Amelia Peabody Omnibus 1-4 (96 page)

The old John would have burst into protestations of undying loyalty. The new, corrupted John looked grave. ‘I would give me life’s blood for the professor, madam. The day he caught me trying to steal ’is watch in front of the British Museum he saved me from a life of sin and vice. I will never forget his kindness in punching me in the jaw and ordering me to accompany him to Kent, when any other gentleman would ’ave ’ad me taken in charge.’

His lips quivered as he spoke. I gave him a friendly pat on the arm. ‘You certainly could not have continued your career as a pickpocket much longer, John. Considering your conspicuous size and your – if you will forgive me for mentioning it – your growing clumsiness, you were bound to be caught.’

‘Growing is the word, madam. You wouldn’t believe what a small, agile nipper I was when I took up the trade. But that is all in the past, thank ’eaven.’

‘And Professor Emerson.’

‘And the professor. Yet, madam, though I revere him and would, as I mentioned, shed the last drop of blood in me body for him, or you, or Master Ramses, I cannot endanger me soul for any mortal creature. A man’s conscience is – ’

‘Rubbish,’ l said. ‘If you must quote, John, quote Scripture. It has a literary quality, at least, that Brother Ezekiel’s pronouncements lack.’

John removed his hat and scratched his head. ‘It does ’ave that, madam. Sometimes I wish as ’ow it didn’t ’ave so much. But I’m determined to fight me way through the Good Book, madam, no matter ’ow long it takes.’

‘How far have you got?’

‘Leviticus,’ said John with a deep sigh. ‘Genesis and Exodus wasn’t so bad, they tore right along most of the time. But Leviticus will be my downfall, madam.’

‘Skip over it,’ I suggested sympathetically.

‘Oh no, madam, I can’t do that.’

A wordless shout from my husband, some little distance away, recalled me to my duties, and I indicated to John that we would begin photographing. Scarcely had I inserted the plate in the camera, however, when I realised Emerson’s hail had been designed to draw my attention to an approaching rider. His blue-and-white striped robe ballooning out in the wind, he rode directly to me and fell off the donkey. Gasping theatrically, he handed me a note and then collapsed face down in the sand.

Since the donkey had been doing all the work, I ignored this demonstration. While John bent over the fallen man with expressions of concern I opened the note.

The writer was obviously another frustrated thespian. There was no salutation or signature, but the passionate and scarcely legible scrawl could only have been penned by one person of my acquaintance. ‘Come to me at once,’ it read. ‘Disaster, ruin, destruction!’

With my toe I nudged the fallen messenger, who seemed to have fallen into a refreshing sleep. ‘Have you come from the German lady?’ I asked.

The man rolled over and sat up, none the worse for wear. He nodded vigorously. ‘She sends for you, Sitt Hakim, and for Emerson Effendi.’

‘What has happened? Is the lady injured?’

The messenger was scarcely more coherent than the message. I was still endeavouring to get some sense out of him when Emerson came up. I handed him the note and explained the situation. ‘We had better go, Emerson.’

‘Not I,’ said Emerson.

‘It isn’t necessary for both of us to respond,’ I agreed. ‘Do you take charge of the photography while I – ’

‘Curse it, Peabody,’ Emerson cried. ‘Will you let this absurd woman interrupt our work again?’

It ended in both of us going. Emerson claimed he dared not let me out of his sight, but in fact he was as bored with our pitiful excavation as I was.

And of course one owes a duty to one’s fellow man – and woman.

As we rode across the desert, my spirits rose – not, as evil-minded persons have suggested, at the prospect of interfering in matters which were not my concern, but at the imminence of the exquisite Dahshoor pyramids. My spirits were bound to them by an almost physical thread; the nearer I came the gladder I felt, the farther I went the more that tenuous thread was stretched, almost to the point of pain.

The baroness’s dahabeeyah was the only one at the dock. We were led at once to the lady, who was reclining on a couch on deck, under an awning. She was wearing a most peculiar garment, part negligee, part tea gown, shell-pink in colour and covered with frills. Sitting beside her was M. de Morgan, holding her hand – or rather, having his hand held by her.

‘Ah, mon cher collègue,’
he said with obvious relief. ‘At last you have come.’

‘We only received the message a short time ago,’ I said. ‘What has happened?’

‘Murder, slaughter, invasion!’ shrieked the baroness, throwing herself about on the couch.

