The Curse of the Pharaohs (26 page)

"No, Mr. O'Connell is with me or he was. Mr. O'Connell?"

"Is it safe to come out now?" inquired the young man's voice.

"You heard me say her revolver is empty," Emerson replied.

"Hers, yes," said O'Connell, still invisible. "What about yours, Professor?"

"Don't be a coward, man! The danger is over; I fired a few warning shots to keep the rascals off. Though," Emerson added, smiling at me, "I might not have gotten off so easily had not Mrs. Emerson arrived, masquerading as an entire squad of policemen. She made enough noise for a dozen men."

"That was what I planned," I said.

"Ha," said Emerson. "Well, well; sit down, both of you, and tell me what you found."

So we took seats on the blanket he had spread out before the entrance to the tomb and I narrated the events of the evening.

A lesser man than Emerson might have exclaimed in horror at the dreadful experiences I had undergone—but men a lesser man would never have allowed me to face them. When I had finished my story he simply nodded.

"Well done, Peabody. I have no doubt that it was Ali Hassan's band of burglars who attacked just now; if you had not caught on to his trick and forced him to move more quickly, you might not have arrived here in time to rescue me." I thought I detected a trace of amusement in the last words and looked at him suspiciously; but his face was quite serious, and so was bis voice when he continued. "Never mind that; we have scared them off, for this evening at least. What interests me more is the news about Armadale. There was no indication of how he died?"

"None," I said.

"But there was the scarlet cobra on his brow," O'Connell said.

I gave the young man a hard stare. I had been careful to brush Armadale's hair back over his forehead before I allowed the others to enter the cave, and I had hoped this omen had escaped the reporter.

"Then," said Emerson, "we must face the probability that he was murdered, even though no signs of violence were visible. Furthermore, I cannot believe that the body would have reached the state you describe in less than three or four days. Who, then, was responsible for the attack on young Arthur?"

"Madame Berengeria," I said.

"What?" It was Emerson's turn to give me a hard stare. "Amelia, the question was rhetorical. You cannot possibly—"

"I assure you, I have been thinking of nothing else since I found Armadale. Who had an interest in his death? Who but the madwoman who clings like a leech to her daughter's youthful strength, and who would be loath to relinquish her to a husband? Mr. Armadale had proposed marriage to Mary—"

"The spalpeen!" Mr. O'Connell exclaimed. "Did he have the infernal gall to do that?"

"He was not the only one to find Miss Mary an object worthy of devotion," I retorted. "Is not jealousy one motive for murder, Mr. O'Connell? Would you commit the sin of Cain to win the woman you love?"

Mr. O'Connell's eyes popped. The moonlight drained all color from the scene; his face had the pallor of death—or guilt.

"Amelia," said my husband, grinding his teeth. "I beg you to control yourself."

"I have barely begun," I cried indignantly. "Karl von Bork is also a suspect. He also loves Mary. Don't forget that the other person who was murderously attacked is also an admirer of the young lady. But I consider Madame Berengeria the most likely person. She is mentally deranged, and only a mad person would commit murder for such a trivial reason."

Emerson clutched his hair with both hands and appeared to be trying to pull it out by the roots. "Amelia, you are arguing in circles!"

"Wait, now, Professor," O'Connell said thoughtfully. "I think Mrs. E. may be on to something. The only reason I've been allowed to be friends with Mary was because I pretended to admire her mother. The old—er—witch has frightened off a good many men, I can tell you."

"But murder!" Emerson exclaimed. "Curse it, Amelia, there are too many holes in your theory. The old—er— witch hasn't the figure or the stamina to go running around the Theban hills striking down strong young men."

"She may have hired assassins," I said. "I admit I have not worked out the idea in detail, but I hope to do so soon. There is no sense in discussing it further tonight; we all need rest."

"You always say that when I am winning an argument," grumbled Emerson.

I saw no reason to dignify this childish comment with a reply.

