The Deeds of the Disturber (16 page)

"Silence!" he shouted. "Stand where you are! He has gone! The danger is past!" and other remarks of a similarly encouraging nature. The crowd responded, as indeed it must have done to a presence so commanding; and Emerson then dragged the unhappy Keeper to his feet. Budge had lost his spectacles, his cravat was twisted under his left ear, and his face was crimson with fury and embarrassment. Emerson handed him the fainting lady. Budge staggered, but managed to stay on his feet.

"Take command, you nincompoop," Emerson said. "You are always bragging about your ability to bully 'the natives'; let us see you exercise a little authority here."

Without waiting for a reply, which Budge was at that time incapable of making, Emerson made his way to me. Even as he had stood at bay like a beleaguered lion, clutching the form of the lady, for to let her fall might have been to expose her to serious injury—even as he had striven to protect the helpless while he watched in stoic calm the ruination of his scheme—even then his eyes had sought me and his lips had shaped a question. Seeing me upright and calm, my parasol at the ready, he had proceeded to do his duty. That duty done, he returned to me with the tender query, "All right, Peabody? Good. The fellow is long gone, of course, but we may as well follow his trail."

The draperies behind which the priest had vanished were of heavy brown velvet, and at first glance they appeared to be all of one piece. After an interval of fumbling and cursing Emerson located the gap through which the lunatic had passed. He pulled the velvet aside. Behind it was a blank marble wall.

Emerson had known (as had I) that there was no way out of the room but for the archways at either end; but, being Emerson, he refused to believe the obvious. Vanishing in his turn, he followed the wall to where the curtain ended. A wild billowing and flapping of velvet marked his progress and raised quite a lot of dust.

Accompanied by a brace of guards, Budge bustled up to me.

"What the devil is going on here?" he demanded. "Mrs. Emerson, I insist—"

Emerson's head popped into sight from behind the draperies. He was glaring hideously. "Watch your language in the presence of my wife, Budge."

Budge waved a chubby fist. "Come out of there, Professor!"

The rest of Emerson followed his head. "Nothing but a blank wall," he muttered.

"And a vast quantity of dust," I added, brushing at Emerson's sleeve. "Really, Mr. Budge, your housekeeping—"

Budge waved both fists. "Out!" he shouted, purpling. "Out of here, all of you! This gallery is now closed to the public—"

"That makes sense," Emerson agreed. He stared at the only other people who had remained in the room—those dedicated journalists, O'Connell and Miss Minton, and a third individual who was unfamiliar to me. "Cursed reporters," Emerson said. "Throw them out."

Both stubbornly stood their ground, and the third individual stepped forward, smiling self-confidently. His close-fitting black frock coat displayed a trim, athletic figure, but he was not in his first youth. Deep lines scored his high forehead and sallow cheeks, and there were pouches of sagging flesh under his eyes. His silk hat and snowy linen were of the finest quality, and he twirled a gold-headed cane in his gloved fingers.

"I'm sure your prohibition does not extend to me, Mr. Budge," he drawled.

Budge's manner changed abruptly. He babbled, he beamed, he all but groveled. "Certainly not, your lordship. Your lordship is always welcome. If your lordship would condescend—"

"You're a good fellow, Budge," said his lordship, with the condescension Budge had invited. "Won't you present me? I know this lady
and gentleman by reputation—as who does not?—but I have not had the pleasure of meeting them."

Mr. Budge stuttered through the introductions while his lordship studied me through his monocle. I took a firm grip on Emerson, who has been known to object violently to monocles, impertinent stares, and members of the aristocracy; but he only said mildly, "Lord St. John St. Simon. You are Canterbury's youngest son, I believe?"

His lordship took off his hat and bowed. Though long strands of hair had been carefully stuck in place with pomade, they did not conceal the bald spot on the crown of his head. "You flatter me, Professor. I had not expected the activities of a dilettante like myself would be of interest to you."

"Your activities have been widely reported," said Emerson. "I believe you are an intimate of the young man whose father presented the famous coffin to the Museum?"

This was news to me, and I began to see why Emerson was standing there chatting when I would have expected him to be in hot pursuit of the false priest.

"Yes, yes," said Budge importantly. "Lord Liverpool is a splendid young man, and a generous patron; dare I hope he accompanied you today, your lordship?"

