The Mummy Case - Elizabeth Peters [93]
“Yes, quite,” said Emerson. “Your naïveté amazes me, gentlemen. Leaving aside the question of conversion, to introduce into your home a complete stranger, without credentials or local references…”
“We are all brothers in the Lord,” Ezekiel proclaimed.
“That is your opinion,” Emerson retorted. “In this case Miss Charity appears to have had better sense than either of you men. Your ‘brother’ was not a Copt but a Muslim; he did not come from a neighboring village but from the underworld of Cairo; he was a liar, most probably a thief, and very possibly a murderer.”
Had Emerson consulted me beforehand, I would have advised against betraying this information—which, the reader will note, he implied he had discovered. However, the blunt announcement had the result of enabling me to study its effect on the missionaries. Since it is my practice to suspect everyone, without exception, I had naturally wondered whether one of them had murdered Hamid—for reasons which were at that time irrelevant to the inquiry. But their astonishment appeared genuine. Brother David’s expression was one of polite incredulity. Brother Ezekiel was thunderstruck. His heavy jaw dropped and for a few seconds he could only sputter unintelligibly. “What—where—how did you—”
“There is no doubt about it,” Emerson said. “He was a thorough rascal, and he took you in very nicely.”
“You accuse the poor chap of being a thief,” said Brother David. “Since he is no longer here to defend himself, I must do it for him. Do you accuse him of robbing you?”
“He stole nothing from us. That is…” A shade of vexation crossed Emerson’s face. I knew he was thinking of the peripatetic mummy cases. He decided not to attempt to explain this. Instead he said, “He was responsible for the theft of the baroness’s antiquities.”
“How do you know that, sir?” Brother Ezekiel demanded.
“Mrs. Emerson and I have our methods,” Emerson replied.
“But at least one of the missing objects was recovered,” Ezekiel said.
“That was an error. The mummy—” Emerson’s voice caught, but he got the word out. “The mummy case was not the one belonging to the baroness. It is still unaccounted for. But we are on the track of it; it won’t be long before we locate it.”
Brother David rose to his full height. “Forgive me, Professor, but I cannot listen to accusations against the dead. Our servants must have arrived by now; if you will show me where our unfortunate brother lies, we will take him away with us.”
“Certainly. I will also lend you a sack in which to carry him.”
The sun was setting in fiery splendor when the funeral procession made its way toward the village, in somber outline against the darkening blue of the eastern sky. We had been bidden to attend the obsequies of “our dear brother” on the following morning, an invitation to which Emerson replied with sincere astonishment. “Sir, you must be out of your mind to suggest such a thing.”
John had lit the lamps when we returned to the parlor. Ramses was there too. He had been eavesdropping, for he said at once, “Papa, I would like to attend de funeral.”
“Why on earth would you want to do that?” Emerson asked.
“Dere is a variety of folktale dat claims dat de murderer is drawn to de funeral services of his victim. I suspect dat is pure legend, but a truly scientific mind does not dismiss a t’eory simply because it—”
“Ramses, I am surprised at you,” Emerson said. “Scientific inquiry is one thing, but there is a form of morbid curiosity—to which, I regret to say, certain adult persons who ought to know better are also prone…”
Here he stopped, having got himself into a hopeless grammatical tangle. I said icily, “Yes, Emerson? Do go on.”
“Bah,” said Emerson. “Er—I was about to suggest an alternative form of amusement. Instead of attending the obsequies we might go to Dahshoor and harass