The Mummy Case - Elizabeth Peters [130]
He strode toward the door.
His men watched him go. Emerson’s back was to the window. I was the only one who saw the framework of wooden bars shiver and give way. Silently it swung out—and then I knew how Ramses had come and gone by night without being observed. I was helpless. I could not order him away without calling attention to his presence. I could only avert my eyes and plan the indignities I hoped to perpetrate upon his person.
Neither Emerson nor I had replied to that last taunt, though I knew the same thought was in both our minds: “We will meet again, never fear; for I will make it my business to hunt you down and put an end to your nefarious activities.” Emerson always has to have the last word, however. The priest was at the door when my husband shouted, “Are you leaving us to be slaughtered by your henchmen? I might have known you would leave the dirty work to others; but our blood will be on your head, you villain!”
“My dear Professor, not a drop of your blood will be shed if you accept the inevitable. My men have orders to bind and—” Turning, the priest broke off with a gasp.
Ramses fell into the room. He picked himself up off the floor and started forward. “Give it back to me,” he said, in a growl that was terrifyingly like that of his father.
The priest laughed contemptuously. “Imp of Satan! Seize him, Mustafa.”
With a malevolent grin the man he addressed threw out a careless arm. The blow caught Ramses across the midsection and lifted him clean off his feet. His body hit the wall with a horrible crash; he fell in a heap and lay motionless.
I heard Emerson’s roar, and the crack of a pistol. I saw nothing. Inky blackness engulfed me, like a cloud of thick smoke shot with bursts of flame. A great rushing filled my ears, like the thunder of an avalanche….
After an immeasurable interval I became aware of hands clasping me and a voice calling my name. “Peabody! Peabody, for God’s sake…”
The mists before my eyes cleared. I was still on my feet, parasol in hand, and Emerson was shaking me.
Ramses sat bolt upright, his back against the wall, his hands braced on the floor, his legs sticking straight out. His mouth hung open; his eyes were popping.
“You are alive,” I said.
Ramses nodded. For once in his life he seemed incapable of speech.
On Emerson’s face I saw the same expression of incredulous horror. Yet there was no reason for alarm; one villain lay facedown on the floor, his arms over his head. The second huddled in a corner, babbling incoherently. The priest was gone.
“You seem to have the situation well in hand, Emerson,” I said, wondering why my voice sounded so hoarse. “My congratulations.”
“I didn’t do it,” Emerson said. “You did.”
“What are you saying, Emerson?”
Emerson released me and staggered back. He dropped heavily onto the tumbled blankets. “There is blood on your parasol, Peabody.”
I realized that I was holding the instrument poised, as if to strike. There was certainly some viscous substance on the steel-dark tip. A drop formed and fell as I stared.
“Berserk,” Emerson went on, shaking his head dazedly. “That is the term…. A berserker rage. I have heard it described. One could almost believe in the old legends, that the one possessed is impervious to blows, weapons, bullets…. The maternal instinct, roused to fury—the tigress defending her cub….”
I cleared my throat. “Emerson, I cannot imagine what you are talking about. Tear one of the sheets into strips, and we will tie up the criminals before going out to rescue our men.”
The rescue proved to be unnecessary. While we were binding the two thugs (who were in a peculiar state of trembling paralysis and gave us no trouble), our men from Aziyeh rushed into the house in an agitated and vociferous body. They had been unaware of danger until one of them awoke to find himself held at gunpoint by “a cursed Christian,” as Ali naively expressed it. Emerson hastened to clear