"He is somewhere about, I believe," Lord St. John said, hiding a yawn behind his impeccable glove.

"Indeed? Is he indeed? I must find him, then. Present my compliments ..."

Emerson continued to stare at his lordship, and eventually even that supercilious gentleman showed signs of self-consciousness. Twirling his stick, he asked, "Well, Professor, what now? I expected you would be hot in pursuit of the priest. Tallyho, yoicks, and that sort of thing. Or do you agree with some of the reporters that he has supernatural powers and can vanish into thin air?"

"Humbug," said Emerson.

"Oh, quite, Professor. And yet he went behind this curtain and did not come out. I heard you say there is no door, no exit—"

"Surely the answer is obvious, your lordship," I said. "All he had to do was remove the mask and wig—which are all of a piece—and the robe, and join the rest of the spectators. There was such confusion—"

"In which case he must have left the room by that door," said Emerson, pointing. "Mingling with the others, he would pass through the Third Egyptian Gallery and thence to the stairs. They lead down to the Hall of Sculpture; from there he could reach the main entrance onto
Great Russell Street. However, we may as well follow. One of the guards may have noticed someone carrying a large parcel or a bag."

"Containing the costume?" his lordship said. "Excellent, Professor. Mrs. Emerson, may I offer you my arm?"

"As you can see, your lordship, I already have one—or, to be quite accurate, three, since in addition to my own appendages, my husband has lent me his."

Lord St. John's smile broadened. "You have a charming wit, Mrs. Emerson. Miss Minton, then?"

"Miss Minton had better take herself off," said Emerson, scowling.

Budge was forced to agree. "Yes, yes, be off with you, young woman. And you too, O'Connell. I am always willing to speak with the press if the proper application is made, but I do not allow common journalists—"

"Miss Minton is not a common journalist," said his lordship gently. "You surely don't suppose any ordinary young woman would be employed by a newspaper unless she had extraordinary influence? Her grandmother—"

"Don't you dare tell," cried Miss Minton.

"—is the Dowager Duchess of Durham, and formerly a close—er —friend of the owner and publisher of the
Morning Mirror.
The old lady is a desperate woman's-rights advocate and fully supported the aspirations of Miss Minton—the Honorable Miss Minton—"

His speech was interrupted by a cry of "You wretch!" and by a small gloved hand that struck his lips with stinging force. Miss Minton then destroyed the superb effect of her remonstrance by bursting into tears and running from the room.    *

His lordship laughed. "Bless the ladies and their charming inconsistency! They demand to be treated like men, but they react like women."

"Much as I dislike doing so, I must agree with you," I said. "The young lady's tears were tears of rage, I am sure, but they were demeaning. I will have to have a little talk with Miss Minton."

"No, you will not," Emerson growled. He added vehemently, "Curse it! Curse it!" Then his eyes lit on O'Connell, who, except for a murmured "Begorra!" when Miss Minton's identity was revealed, had remained thoughtfully silent. "Well, well, Mr. O'Connell," he said affably. "Why haven't you gone after the young lady to console her?"

"Because she would strike me with her parasol," said O'Connell.

"Very possibly. Women can be the devil, can't they?"

"Yes, sir. I'm so glad you aren't angry with me, Professor. You know I was only trying to do my job—"

"Oh yes, no doubt." Emerson beamed. "And the next time my name, or that of Mrs. Emerson, appears in that rag of yours, I will come to your office and thrash you within an inch of your life. Good day, Mr. O'Connell."

O'Connell precipitately vanished.

"So much for the confounded press," said Emerson with satisfaction. "Budge, you may as well leave too; you are no help at all. Your cursed bowing and scraping and empty courtesies have already detained me too long."

Budge took himself off, sputtering and fuming. I myself felt that Emerson's accusation was a trifle unfair. Courtesies never detained him when he did not wish to be detained. The surprising tolerance he had displayed toward his lordship continued; he made no objection when the latter followed us, remarking pleasantly that he had always wanted to observe a famous detective at work.

However, our inquiries proved to be in vain. Once in the Third Egyptian Gallery, the fugitive had several routes of escape open to him: along the western galleries of the upper floor to the main stairs, or down the back stairs and along the lower floor to the exit. None of the guards had noticed anyone carrying a large parcel, or—it was my suggestion —an unusually obese individual.