‘Robbery,’ said de Morgan succinctly. ‘Someone broke into the salon last night and stole several of the baroness’s antiquities.’

I glanced at Emerson. Hands on hips, he studied the baroness and her protector with impartial disgust. ‘Is that all?’ he said. ‘Come, Peabody, let us get back to work.’

‘No, no, you must help me,’ the baroness exclaimed. ‘I call for you – the great solvers of mysteries, the great archaeologists. You must protect me. Someone wishes to murder me – assault me – ’

‘Come, come, Baroness, control yourself,’ I said. ‘Why was not the robbery discovered earlier? It is almost midday.’

‘But that is when I rise,’ the baroness explained guilelessly. ‘My servants woke me when they found out what had happened. They are lazy swine-dogs, those servants; they should have been cleaning the salon at sunrise.’

‘When the mistress is slack, the servants will be lazy,’ I said. ‘It is most unfortunate. Several of the possible suspects have already left the scene.’

De Morgan let out a French expletive.
‘Mais, chère madame,
you cannot be referring to the people of quality whose dahabeeyahs were moored here? Such people are not thieves.’

I could not help smiling at this credulous statement, but I said only, ‘One never knows, does one? First let us have a look at the scene of the crime.’

‘It has not been disturbed,’ said the baroness, scrambling eagerly up from the couch. ‘I ordered that it be left just as it was until the great solvers of mysteries came.’

It was easy to see how the thieves had entered. The wide windows in the bow stood open and the cushions of the couch had been crushed by several pairs of feet. Unfortunately the marks were amorphous in the extreme, and as I examined them with my pocket lens I found myself wishing, for once, that Egypt enjoyed our damp English climate. Dry sand does not leave footprints.

I turned to my husband. ‘You can say what is missing, Emerson. I fancy you studied the antiquities even more closely than I.’

‘It should be obvious,’ said Emerson morosely. ‘What was last night the most conspicuous article in the room?’

The grand piano was the answer, but that was not what Emerson meant. ‘The mummy case,’ I replied. ‘Yes, I saw at once it was no longer present. What else, Emerson?’

‘A lapis scarab and a statuette of Isis nursing the infant Horus.’

‘That is all?’

‘That is all. They were,’ Emerson added feelingly, ‘the finest objects in the collection.’

Further examination of the room provided nothing of interest, so we proceeded to question the servants. The baroness began shrieking accusations and, as might have been expected, every face looked guilty as Cain.

I silenced the woman with a few well-chosen words and directed Emerson to question the men, which he did with his usual efficiency. One and all denied complicity. One and all had slept through the night; and when the dragoman suggested that djinns must have been responsible, the others quickly agreed.

De Morgan glanced at the sun, now high overhead. ‘I must return to my excavations, madame. I advise you to call in the local authorities. They will deal with your servants.’

A howl of anguish broke out from the huddled group of men. They knew only too well how local authorities dealt with suspects. With a reassuring gesture I turned to the baroness. ‘I forbid it,’ I cried.

‘You forbid it?’ De Morgan lifted his eyebrows.

‘And so do I,’ Emerson said, stepping to my side. ‘You know as well as I do, de Morgan, that the favourite method of interrogation hereabouts consists of beating the suspects on the soles of their feet until they confess. They are presumed guilty until proven innocent. However,’ he added, scowling at de Morgan, ‘that assumption may not seem unreasonable to a citizen of the French Republic, with its antiquated Napoleonic Code.’

De Morgan flung up his arms. ‘I wash my hands of the whole affair! Already I have wasted half a day. Do as you wish.’

‘I fully intend to,’ Emerson replied.
‘Bonjour, monsieur.’

After de Morgan had stamped off, cursing quietly in his own tongue, Emerson addressed the baroness. ‘You understand, madam,’ he said, squaring his splendid shoulders, ‘that if you call the police, Mrs Emerson and I will not assist you.’

The baroness was more moved by the shoulders than by the threat. Eyes slightly glazed, she stood staring at my husband’s stalwart form until I nudged her with my indispensable parasol. ‘What?’ she mumbled, starting. ‘The police – who wants them? What is missing, after all? Nothing I cannot easily replace.’

‘I congratulate you on your good sense,’ said Emerson. ‘There is no need for you to concern yourself further at this time; if you would care to retire – ’

‘But no, you do not understand!’ The appalling woman actually seized him by the arm and thrust her face into his. ‘The stolen objects are unimportant. But what of me? I am afraid for my life, for my virtue – ’

‘I really don’t think you need worry about that,’ I said.

