The Mummy Case - Elizabeth Peters [131]
“When I saw the gun I cried out and woke the others. The man told us not to move, Sitt Hakim, so we did not; it was a Mauser repeating rifle, you understand. Yet we would have come if we had known you were in danger; indeed, we were about to rush the villain, risking our lives in your service, when out of the night a man appeared, waving his arms and crying out….”
I knew it must have been the priest from Ali’s description. “He had a long black beard, Sitt, and a cross hanging at his waist. There was blood all down his face and he was screaming in a high voice, like a frightened woman.”
Emerson shot me a glance from under his brows, which I chose to ignore. “Go on, Ali.”
Ali put a finger under his turban and scratched his head. “They ran away, Sitt, both of them. We were so surprised we could not think what to do. We talked for a while and Daoud said we should stay where we were, in case the man with the gun was hiding, watching us—”
Daoud squirmed and started to protest. I reassured him, and Ali finished his story. “Mohammed and I said, no, we must find you and make sure you were safe. So we came. Our honored father is very drunk on hashish, Sitt.”
Abdullah looked so happy it seemed a shame to rouse him. So we carried him in and put him to bed, with Ali to watch over him. I ordered another of the men to go with Ramses to put his room in order.
Ramses lingered. To his meager breast he still clutched the box containing the pectoral. “Do you wish to talk to me, Mama?”
“I will have a great many things to say to you later, Ramses. Now go and do as I order.”
“One question,” said Emerson, absently scratching his now excessive beard. “What the devil induced you to climb in that window, Ramses? I thought I told you to go for help.”
“De criminal was about to steal my pectoral,” Ramses replied. “It is mine. I found it.”
“But, my dear boy, it was horribly dangerous,” Emerson exclaimed. “You cannot go about demanding your rightful property from thieves; they are not amenable to such appeals.”
“It was not dangerous,” Ramses said serenely. “I knew you and Mama would not allow de men to harm me.”
Emerson cleared his throat noisily and passed his sleeve across his eyes. Ramses and I exchanged a long, steady look. “Go to bed, Ramses,” I said.
“Yes, Mama. Good night, Mama. Good night, Papa.”
“Good night, my dear boy.”
Beneath his muscular exterior Emerson is a very sentimental person. I tactfully looked elsewhere while he wiped his eyes and got his face under control. Then he said, “Peabody, that was the most magnificent testimonial any child ever gave his parents. Could you not have responded more warmly?”
“Never mind, Emerson. Ramses and I understand one another perfectly.”
“Humph,” said Emerson. “Well, my dear, what next?”
“John,” I said. “He must certainly be next.”
“John? John! Good Gad, my dear, you are right. Where is the poor fellow?”
Emerson sprang to his feet. I waved him back into his chair, for despite his extraordinary stamina he was showing signs of fatigue. “There is only one place he can be, Emerson. But before we go in search of him I insist upon a bath and a change of clothing. There is no further danger in delay; if harm was intended, it must already have befallen him. Let us pray that the killer of Hamid and Abd el Atti has spared the lad.”
Emerson’s eyes narrowed. His concern for his unhappy servant was wholly sincere, but for the moment another matter had taken precedence. “Aha,” he said. “So you believed that villain when he disclaimed responsibility for the murders?”
“Why should he lie? We had caught him red-handed. No, Emerson, the priest—or, if you prefer, the Master Criminal—is unquestionably a villain of the deepest dye and I am certain he has several murders on his conscience (if he possesses such an organ, which is doubtful); but he did not kill Abd el Atti and Hamid.”
“Amelia.”
“Yes, Emerson?”
“Did you suspect the priest? Be honest.”
“No, Emerson,