The Deeds of the Disturber (21 page)

"Rest assured, Mama, that my concern is no less profound for being rigidly controlled. Hmmm. There is little more to be learned from the message except that it was written by a man of some education—"

"Oh, good Gad!" I exclaimed.

"—with a pen whose nib needed mending. In fact, Mama, the situation is not as grave as I feared; for if Mr. Budge also received such an ushebti, the malice of the writer is not concentrated solely upon Papa. I would be curious to know whether any other scholars or officials of the Museum received such a message."

"Exactly," Emerson said, taking advantage of Ramses' pause to draw breath. "I told you, Peabody, it is just another rude joke. These things feed on one another; a newspaper account may have inspired some other lunatic to join in the fun—"

"For if that is indeed the case, as I suspect—"

"Go to bed, Ramses," I said.

"Yes, Mama. Thank you for your indulgence in letting me reassure—"

"Now, Ramses."

After embracing his Papa and me, Ramses finally did as he was asked. It was not until after he had left the room that I realized he had taken the shawabty with him.

"Let him have it," Emerson said indulgently. "Poor little chap, he probably wants to perform some of his quaint chemical tests upon it. I say, Peabody, that was a good idea of his. I think I will just run out and call on Petrie and Quibell to ask if they received—"

"Not now, Emerson. Cook is holding dinner; you were very late, you know."

"In that case," Emerson said, "we had better not take the time to dress for dinner."

I hope that one day someone will make a study of the means whereby information is dispensed in households such as ours. Of course Ramses is a unique case; there are times when a superstitious person might well believe, as certain of our Egyptian workmen do believe, that he can hear through walls, and see through them too. Whether it was from Ramses, or from the maid who had been in the bathroom, or some other source, Gargery knew all about the shawabty and the threatening message, even before Emerson told him. He was kind enough to agree with Emerson that it might be advantageous to learn whether any other individuals had received such objects.

"If you would like to begin inquiries this evening, sir, I will see to it that any letters you might wish to write are delivered."

"Very good of you, Gargery," said Emerson.

"Not at all, sir."

After he had left the room to supervise the serving of the next course (an excellent Capon a la Godard), I addressed Emerson severely. "Really, Emerson, do you think it advisable to take Gargery into your confidence as you do? I am sure Evelyn won't like it if her butler joins in the conversation at the dinner table."

"Well, but Gargery is not like Wilkins; I can never get that fellow to say anything but 'I really could not say, sir.' Gargery made a useful suggestion. I wonder ..."

"Yes, Emerson?"

"I wonder if he might have an extra pipe he could lend me. I could replace it tomorrow after the shops open."

After dinner we retired to the library to write the letters Gargery had suggested. But this was one task that was never to be completed. Scarcely had we settled ourselves with pen and paper—and a pipe,
which Gargery had indeed been pleased to provide—than the butler reappeared.

"There is someone to see you, Professor—Mrs. Emerson."

"At this hour?" Emerson exclaimed, throwing his pen down. "What infernal presumption!"

"You were perfectly willing to send messengers to your friends at this hour," I reminded him. "Who is it, Gargery? Give me his card."

"He had no card, madam," said Gargery, with a sneer almost up to Wilkins' standard. "But he insists the matter is urgent. His name is O'Connell—"

"O'Connell? O'Connell?" Emerson's brows lowered. "Take Mr. O'Connell and . . . but you will require assistance, Gargery; you are, if you will excuse my saying so, on the weedy side. Fetch the largest of the footmen, request him to take Mr. O'Connell by his collar, and propel him—"

"No, wait, Emerson," I said; for Gargery's expression suggested that he was ready and willing to carry out any suggestion his idol might make. "Mr. O'Connell would not come here—and at such a late hour—unless he had pressing news. Should we not hear what he has to say?"

"A point, Peabody. I can always pitch him into the lily pond afterward, and have the satisfaction of doing it myself. Show the gentleman in, Gargery."

"Yes, sir." Gargery marched out. Emerson leaned forward, his eyes bright with anticipation—whether of the information O'Connell might bring, or the expectation of being able to perpetrate the described indignity upon his person, I would hesitate to say.

