The Mummy Case - Elizabeth Peters [107]
“You gossip about us?” Emerson demanded in awful tones.
“Oh, no, sir, I would never gossip about you and Mrs. Emerson. Only the little things that happen, and Master Ramses’ adventures, like…Brother David explains Scripture and helps me with my reading.”
“And what does Charity talk about?” I asked.
“She don’t talk, madam, she sits and sews—shirts for the children and for Brother Ezekiel.”
“It sounds very dull,” said Emerson.
“Well no, sir, I won’t say dull; but it ain’t exactly lively, if you understand me.”
“Aha!” Emerson burst out laughing. “Amelia, I believe I detect the first crack in the devotional facade. There may be hope for the lad yet. John, you had better spend your evenings with Abdullah and the men, improving your Arabic. Their conversation is a good deal more lively.”
“No, sir, I can’t do that. To tell the truth, sir, I’m worried about the reverends. There ain’t so many converts as there was. One of the children threw a stone at Sister Charity t’other day. And there’s been other things.”
“Humph.” Emerson stroked his chin. “You confirm my own fears, John. Something will have to be done about it. Well, my lad, I’m glad you unburdened yourself. Off to bed with you now; Mrs. Emerson and I will deal with the matter.”
After John had gone, Emerson said complacently, “I knew he had something on his mind. You see, Amelia, a little tact, a little sympathy are all that is needed to win the confidence of an unassuming lad like John.”
“Humph,” I said. “What are you going to do, Emerson?”
“Steps must be taken,” said Emerson, firmly but vaguely. “I do wish people would work out their own problems and not expect me to rescue them. No more, Amelia; I have work to do.”
His pen began driving across the page. I picked up my pen; but instead of the scale drawing of the pottery fragments I was making, a vision intruded between my sight and the page—that of a painted woman’s face with liquid dark eyes and a faint, enigmatic smile.
How could I concentrate on pots or even pyramids when an unsolved crime demanded my attention? The very perplexity of the problem held an unholy fascination; for I felt sure all the scraps of fact fit into a pattern, if I could only make it out. Mummy and mummy case, portrait panel and Twelfth Dynasty pectoral, murder, burglary, arson…. All parts of a single underlying plot.
Before me on the table lay the lists Emerson had made of the contents of Abd el Atti’s shop. I put out a cautious hand. Emerson did not look up. I drew the lists to me.
It came, not as a dazzling burst of mental illumination, but as a tiny pinhole of light. Slowly it widened, meeting another crack of understanding here, connecting with something else there….
The scratch of Emerson’s pen stopped. I looked up to find him watching me. “At it again, Amelia?”
“I think I have it, Emerson. The clue is here.” I held up the lists.
“One of the clues, Peabody.”
“You have a new theory, Emerson?”
“More than a theory, my dear. I know who murdered Hamid and Abd el Atti.”
“So do I, Emerson.”
Emerson smiled. “I expected you would say that, Peabody. Well, well; shall we enter into another of those amiable competitions—sealed envelopes, to be opened after we have apprehended the killer?”
“My dear Emerson, there is no need of that. I would never doubt your word. A simple statement to the effect that you knew all along will suffice—accompanied, of course, by an explanation of how you arrived at the answer.”
Emerson reflected, but the advantages of the arrangement were so obvious that he did not reflect long. A humorous twinkle brightened his blue eyes as he nodded agreement. “I can hardly do less than return the compliment. Your hand on it, my dear Peabody!”
ii
I spoke no more and no less than the truth when I told Emerson I had discovered the identity of the murderer; however, in the privacy of these pages I will admit that a few of the details still eluded me. I was pondering how best to acquire the necessary information when an event occurred that gave me the chance