The Last Camel Died at Noon - Elizabeth Peters [178]
The two women glided toward us. Emerson caught me around the waist and attempted to lift me onto one of the kneeling camels. “Just a moment,” I cried, resisting. “What about Reggie?”
“Oh, come, Peabody, surely you can’t entertain any further doubts about that young villain. He is—”
“Here!” With a diabolical laugh one of the veiled figures flung back its swaddling. Leaping upon Ramses, Reggie seized him and pressed a pistol to his head. “So, Professor,” he went on, “you were not as gullible as your trusting little wife. I always was a favorite with the ladies.”
Cut to the quick, I exclaimed indignantly, “I have known for a long time that you were not what you pretended, and if I had entertained any doubts, they would have been removed by Tarek’s story of his brother’s murder. You tried to kill them both to prevent them from reaching us. You did not leave our house that night with your grandfather, you had come before him, in your own carriage. Did you know Tarek was there, or were you skulking about in the hope of murdering us?”
“I wouldn’t do anything so stupid,” said Reggie contemptuously. “You underestimate my intelligence, Mrs. Amelia—you always have done. Of course I knew Tarek was there. My grandfather had shown me that confounded message from Uncle Willie. I tried to convince him it was a fraud, but he wouldn’t listen to me. Then one of the obliging constables in Berkeley Square warned me about the ‘nigger,’ as he politely termed him, who persisted in hanging about the house. I spotted Tarek without difficulty; there aren’t many men of his height and color to be found in that neighborhood, and as soon as I saw him I realized it must have been he who brought the message from Africa. The constable assured me he would be arrested if he tried to speak with Grandfather, so that was all right, but when the old man took it into his head to consult with you, I knew I was in trouble. I could keep Tarek from Grandfather, but I couldn’t prevent him from approaching you. The message itself might not convince you of its truth, but the testimony of the messenger certainly would, for you were among the few people in the world capable of weighing that testimony correctly. I had no choice, therefore, but to dispose of the messenger. He had been trailing me all over London and I was careful not to lose him when I drove to your house. I lay in wait for him after I left you; unfortunately you came rushing out before I could finish him off, and I had to make myself scarce.”
The moonlight shivered along the folds of his sleeve as he tightened his grip on the pistol. There was no response from Ramses; indeed, the poor lad could not have moved, for Reggie had him by the throat; but Emerson growled and tensed as if to spring. I caught his arm.
“You counted on inheriting your grandfather’s fortune,” I said. “You could not endure the idea that there was another heir living. When you failed to silence Tarek, you must have feared he would find us in Egypt or in Nubia and persuade us to change our minds—which of course we would have done had we known the truth. You couldn’t take that chance, for you were well aware that when the Emersons set out to do something, they do it. So you followed us to Nubia. Your transparent attempts to turn us against Tarek failed, so you and your Egyptian servant tried again to kill him when you found him with Ramses that night. To your dismay—and, I expect, to Tarek’s surprise—the broken arrow convinced us of the truth of Mr. Forth’s story. Realizing that we were now determined to pursue the quest, you announced your intention of doing the same—but your real motive was to lure us into the desert where, following the false map you had left with me in lieu of the accurate copy you stole from Emerson, we would perish miserably