For once O'Connell showed no sign of the nervousness he usually displayed in Emerson's presence. He was so anxious to speak to us, he pushed past Gargery before the butler could announce him properly. Hat in hand, hair wildly askew, he cried, "There has been an arrest in the murder case. Mrs. Emerson—Professor—they have got the wrong man!"

Eight

I
PERSUADED Mr. O'Connell to take a chair and join us in a whiskey and soda. "For," I explained, "although your dramatic announcement has certainly captured our full attention, I would appreciate a careful, ordered narrative, which you do not appear at present in a fit state to deliver."

I also hoped, by this little stratagem, to improve Emerson's relations with Kevin O'Connell. Once a man has taken refreshment in your home and a chair in your sitting room, you are less likely to pitch him into a pond.

Gargery served us and then retired. But I noticed he left the door open a crack.

Once Kevin had imbibed a quantity of whiskey, his reportorial instincts returned, and he told a coherent, if somewhat lurid, story.

The man who had been arrested was a member of London's Egyptian community, one Ahmet, who was distinguished from his numerous compatriots of the same name by the significant epithet of "the Louse." He described himself grandly as a merchant, but according to Kevin he was only a small trader, and an unsuccessful one at that, probably because he consumed much of his stock.

"Opium, hashish, and other popular commodities of that sort," Kevin said. "Oh, I admit he is a thoroughly unsavory character. He'll do anything for money, and when he is desperate for the drug, he would inform on his own mother. I've used him myself on occasion. But he is a pathetic little swine in his way, without the courage or physical strength to commit such a brutal murder."

"Then he will be freed in due course," Emerson grunted around the stem of his (Gargery's) pipe.

"The police have been under a great deal of pressure to solve the case since the riot at the Museum," Kevin insisted. "The trustees have pressed the Home Secretary, who has pressed the Commissioner, who has had his subordinates on the carpet; and that fool Cuff has selected Ahmet as the scapegoat. No one will come to his defense—"

"You are absolutely right, Kevin," I exclaimed. "The poor fellow is in great danger. I was not at all impressed with Inspector Cuff's acumen."

Stroking his well-modeled chin, as is his habit when deep in thought, Emerson was not so deep in thought as to miss this slip of the tongue. "What?" he shouted. "What did you say? When did you—"

"Never mind that now, Emerson. Mr. O'Connell is in the right. No uneducated, petty criminal planned this series of crimes."

"Humph," said Emerson. "Well, but—"

Kevin leaned forward. "You must intervene, Professor, in the interests of justice. The Metropolitan Police don't know the Egyptian character as you do. Even those who have lived in Cairo have had little to do with the natives, they don't speak the language, they—"

"Yes, Emerson, yes," I cried. "It is our duty to assist the police in this matter. When I think of that poor chap under interrogation, being jostled and struck by large constables—"

"Oh, come, Peabody, the police don't torture suspects," Emerson growled. But he was disturbed; fingering the cleft in his chin, he went on, "What do you expect me to do? Surely, Mr. O'Connell, you don't expect me to visit an opium den—"

I finished the sentence. "—on the Sabbath. I appreciate your thought-fulness, Emerson, for as I am well aware, such considerations do not weigh heavily with you. However, the Sabbath ends at midnight, and that hour, we know, is a good time to find such dens functioning, although, I have been assured, they are in operation at all hours, since to their wretched clients day and night are alike."

"Who said anything about opium dens?" Kevin stuttered.

"Peabody," Emerson bellowed, "I am not taking you to an opium den on the Sabbath or at any other time."

"Your syntax gives you away, Emerson," I replied, with a playful shake of my finger. "You do not deny that
you
mean to visit an opium den. You cannot suppose I would let you go alone to such a place? 'Whither thou goest I will go, and whither thou lodgest I will lodge; thy people shall be—' "

"Oh, do be quiet, Peabody! And don't quote Scripture to me!"

"Very well, if it disturbs you. A little more whiskey, my dear? I am sure Mr. O'Connell would like another glass."

I took it from the journalist's limp hand. "Do you mind my asking why you are talking about opium dens?" he asked weakly.

I took it upon myself to enlighten the young man, since Emerson had fallen into a kind of blank-faced stupor and was muttering to himself. Now and then a phrase was audible: "Lock her in a room? Absurd . . . she would find a way out, she always does . . . And the servants would suppose . . . oh, good Gad!"

