The Mummy Case - Elizabeth Peters [133]
“The peace of God be upon you,” he said.
“And upon you,” Emerson said automatically. Then he added, “Curse it, I have no time for this sort of thing. What the devil has happened here?”
“I do not know, effendi,” the mayor said. “Will you protect us? There was much shouting and shooting in the night—”
“Oh, heavens,” I exclaimed. “Poor John!”
“He is just making a good story of it,” Emerson said in English; but he looked grave. “Shooting, your honor?”
“One shot,” the mayor admitted. “One, at least…. And when we woke this morning, the priest was gone and all his friends with him; and the sacred vessels are gone too. They were very old and very precious to us. Has he taken them to Cairo to be repaired, perhaps? Why did he tell no one he was going?”
“He is half right,” said Emerson. “I don’t doubt that the sacred vessels are on their way to Cairo by now.”
“I ought to have anticipated this,” I said in some chagrin. “To be honest, Emerson, I did not notice the vessels when I attended the service.”
This exchange had been in English. The little man looked timidly from me to Emerson. Emerson patted him on the back. “Be of good cheer, my friend,” he said in Arabic. “Go back to your house and wait. It will be explained to you later.”
We went on through the deathly silence. “I have the direct forebodings, Emerson,” I murmured.
“I expected you would, Peabody.”
“If we have brought that boy to his death, I will never forgive myself.”
“It was my idea to bring him, Peabody.” That was all Emerson said, but his haggard look expressed the depth of his remorse.
“Oh no, my dear. I agreed; it was as much my fault as yours.”
“Well, let us not borrow trouble, Peabody,” Emerson said, squaring his shoulders and exhibiting the dauntless spirit I expected.
We reached the open space before the mission. The small neat buildings looked peaceful enough, but the same brooding silence hung over the place.
“Let us hurry,” I said. “I can bear the suspense no longer.”
“Wait.” Emerson drew me into concealment among the trees. “Whatever awaits us in that ominous place, there is one thing we know we will find—a raving madman. Our theories agree on that, at least?”
I nodded. “Then it behooves us to behave with extreme circumspection,” Emerson said. “We don’t want to push the fellow into a rash act.”
“You are correct as always, Emerson. But I cannot wait much longer.”
“You won’t have to.” Emerson’s voice dropped to a thrilling whisper. “By heaven, there he is—as unconcerned as if he were not a murderer twice over. Amazing how normal he looks; but that is often true of madmen.”
He spoke of Brother David. The young man did not appear mad, but neither was he unconcerned. He stood just outside the door of the house looking nervously from side to side. After a long, suspicious survey of the scene, he summoned the courage to proceed. Emerson waited until he had got halfway across the clearing; then, with a roar, he bounded out of concealment.
When I reached them, Brother David was flat on his back and Emerson was sitting on his chest. “I have him safe,” my husband cried. “There is nothing to be afraid of, Peabody. What have you done with my servant, you rascal?”
I said, “He can’t answer, Emerson; you are squeezing the breath out of him. Get off him, why don’t you.”
Emerson shifted his weight. David took a long shuddering breath. “Professor?” he gasped. “Is it you?”
“Who the devil did you think it was?”
“That fiendish priest, or one of his adherents—we are beset with enemies, Professor. Thank God you are here. I was just going to try to reach you, to ask for your help.”