Amelia Peabody Omnibus 1-4 (134 page)

‘It would sound very suspicious,’ I assured him.

‘I suppose so.’ Nemo brushed a lock of shining copper hair from his brow. ‘Yet it seemed reasonable at the time. I swear to you, Mrs Emerson, I did not kill the rascal! And how anyone could suppose that she – a girl like that – why, she is incapable of stepping on a beetle, much less murdering a man in cold blood!’

‘Your incoherent exclamations testify to your good heart but are not of much assistance otherwise,’ I said, rising. ‘Our task is to capture the real murderer of Kalenischeff, thus freeing both you and Miss Debenham from suspicion. He is the genius of crime of whom we spoke earlier – the man known as Sethos. Are you with me?’

‘Every step of the way!’ His fists clenched, his eyes glowed. ‘Wherever it may take us. Into danger, into death–’

‘I don’t intend to let it take us that far. First I want you to set up that tent for Miss Marshall, as she has chosen to be called.’

Mr Nemo wilted. ‘I dare not leave my room,’ he muttered. ‘I don’t want her to see me. Not like this …’

‘Then I suggest you creep up the stairs to the roof and lower yourself to the ground. It should be easy for a healthy young man. Once we have left the house, you can safely return. Remember, I am counting on you to watch over Ramses tonight. I doubt that our adversaries would dare enter the compound, but Ramses is apt to take it into his head to go exploring while his papa and I are out of the way. I have brought you a suit of clothing. Bathe, shave, brush your hair (the necessary implements are in this parcel), and let me see you tomorrow looking like an English gentleman.’

I left him looking like a blooming idiot, as Emerson might have said (though Emerson would probably have employed a more colourful adjective). I have found that people are often struck dumb with amazement at the quickness of my intellect. However, I was confident that he would do as I had asked. By appealing to his gallantry in assisting a lady in distress I had struck at the deepest chords in an Englishman’s nature, and I did not doubt he would rise to the occasion.

Enid wisely waited until she heard my voice before drawing the curtain aside and joining us in the sitting room. Emerson greeted her with hearty good will.

‘I am glad to see you on your feet again, Miss Marshall. If you feel any signs of recurrence, you must tell Mrs Emerson at once so she can pump you full of ipecacuanha. First thing tomorrow we will begin excavating at the base of the pyramid. Perhaps you can tell me–’

I thought it wise to intervene. ‘First, Emerson, tell me what progress you made today. Have you discovered any traces of the causeway?’

Emerson scowled. ‘Nothing but a few bricks, I don’t doubt that the causeway once ran along that line, but the local looters have removed every scrap of stone. It is a waste of time to go on. Instead I will begin at the pyramid and work out from there. I want Miss Marshall to take charge of one group of diggers and–’

Consternation ruffled the serenity of the girl’s brow, and again I came to her rescue. ‘I think it would be better for her to work with me for a few days, Emerson – to get the hang of our methods, if you will excuse the slang. I propose to have a look at the subsidiary pyramid. It shouldn’t take long to determine whether there is anything left in the burial chamber. If necessary, we can hire a few more men.’

‘I don’t know, Peabody,’ Emerson began. But I did not hear his objections; for, out of the corner of my eye, I had seen Ramses close his mouth. His mouth was usually open, speaking or attempting to speak; the sudden compression of his lips would have passed unnoticed by a casual observer, but years of experience had taught me not to ignore the slightest change in that impassive though juvenile countenance. I promised myself I would have a word with Master Ramses. He knew something about the small pyramid, possibly from the illicit digging he had done at Dahshoor the year before.

‘Well then, that is settled,’ Emerson said. ‘Er – it is getting late, don’t you think?’

‘No, not really,’ I said absently, for I was still thinking about the duplicity of my son. ‘Where are the rest of the things I bought today?’

Emerson indicated an untidy heap in the corner of the room. ‘Well,’ I said with a sigh, ‘we had better sort them out. Some will have to be taken to the tents. I also brought a few small items with me in the saddle bags. Where …’

Eventually I found them on the mastaba outside, where Abdullah had dumped them before returning the mare to her owner. Shaking my head, I carried them inside. My poor little nosegay had been crushed by Abdullah’s careless handling. Emerson glanced at it as I put it to one side. ‘Buying yourself posies, Amelia?’