"Surely, Kevin, you must see that an opium den is the most obvious place in which to begin our investigation. Ahmet is an opium trader and an opium eater. His friends (if he has any) and colleagues are likely to be found in establishments catering to the trade. I am not myself acquainted with those particular locations in London favored by Egyptians who indulge in opium—for birds of a feather, as the saying has it, tend to flock together, and so, one must suppose, do Egyptians and other groups of expatriates. However, Emerson's wide experience and acquaintance with a variety of ... Emerson, I do wish you would stop mumbling. You distract me."

"... bound and gagged . . . but I should never hear the end of
that
..."

"What was I saying, Mr. O'Connell?"

"You were explaining your reasons for—for visiting an opium den," said Kevin, struggling to control the nervous contractions of his lips.

"Oh yes, thank you. It is the Egyptian connection, you see. I have overlooked this aspect thus far, since the business seemed to me to have a distinctly European, not to say English, cast. Yet no one has seen the face of the false priest; what if he is not an Englishman but an Egyptian, better educated than some of his fellows, but not entirely free of the pagan superstitions that continue to flourish despite British eucational efforts? We have encountered such phenomena in other cases. You remember, Emerson, the mudir who tried to prevent you from opening the Baskerville tomb?"

Lost in reverie, Emerson did not respond, but Kevin exclaimed, "Right enough. I remember him well. Your own workmen were so afraid of the supposed curse they refused to enter the tomb until Professor Emerson performed one of his famous exorcisms.(
The Curse of the Pharaohs)
 But I say, Mrs. E., if superstition is indeed the motive for the murder, it doesn't bode well for poor old Ahmet."

"I mentioned that only as one possibility among many," I said. "But it is one that ought to be investigated. My husband has friends and acquaintances in a number of peculiar places, you know. Being a singularly modest individual, he does not boast of his connections, but I would not be at all surprised to discover that he is familiar with the habitats of Egyptians residing here in—"

Emerson's eyes came back into focus. "Dismiss the idea, Peabody. We are not visiting any opium dens."

"I thought I would dress as a young man," I explained. "A woman would be more noticeable in such an ambiance, and the convenience of trousers—"

Emerson looked me over, head to foot and back again. "Peabody," he said, "under no possible circumstance and in no conceivable costume could you pass for a man. The prominence of your—"

"One of the footmen must have something I could borrow," I mused. "Henry is about my height. Mr. O'Connell, you appear to have something caught in your throat. Sip your whiskey more slowly."

"I—er—swallowed the wrong way," Kevin said hoarsely. "Hem. That's better. Your scheme is brilliant, Mrs. E. I'm sure you can manage the—er—difficulty the professor mentioned, and in any case it will be dark. We will take care no one gets close enough to look at you closely."

"We," I repeated.

"Yes, ma'am—we. The professor may protest all he likes, but I know you, Mrs. E., and I know you will have your way. And whither you go, Mrs. Emerson, I will go."

"Oh dear," I said, with an apologetic glance at Emerson. "I am sorry! I should not have spoken so freely. I quite forgot, in my enthusiasm—"

"Never mind, Peabody," Emerson replied slowly. "Mr. O'Connell has us by ... has the right of it. We can't prevent him from following us, so we may as well take him along. Another able-bodied man might be useful."

"Excellent," O'Connell exclaimed, his eyes shining. "Thank you, Professor. You won't regret it, I assure you."

"I am confident I won't," said Emerson. "But in deference to Mrs. Emerson's sensibilities we must wait until midnight, so we may as well relax. Another whiskey, Mr. O'Connell?"

I would have expected a member of a profession noted for its cynicism to be more suspicious of Emerson's sudden amiability, but in Kevin's defense it must be said that when he puts himself out to be
affable, no one is more affable than my dear husband. Subdued by chagrin at my unusual lack of reticence, I kept still and let Emerson do the talking. Admirable man! Not once, by word or glance, did he reproach me. Instead he exerted himself to win Kevin's confidence and lower his guard—with immediate success. Conversationally, almost negligently, he mentioned the threatening message he had received earlier.