The Snake, the Crocodile, and the Dog - Elizabeth Peters [127]
“It is most interesting,” I remarked somewhat later, “to observe the varying effects of a particular drug on different people.”
“Urgh,” said Emerson. He had irritably refused the offer of my smelling salts, and was drinking cup after cup of strong coffee.
“You,” I continued, “may have acquired a certain immunity as a result of—er—your recent experiences. Cyrus was less affected than René and Charles—”
“Argh,” said Cyrus.
“While Bertha was the most susceptible of all.”
“Will she be all right?” Heavy-eyed and pale, René looked anxiously at me.
“Yes, certainly. She will have a good night’s sleep, which is more than can be said of the rest of us. The guard,” I continued, “appears to have been relatively unaffected. Of course we don’t know how the laudanum was administered, so we cannot be certain of how much each person consumed.”
“It was in the food,” Emerson muttered.
“Or drink. But which dish? Everyone got some of it, not only ourselves, but the Egyptians. Even the guard admits he was dozing when he heard me cry out. The question is one of some importance, you must agree, since we must determine who had the opportunity to add the opium to our food. We have a traitor in our midst, gentlemen!”
Emerson gave me a critical look over the rim of his coffee cup. “Allowing for the excessive melodrama of your speech patterns, Peabody, it appears you are correct. The chef is the most obvious suspect.”
“Too obvious,” I said. “You know how he cooks—pots simmering for hours on a fire, out in the open, with people constantly coming and going—and staying to gossip. We must interrogate the servants—”
“Rot,” Emerson growled. “There is no way we can determine who is responsible for this. The filthy stuff may have been added to one of the water jars before we ever left the village. Anyone could have done it.” His eyes raked the watching faces with sapphirine intensity, and he repeated with slow emphasis, “Anyone.”
Charles immediately looked so guilty, my old friend Inspector Cuff would have arrested him on the spot. It led to a strong presumption of his innocence.
But after we had finally dispersed I asked myself what I really knew about the two young archaeologists. René had been with Cyrus for several years, but even old acquaintance could not clear a man of suspicion in this case. The lure of treasure and of discovery is strong enough to seduce those of weak character. Aside from our men from Aziyeh, there were only three who could be considered above suspicion: Emerson, Cyrus and myself. As for Bertha… Her drug-induced sleep was genuine. I had applied a number of tests, the results of which left no doubt in my mind. But only the stupidest of conspirators would fail to include himself—or herself—among the victims in such a case. I did not think Bertha was that stupid.
In the clear light of morning we were able to determine that only the area near my tent showed signs of uninvited guests. The partial prints of bare feet were visible in two places where none of our men had trod.
When we started out for the royal wadi, Cyrus was carrying a rifle. Emerson’s eyebrows climbed when he saw it, but he made no objection, even when Cyrus said coolly, “Don’t get het up if you see someone above, on the plateau. I sent a couple of my boys up there to keep a lookout.”
Like Cyrus, I had determined to take a few precautions of my own. Over Emerson’s violent objections (which I of course ignored) to the depletion of his work force, I had stationed Selim, Abdullah’s youngest son, at the far end of the main wadi. Selim was Ramses’s particular friend, a handsome boy barely