Thirteen

AS soon as the first streaks of light blossomed in the eastern sky we were up and stirring. I had slept well, though of course I insisted on taking my turn to stand watch. Emerson was fairly twitching, he was so anxious to attack the tomb; but the presence of the journalist restrained him, and he reluctantly agreed that we had better return to the house and deal with the latest crisis before starting work. We left O'Connell on guard, promising to send a relief, and the last thing I saw as we climbed the path was his red head glowing with the rays of the rising sun. Emerson had locked the iron grille so that he would not be tempted to sneak into the tomb while we were gone.

Despite the grim tasks that awaited us I felt an upsurge of pleasure as we strode along hand in hand through the crisp morning air and watched the sky brighten to greet the rising majesty of the sun. The great god Amon Ra had survived another nightly journey through the perils of darkness, as he had done millions of times before and would continue to do long after we who watched this day's sunrise were dust and ashes. A humbling thought.

Such were my poetic and philosophical musings when Emerson, as is his habit, spoiled my mood with a rude remark.

"You know, Amelia, what you were saying last night was bloody nonsense."

"Don't swear."

"You drive me to it. Furthermore, it was irresponsible of you to discuss your suspicions in front of one of the major suspects."

"I only said that to shake him up a bit. I don't suspect Mr. O'Connell."

"Who is it this morning? Lady Baskerville?"

Ignoring the raillery in his voice, I replied seriously, "I cannot eliminate her from suspicion, Emerson. You seem to have forgotten that Lord Baskerville was the first to die."

"I seem to have forgotten? I?" Emerson sputtered for a few moments. "You were the one who insisted last night that jealousy on Miss Mary's account was the motive."

"I presented it as one possibility. What we have here, Emerson, is a series of murders, designed to cover up the real motive. We must first determine the principal murderee, if you will permit me to use that expression."

"I do not see how I can prevent you from doing so. Offensive as the expression is, it offends me less than the theory you propose. Are you seriously suggesting that two of the murderous attacks—three, if you include Hassan— were no more than camouflage, and that a killer is slaughtering people at random in order to cover his tracks?"

"What is so ridiculous about that? Murders are solved by determining the motive. The principal suspects are those who have most to gain by the victim's death. Here we have four victims—for I certainly do include Hassan—and, consequently, a confusing plethora of motives."

"Humph," said Emerson in a milder tone. He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "But Lord Baskerville was the first."

"And if he had died under ordinary circumstances, without all this nonsense about a curse, who would have been the major suspects? His heirs, of course—young Arthur (when he arrived to claim his inheritance) and Lady Baskerville. However, if my ideas are right, Lord Baskerville's was not the primary murder. That would be too obvious. It is more likely that the killer committed the first murder to confuse us, and that the principal murderee was Armadale or Arthur."

"Heaven help the world if you ever take to crime," Emerson said feelingly. "Amelia, the idea is so mad that it has a sort of insane seductiveness. It charms me, but it fails to convince me. No"—as I started to speak—"while I agree that in most cases motive is of great importance in solving a crime, I do not believe it will help us here. There are too many motives. The ones you have suggested pertaining to Lord Baskerville are only two of many possibilities. The fact that these events began after the discovery of a new royal tomb is surely significant. The local thieves, led by Ali Hassan, may have hoped Baskerville's death would halt work long enough to allow them to rob the tomb. The imam may have been moved by religious fervor to destroy the desecrator of the dead. Vandergelt seems to have designs on Lord Baskerville's wife as well as his excavation firman. An examination of the personal life of his lordship might turn up half a dozen other motives."

"True enough. But how do you explain Armadale's death and the attack on Arthur?"

"Armadale may have witnessed the murder and attempted to blackmail the killer."

"Weak," I said, shaking my head. "Very weak, Emerson. Why would Armadale run away and remain in hiding so long?"

"Perhaps he has not been in hiding. Perhaps he has been dead all this time."

"I don't think he has been dead for over a month."

"Well, we won't know until the doctor has examined him. Let us abjure speculation until we have more facts."

"Once we have the facts, we will not need to speculate," I replied smartly. "We will know the truth."

"I wonder," Emerson said morosely.