‘No indeed. It was a gift from a gentleman,’ I said jestingly. Not that I wanted to arouse Emerson’s jealousy, for such tricks are unworthy of an affectionate spouse. However, a little stirring up never hurts a husband.

Emerson only grunted. ‘Baehler, I suppose. These Frenchmen–’

‘He is not French, Emerson. He is Swiss.’

‘It is the same thing.’

‘In fact, I am not certain of the identity of the kind giver. The flowers were handed to me by a vendor as I left the hotel. Poor things, they were so pretty… . Here, Emerson, smell the fragrance.’

I thrust them at him with playful impetuosity, so that the lower part of his face was quite smothered by the fading blossoms. Emerson’s eyes bulged. With a cry he struck at my hand. The flowers fell to the floor, and Emerson began jumping up and down on them.

Miss Marshall leaped from her chair and retreated to the farthest corner of the room, staring. Knowing Emerson, I did not share her alarm, but I considered his reaction exaggerated, and I did not hesitate to say so. ‘Emerson, Mr Baehler only meant to make a gallant gesture. You really must–’

‘Gallant?’ Emerson glared at me, and with a start of horror I saw that his brown cheek was disfigured by a creeping trail of blood. ‘A gallant gesture, upon my word,’ he cried. ‘Inserting a poisoned insect or an asp into a bouquet!’ He resumed jumping up and down on the flowers. If a beaten earth floor could have reverberated, this one would have done so. ‘When my face – thump – turns – black – thump – remember – thump – I gave my life – thump – for you!’

‘Emerson, my dearest Emerson!’ I rushed to his side and attempted to lay hold of him. ‘Do stop jumping; violent physical activity will increase the rapidity of the movement of the poison through your veins!’

‘Hmmmm,’ said Emerson, standing still. ‘That is a good point, Peabody.’

My heart pounded in profound agitation as I turned his face to the light. The wound was no more than a scratch, and it had already stopped bleeding. Shallow and uneven, it did not in the least resemble the bite of a venomous reptile or insect. Yet my tender anxiety was not entirely assuaged until I heard Ramses remark calmly, ‘There is no animal life of any kind here, Papa. I believe this bit of metal must have scratched you. It seems exceedingly unlikely–’

Emerson flung himself at Ramses. ‘Drop it at once, my boy!’

Ramses eluded him with eel-like sinuosity. ‘I am confident there is no danger, Papa. The object is – or was, until you trampled it underfoot – a trinket of some kind. The material appears to be gold.’

Gold! How often in the course of human history has that word trembled through the air, rousing the strongest of passions! Even we, who had learned in the course of our archaeological endeavours that the smallest scrap of broken pottery may be more important than jewelled treasures – even we, I say, felt our pulses quicken.

Ramses held the scrap near the lamp. The sensuous shimmer of light along its surface proved him right.

‘I don’t like you holding it, my boy,’ Emerson said nervously. ‘Give it to Papa.’

Ramses obeyed, remarking as he did so, ‘Your fears for my well-being are, I assure you, Papa, without foundation. Mysterious poisons unknown to science are rare indeed; in fact, I believe I am safe in asserting that they exist only in sensational fiction. Even the most virulent substances in the pharmacopoeia require dosages of several milligrams in order to ensure a fatal result, and if you will stop and consider the matter for a moment, you will agree that it would be impossible for a bit of metal this size to contain enough–’

‘You have made your point, Ramses,’ I said.

Emerson turned the twisted metal over in his fingers. ‘It appears to be a ring,’ he said in a quiet voice.

‘I do believe you are correct, Emerson. How very odd! Wait – turn it this way, I caught a glimpse of something–’

‘There are a few hieroglyphic signs still decipherable,’ said the shrill voice of my infuriating offspring. ‘They were stamped upon the bezel of the ring, which had the shape of the cartouche used to enclose royal names. The alphabetic hieroglyph for
n
was at the bottom; above it you will see the form of an animal-headed god, followed by two reed signs. The name is unquestionably that of Sethos, either the first or the second pharaoh of that name, and I would surmise–’

‘Sethos!’ I cried. ‘Good Gad – can it be – but it must be! That he would dare – that he would show such consummate – such incredible effrontery – that – that –’

Emerson took me by the shoulders and shook me so vigorously that quantities of hairpins flew from my head. ‘You are hysterical, Peabody,’ he shouted. ‘Calm yourself – be still – stop shouting! What are you talking about? Who the devil is Sethos?’

