The Snake, the Crocodile, and the Dog - Elizabeth Peters [84]
An invisible hand gripped my throat. Superstition is not a weakness to which I am prone, but the parallel suddenly struck me with such force I felt like the unhappy parents hearing the doom prophesied for their child.
At the beginning of our acquaintance at Amarna, Emerson and I had faced an adversary I had described as a veritable crocodile, waiting on the sandbank to destroy the lover seeking his sweetheart. Now another enemy threatened us—a man who had used the name Schlange. In German, Schlange means snake.
Nonsense, said the rational part of my much-tried brain. Fanciful you may be, but this is the grossest kind of pagan morbidity. Dismiss it! Let common sense prevail over the affectionate fear that has weakened the ratiocinative process!
Unaware of the painful struggle going on under his very eyes, Emerson said sarcastically, “Is that the extent of your preparation?”
“I can go on if you like.”
“Never mind. I did not request a private interview in order to review your qualifications. If Vandergelt can be believed, I have already accepted them.”
“You have.”
“And you were present on the presumed expedition concerning which my gentle host was so curious?”
“I was.”
“It did take place?”
“It did.”
“At least she doesn’t talk as incessantly as most women,” Emerson muttered to himself. “Very well, then, Miss—er— Peabody. Where the devil did we go, and why? Vandergelt claims to be ignorant of those facts.”
I told him.
Emerson’s eyebrows performed a series of alarming movements. “Willie Forth? It seems only yesterday I spoke with him… You say he is dead?”
“And his wife. The details do not matter,” I continued, for I was not anxious to recall some of those details. “What does matter is that someone has learned that Mr. Forth’s lost civilization is not a fantasy, and that we alone can lead him to it. We swore we would never disclose its location—”
“Yes, yes, you explained that. Forgive me,” Emerson continued, with poisonous politeness, “if I express a certain degree of skepticism about the whole affair. I told Willie Forth he was mad, and thus far I have seen no evidence that contradicts that judgment. You and your dear friend Vandergelt might have invented this story for reasons of your own.”
“You still bear the evidence of someone’s interest in your affairs,” I said indignantly. “Your bruised head and that horrible beard—”
“What does my beard have to do with it?” Emerson clutched protectively at the appendage in question. “Leave my beard out of this, if you please. I grant you that someone appears to be taking an impertinent interest in my personal affairs, but he was not as specific as you—”
“How could he be? He knows nothing about the place except that it holds incredible riches—”
“Do you always interrupt people when they are talking?”
“No more than you. If people go on and on—”
“I never interrupt,” Emerson shouted. “Pray allow me to finish the point I am endeavoring to make.”
“Pray make it,” I snapped.
Emerson drew a deep breath. “There are a number of individuals who hold grudges against me. I am not ashamed of that; indeed, it is a source of modest pride to me, for in all cases their resentment stems from my interference with their illegal or immoral activities. I am also, as you may have observed, close-mouthed—discreet—taciturn. I don’t tell people everything I know. I don’t trumpet my knowledge to the world. I never speak unless—”
“Oh, good Gad,” I exclaimed, jumping to my feet. “I quite agree with the premise you are suggesting, at such unnecessary length: there are undoubtedly dozens of people who would like to murder you for dozens of different reasons. You want evidence that this particular individual is after one particular piece of information? I will give you evidence. Come with me.”
He had no choice but to obey or leave his curiosity unsatisfied, for I was on my way to the door even as I spoke. Stamping heavily and muttering under his breath, he followed me until I reached my room and flung the door open.
“Here!” he exclaimed, starting back. “I refuse