The Last Camel Died at Noon - Elizabeth Peters [56]
“Precisely,” Emerson growled.
“It did not occur to me to take such a precaution,” Reggie continued. “It happened just as I told you. Seeing the shadowy figure about to seize the boy, I flung myself upon him. He drew a knife; we struggled for possession of it, and after being wounded slightly I got it away from him. To be honest, I don’t remember clearly what happened afterward, but I have a vague recollection of striking a blow and hearing a muffled cry before unconsciousness overcame me.”
There was a brief silence. Then a voice murmured, “’Yet who would have thought the old man had so much blood in him.…’”
Emerson nodded. “Well put, Ramses. Your mama will no doubt be happy to hear you quote from a more literary source than your favorite thrillers. There was a great deal of blood.”
“And your retainer has disappeared,” said Reggie.
“What?” I exclaimed. “Kemit has gone?”
“He and both his men,” Emerson said.
Another silence ensued, longer and more fraught with emotion. Finally Emerson squared his shoulders and addressed the group in the voice that never ceased to thrill me—the voice of a leader of men. “Let us consider this situation coolly and rationally, without prejudice. Something deucedly peculiar is going on.” I started to speak; Emerson turned his burning blue gaze upon me. “I will invite your comments, my dear Peabody, when I have finished. Until then I beg you—all of you—will permit me to speak without interruption.”
“Certainly, my dear Emerson,” I murmured.
“Hmph,” said Emerson. “Very well. When Lord Black-tower called upon us with his preposterous story, I reacted as any sensible individual would—with incredulity. That very night an odd incident occurred. You know of it, Mr. Forthright. No comment, please, a simple nod will suffice. Thank you. At the time I was unable to see any connection between this incident and Lord Blacktower’s proposal, for the reason that no such connection was apparent.
“Nothing else untoward occurred until we reached Nubia. You may recall, Peabody, the curious incident of Ramses walking in his sleep.” He went on hastily, before I could reply. “One such event might be dismissed as meaningless. A second similar event, such as occurred last night, raises certain doubts. Again Ramses claims to have heard a voice call him. He remembers responding to the call, but has no recollection of anything else.
“Any attempt to concoct a theory that would weave these bizarre events into a connected narrative would be no more than idle fiction.” The blazing blue eyes turned toward me; and such was their hypnotic effect that I made no attempt at rebuttal. “However,” Emerson went on, “one of the objects found at the scene of the crime last night is, to say the least, remarkable. This fragment”—he took it from his pocket, with the air of a conjurer pulling a rabbit from his hat, and waved it before us—“this scrap of broken arrow changes the entire affair. I will stake my reputation—which is not inconsiderable—on the fact that nothing remotely like it is manufactured today by any known tribe of Nubia, Egypt, or the surrounding deserts!”
He paused for effect. This was a mistake, as he immediately realized; before he could resume, Ramses said, “With all respect, Papa, I believe we all—with the possible exception of Mr. Forthright—have followed your reasoning and anticipated your conclusion. If this arrow was not shaped by any known people, then it must have been made by some member of a group hitherto unknown. It is the second such unique artifact you have encountered; the armlet shown you by Mr. Forth fourteen years ago was the first.”
“Good heavens!” The words burst from Reggie’s throat. “What are you getting at? You cannot mean—”
“Curse it,” Emerson shouted. “Be still, all of you! You have interrupted the reasoned discourse—”
“Well now, my dear, you were going on at quite unnecessary length,” I said