‘You will protect me – a poor helpless
Mädchen?’
the baroness insisted. Her fingers stroked Emerson’s biceps. Emerson’s biceps are quite remarkable, but I allow no one except myself to admire them in that fashion.

‘I will protect you, Baroness,’ I said firmly. ‘That is our customary arrangement when my husband and I are engaged in detectival pursuits. He pursues, I protect the ladies.’

‘Yes, quite right,’ said Emerson, shifting uneasily from one foot to the other. ‘I will leave you with Mrs Emerson, madam, and I will – I will go and – I will inquire – ’

The baroness released her hold and Emerson beat a hasty retreat. ‘You are in no danger,’ I said. ‘Unless you have information you have not disclosed.’

‘No.’ The baroness grinned knowingly at me. ‘He is a very handsome man, your husband.
Mucho macho,
as the Spanish say.’

‘Do they really?’

‘But I do not waste time on a hopeless cause,’ the baroness continued. ‘I see that he is tied firmly to the apron strings of his good English
Frau.
I shall leave Dahshoor tomorrow.’

‘What of Brother David?’ I asked maliciously. ‘He is not tied to a woman’s apron strings – unless Miss Charity has captured his heart.’

‘That pale, washed-out child?’ The baroness snorted. ‘No, no, she adores him, but he is indifferent to her. She has nothing to offer him. Make no mistake, Frau Emerson, the beautiful young man is only saintly in his face and figure. He has, as the French say, an eye
pour le main chance.’

The baroness’s French and Spanish were as fractured as her English, but I fancied she was not as ignorant of human nature as she was of languages. She went on with mounting indignation, ‘I have sent for him today, to come to my rescue, and does he come? No, he does not. And a large donation I have made to his church.’

So Emerson’s surmise had been correct! I said, ‘You do Brother David an injustice, Baroness. Here he is now.’

She turned.
‘Herr Gott,’
she exclaimed. ‘He has brought the ugly
Pfarrer
with him.’

‘It is the other way around, I fancy.’

‘I escape,’ the baroness said loudly. ‘I run away. Tell them I can see no one.’ But in stepping forwards she tripped on her flounces and fell in a dishevelled heap upon the couch. Brother Ezekiel pounced on her before she could rise. Fumbling in the pile of agitated ruffles, he pulled out a hand, which he seized firmly in his big hairy fists.

‘Dear sister, I rejoice that you are not harmed. Let us bow our heads and thank God for this merciful escape. Heavenly Father, let the weight of your wrath fall on the villains who have perpetrated this deed; mash ’em flat to the dust, O Lord, lay ’em low as you did the Amalekites and the Jebusites and the …’

The polysyllabic catalogue rolled on. ‘Good morning, Brother David,’ I said. ‘I am glad you are here; I can leave the baroness to you.’

‘You can indeed,’ David assured me, his mild blue eyes beaming. ‘The tender and womanly compassion that is so peculiarly your own does you credit, Mrs Emerson, but there is no need for you to remain.’

The baroness lay quite still. I could see her face; her eyes were closed and she appeared to be asleep, though how she could have slept through Brother Ezekiel’s voice I cannot imagine. ‘ … and the kings of Midian, namely Evi and Rekem and Zur and Hur … ’

I found Emerson surrounded by the servants and the members of the crew. He was haranguing them in Arabic, to which they listened with fascinated attention. Arabs do love a skilled orator. Seeing me, he concluded his speech. ‘You know me, my brothers; you know I do not lie, and that I protect all honest men. Think well on what I have said.’

‘What did you say?’ I inquired as we walked away, followed by the respectful farewells of the audience: ‘Allah preserve thee; the mercy and blessing of Allah be with thee.’

‘Oh, the usual thing, Peabody. I don’t believe any of the men were directly involved in the robbery, but they must have been bribed to remain silent. An object the size of that mummy case could not have been removed from the salon without waking someone.’

‘Bribed – or intimidated? I sense the sinister shadow of the Master Criminal, Emerson. How far his evil web must stretch!’

‘I warn you, Peabody, I will not be responsible if you go on talking of webs and shadows and Master Criminals. This is a case of sordid, commonplace thievery. It can have no connection – ’

‘Like a giant spider weaving his tangled strands into a net that snares rich and poor, guilty and innocent – ’