The Serpent on the Crown - Elizabeth Peters [94]
“Turn out the light, Peabody.”
“Yes, my dear.”
Emerson agreed to accompany me to the hotel the following morning. He grumbled a bit about taking the time from his work, but I could see he was as curious as I—and that he was half hoping I would be proved wrong about the questionable Mrs. Johnson. Sethos went with us, despite Emerson’s attempts to dissuade him.
I had not expected Emerson would have any difficulty in persuading Mr. Salt to violate a visitor’s privacy. We found the manager more than eager to oblige. The chambermaid had reported that the lady’s bed had not been slept in, nor the towels in the bath chamber used. Mr. Salt was in a slightly nervous condition anyhow. A second mysterious disappearance would have a bad effect on the Winter Palace’s reputation, especially if it were followed, like the first, by murder.
“I do hope,” he said pathetically, “that nothing else has occurred. Perhaps Mrs. Johnson has just gone away for a few days.”
“Without mentioning it to you or the desk clerk?” I asked.
Mr. Salt groaned.
The room had the musty smell of a chamber which has not been occupied for some time. Also palpable to the olfactory sense was the scent of stale perfume. The bedcovers had been turned down and a nightgown spread carefully out across them, as was the custom. I went immediately to the wardrobe, where I found what I had expected—several elegant gowns, of the size that would fit Mrs. Petherick. An even stronger scent wafted from the top drawer of the dresser when I opened it.
“It is the same scent she used,” I said, sniffing.
“Hmph,” said Emerson. “That’s not proof, Peabody.”
“What about this, then?” I held up a linen underbodice and indicated the name written inside the seam in the indelible ink used by laundries.
“Hmph,” said Emerson, in a different tone.
“Oh, come, Emerson, be generous,” Sethos said. “She was right on the mark. Acknowledge it.”
“I did,” grunted Emerson.
We had to explain the situation to poor bewildered Mr. Salt. He kept shaking his head and muttering about the press. “They will have to be told, I suppose?”
“Not by us,” I replied. “But the police will certainly have to be notified, and I don’t doubt the news will get out.”
We made a thorough search of the room. I turned the dresses inside out and felt along the seams while Sethos unfolded the linens, shook them out, and refolded them. Emerson, who would as soon have spied on a naked lady as handle her personal undergarments, watched his brother’s long, deft hands with unconcealed disapproval. We found nothing of importance except another jewelry box. The ornaments were few, but of a much more valuable nature than the trinkets I had found earlier. As I had observed, the Countess Magda liked sparkling gems, the shinier the better. Two pairs of diamond earrings, a bracelet encircled by emeralds and diamonds, a tastelessly large diamond brooch, and a string of pearls made up the contents of the box. I handed it immediately to Mr. Salt and asked him to put it in the hotel safe.
“Tell your employees that under no circumstances are they to enter the room until after the police have been here,” I instructed.
“Locking the barn door?” Sethos inquired, raising his eyebrows. “They have had ample opportunity to go in and out as they pleased already. Which of them has keys?”
Mr. Salt started. “Oh dear,” he murmured. “Oh dear. Keys? Oh. Let me think. The chambermaid, the laundryman, the suffragi on duty, the assistant manager…”
“The door might as well have been left open,” Emerson said. “Well, well, it’s too late to remedy that. Shouldn’t we tell the Pethericks what we’ve found?”
“They went out early this morning,” Mr. Salt said.
“Where?” Emerson asked.
“They asked me to recommend a reliable dragoman, so I presume they intended to visit some of the sites. I do not spy on my guests, Professor.”
“That’s a job for the police,” Emerson agreed. He gave the manager a consoling clap