I realized that Emerson had not been present when Mr Nemo told me of this pseudonym. As soon as I could persuade him to leave off shaking me, I rendered the necessary explanations. The effect of my statement upon my husband was terrible to behold. The alteration of his normally handsome features was so dreadful that Enid fled into the night and Ramses was moved to exclaim, ‘Such engorgement of the blood vessels may betoken a seizure, Mama. Some cold water dashed in Papa’s face–’

I was unable to prevent the application of this remedy, for Ramses acted upon it even as he spoke, and I must admit that it had a salubrious effect. Emerson sputtered and swore, but his fiery complexion subsided by gradual degrees and his acute intelligence triumphed over his choler. He stood in silence for a moment, dripping. Then he said quietly, ‘Nemo is certain of the name.’

‘It is hardly a name he would invent, Emerson. He knows nothing of Egyptology. And what name could be more appropriate? For Set, as we know, was the evil adversary of the noble Osiris, and might be termed the Egyptian Satan. Though it appears that during some period of history, he was well enough regarded to act as patron of a royal house. The name Sethos means ‘man of Set,’ or ‘follower of Set.’ You remember, I am sure, the Kadesh inscription of Ramses the Second, which exalts the pharaoh by comparing his powers to those of the god:

‘Lord of fear, great of fame,
In the hearts of all the lands.
Great of awe, rich in glory,
As is Set upon his mountain …
Like a wild lion in a valley of goats!

‘How admirably does this same comparison suit the enigmatic person who has assumed the sobriquet of Sethos! Ranging at will among his helpless victims, like the king of beasts–’

‘Yes, yes,’ Emerson said. ‘But the name has another significance which seems to have eluded you.’

‘Sethos the First was the father of Ramses the Second,’ squeaked our son of the same name.

His father gave him a look of pure dislike – one of the few times I had seen Emerson regard the boy with disfavour.

‘What the devil does that have to do with anything?’ he demanded.

‘Nothing at all,’ I said. ‘What are you getting at, Emerson?’

‘Have you forgotten, Peabody, that Set was a red-headed god?’

There could be no doubt, even in the sceptical mind of my husband, that the token of flowers and jewel had come from that villain, the Master Criminal. Only he would have thought to taunt me by presenting me with one of the antique treasures he had stolen from a royal tomb – for, as I hardly need say, golden rings with a kingly cartouche are not easy to come by.

Emerson and I were still discussing the matter as we strolled across the silvery desert toward the Bent Pyramid. Miss Marshall trailed timidly in our wake, encumbered as we were by toilet articles, blankets, and so on. Knowing the poor girl must be utterly mystified, I requested Emerson to render a brief statement of our encounter with the Master Criminal during the previous season. He declined with a degree of acerbity even greater than the mention of this person’s name generally produced, so I took the task on myself.

‘You know, of course, Miss Marshall, about the deplorable trade in illicit antiquities. Owing to the vast number of buried tombs and cities, it is impossible for the Department of Antiquities to guard all of them, especially since the locations of many are not known. Untrained diggers, both native and foreign, lured by the high prices such antiques command, carry out digs of their own, often neglecting to keep the careful records that are essential if we–’

‘If she already knows it, why are you telling her about it?’ Emerson demanded. ‘The facts are known to every school-child, much less a trained excavator like Miss Marshall.’

I laughed lightly. ‘Quite right, Emerson. I have delivered the lecture so often to tourists and other ignoramuses that I forgot myself.

‘At any rate, Miss Marshall, we discovered that the illicit trade had increased a hundredfold, and deduced that some genius of crime had taken charge of the business. These deductions were triumphantly confirmed when we encountered the mastermind himself. Our investigations – the details of which I will not tell you at the present time, though they were fraught with interesting incidents – put a spoke in the wheel of this man; he had us abducted and imprisoned in a pyramid, from which we escaped by the skin of our teeth just in time to stop the genius of crime–’

‘On the whole, Amelia,’ said Emerson in a reflective voice, ‘I believe I prefer even the atrocious term Master Criminal to genius of crime.’

‘Very well, Emerson, it is of small concern to me. As I was saying, Miss Marshall, we robbed Sethos of his ill-gotten gains, but unfortunately he made good his escape. He is out there somewhere, lurking in the shadows of the underworld and, I do not doubt, burning for revenge. The flowers were a reminder that his unseen eyes are upon us and his unseen hand may at any moment descend.’