Or was it a coincidence, Emerson?”
“You know as well as I do that it was deliberate,” Emerson snarled. “Pas devant les domestiques, Peabody, as you are always telling me.”
“Bah,” I replied pleasantly. “Ramses has probably told Rose all about it by now. I know you well, my dear Emerson; your countenance is an open book to me. That supposedly meaningless scrawl on the back of the notebook page had meaning for you. I know it. His lordship knew it. Will you take us into your confidence, or force us to employ underhanded means to discover the truth?”
Emerson glowered—at me, at Walter, at Evelyn, and at Gargery, who was standing guard over the mint jelly, his nose in the air and wounded dignity in every lineament of his face. Then Emerson’s own face cleared and he burst into a hearty laugh. “You are incorrigible, my dear Peabody. I won’t inquire what particular underhanded methods you had in mind.… In fact, there is no reason why I shouldn’t tell you what little I know of the matter. And now, Gargery, may I have more mint jelly?”
This delicacy having been supplied, Emerson went on. “I spoke the truth when I told Blacktower that piece of paper could have no bearing on Forth’s fate. Yet it gave me an eerie feeling to see it again after all these years. Rather like the hollow voice of a dead man echoing from his tomb.…”
“Now who is allowing a rampageous imagination to run away with him?” I inquired playfully. “Get on with it, Emerson, if you please.”
“First,” said Emerson, “we must tell Evelyn what happened after she left with the children.”
He proceeded to do so, at quite unnecessary length. Gargery found it most interesting, however. “A map, was it, sir?” he asked, giving Emerson more mint jelly.
“Take that cursed stuff away,” Emerson said, studying the green puddle with loathing. “Yes, it was a map. Of sorts.”
“Of the road to King Solomon’s diamond mines, I suppose,” said Walter, smiling. “Or the emerald mines of Cleopatra. Or the gold mines of Cush.”
“It was a fantasy almost as improbable, Walter. It is coming back to me now—that strange encounter, the last meeting I ever had with Willie Forth.” He paused to give Gargery time to remove the plates and serve the next course before resuming.
“It was the autumn of 1883—the year before I met you, my dearest Peabody, and a year when Walter was not with me. Having no such engaging distractions, I found myself at loose ends one evening in Cairo, and decided to visit a café. Forth was there; when he saw me, he jumped to his feet and called my name. He was a great