His lordship said little, but he watched Emerson's every move. He seemed more alert and less supercilious, and the few suggestions he made gave evidence of a keen intelligence. Emerson always does bring out the best in all those who associate with him, however briefly.

When we reached the main entrance", with his lordship still on our heels, we found the last stragglers leaving and the guards preparing to close the Museum. Emerson knew many of the guards personally; as he was conversing with them, trying to jog their memories, a young man detached himself from the pillar against which he had been leaning and strolled toward us.

"So there you are," he drawled, in a faint, husky voice. "You've been a confounded long time, Jack. I am about to scream from boredom."

"It's your own fault, Ned, for being so lazy," his lordship replied. "You missed the excitement."

"I did?" The young man raised his cane to his mouth like an infant sucking a teething ring and peered sleepily at us.

I had immediately deduced that the effeminate young man must be the Earl of Liverpool, and so it proved. His lordship performed the introductions with easy grace, adding, "Professor and Mrs. Emerson
are the famous archaeological detectives I told you about, Ned. I have just had a most interesting time watching them detect."

Emerson glowered at this remark, which certainly did seem to contain a hint of sarcasm. The Earl gave a high-pitched giggle. " Ton my word, is that so?"

Though he was dressed with a foppish elegance even greater than that of his friend, with great diamonds blazing from his cravat and his fingers, he had not the older man's presence, being painfully thin and hollow-chested. His face was a pasty yellow, and when he laughed his parted lips displayed teeth as brown and rotten as an old man's.

"We are not detectives, Lord Liverpool, but archaeologists," I corrected. "We have been inspecting the coffin your late father gave the Museum. It was a generous gesture, though I must say the effects have been unfortunate."

"Is that so? Er—yes, I suppose they have. Pity. The poor old governor would be—er—mighty surprised ..."

"And distressed," said Lord St. John smoothly.

"Er—yes. To be sure." The Earl sucked his cane and stared. "Mrs. Emerson . . . you're the lady who digs these—er—these mummies up, ain't you? Seems—er—an odd idea, eh?"

"What a tease you are, Ned." His lordship took his friend by the arm. "Mrs. Emerson is a very distinguished scholar. Perhaps you might like to invite her to visit Mauldy Manor and see your father's collection."

"Er—what? Ah, yes." The Earl smiled sleepily. "Lots more of them—mummies and—well, no, not mummies, that was the governor's only one—little bottles and statues and such things. Very welcome, I'm sure. Anytime."

"No time," Emerson barked, before I could express my thanks for the invitation—such as it was. "We have no time for such things. Kind of you, I suppose, but we have better things to do."

"Oh, I'm sure you and Mrs. Emerson would find objects of interest at Mauldy Manor," said his lordship.

"Quite, quite," the Earl agreed, with another feeble sputter of amusement.

But Emerson's patience had given out. With the briefest of farewells he drew me away.

A heavy bank of dark cloud had moved in over the city. Through a rent in that somber curtain a flash of crimson marked the path of the declining sun; and as we watched the two men walk westward, the slighter of them leaning on the arm of his friend, they appeared to be heading for the fiery perdition that surely awaited at least one of them.

"He is an opium eater, Emerson," I murmured. "Poor fellow; the drug has affected his brain, he scarcely makes sense."

"It is not opium but his disease that is rotting his brain, Peabody. It is almost enough to make one believe in a God of Wrath and Vengeance. Whatever the boy's sins—and they are infinite—they don't deserve a death like the one he faces." Then my dear Emerson's natural optimism triumphed; giving himself a little shake, he remarked, "Ah, well, better men and women than that pathetic sprig of the nobility meet worse fates daily. I need my tea, Peabody. Or something stronger, perhaps."

Since the hour was late, I agreed to Emerson's suggestion that we take a cab. These vehicles, with their musty smell and cracking leather seats, have an odd effect on my spouse; perhaps it is the soft music of the horse's trotting hooves, or the sense of being cozily shut up in a shadowy, private place. However that may be, we were scarcely inside when he began to make demonstrations of a distracting nature and I had some difficulty in persuading him to postpone them long enough for him to remove his beard, which was even more bristly and uncomfortable to the touch than a natural one would have been. Though his attentions were as skilled and assiduous as always, I sensed the seething frustration that boiled within him and I sought to relieve it with a friendly jest.