I had hoped to have time to bathe and change before facing the uproar that would result when Armadale's death became known to the others. Though I am accustomed to "roughing it," I had not changed my attire for almost twenty-four hours, and it showed the effects of the strenuous activities I had engaged in since. However, as soon as we entered the courtyard I knew that indulgence must be postponed again. The first thing to strike me was the unnatural silence. The servants ought to have been up and about their labors long since. Then I saw Mary running toward us. Her hair was disheveled and her eyes stained with tears. "Thank God you are here," she exclaimed.

"Steady, my dear," I said gently. "Is it Arthur? Has he—"

"No, I thank heaven; if anything, he seems a little better. But, oh, Amelia, everything else is so terrible...."

She seemed on the verge of breaking down, so I said firmly, "Well, my dear, we are here and you have nothing more to worry about. Come into the drawing room and have a cup of tea, while you tell us what has happened."

Mary's quivering lips shaped themselves into a valiant attempt at a smile. "That is part of the trouble. There is no tea—and no breakfast. The servants have gone on strike. One of them discovered poor Alan's body a few hours ago. The news spread rapidly, and when I went to the kitchen to order breakfast for the Sister, I found Ahmed packing his belongings. I felt I had to arouse Lady Baskerville, since she is his employer, and..."

"And Lady Baskerville promptly went into hysterics," I finished.

"She was not herself," Mary replied tactfully. "Mr. Vandergelt is talking with Ahmed, trying to persuade him to stay on. Karl has gone to the village to ascertain whether he can hire replacements—"

"Idiotic!" Emerson exclaimed. "He has no business going off like that without consulting me. Besides, it will prove a futile errand. Amelia, do you go and—er—persuade Ahmed to unpack. His decision will be an example to the others. I had planned to send Karl to relieve O'Connell; now I must send Feisal or Daoud. I will see them directly. First things first."

He started to stride away. Mary put out a timid hand. "Professor..." she began.

"Don't delay me, child, I have much to do."

"But, sir—your men are also on strike."

The words caught Emerson in midstride. His boot remained poised six inches off the ground. Then he lowered it, very slowly, as if he were treading on glass. His big hands clenched into fists and his teeth were bared. Mary gasped and shrank closer to me.

"Now calm yourself, Emerson, or one of these days you will have a stroke," I said. "We might have anticipated this; it would have happened days ago, if your charismatic personality had not influenced the men."

Emerson's mouth snapped shut. "Calm myself," he repeated. "Calm myself? I cannot imagine what leads you to suppose I am not calm. I hope you ladies will excuse me for a moment. I am going to speak calmly to my men and calmly point out to them that if they do not immediately turn out and prepare to go to work I will calmly knock them unconscious, one by one."

Whereupon he departed, walking with slow, stately strides. When I saw him open the door of our room I started to expostulate; then I realized he was taking the most direct route, through our room and out the window. I only hoped he would not step on the cat or smash my toilette articles as he proceeded on his single-minded path.

"It really astonishes me that the male sex is so completely devoid of a sense of logic," I said. "There is little danger of an attack on the tomb by daylight; Emerson might have waited until we had settled other, more pressing, matters. But, as usual, everything is left to me. Go back to Arthur's room, my dear. I will send someone to you with breakfast shortly."

"But," Mary began, her eyes widening. "But how—"

"Leave that to me," I said.

I found Mr. Vandergelt with Ahmed. The cook was squatting on the floor completely surrounded by the bundles that held his worldly possessions, including his prized cooking pots. His wrinkled face serene, he was staring pensively at the ceiling while Vandergelt waved fistfuls of American greenbacks at him.

When I left the kitchen, Ahmed was at work. I cannot claim all the credit; Ahmed's exaggerated disinterest had betrayed the fact that the sight of the money was beginning to affect him, and the salary he eventually agreed to accept was tally princely. But I flatter myself that my passionate appeals to honor, loyalty, and friendship had their effect.

Gracefully I disclaimed the compliments Mr. Vandergelt lavished on me, and asked him to carry the good news to Lady Baskerville. Then at last I was free to strip off my work-stained garments. I was relieved to find that the water jars in the bathroom were full. Much as I would have liked to prolong my immersion in the cool water, I made as much haste as I could, for although the immediate crisis had been resolved I felt sure other problems awaited me. I was half dressed when Emerson climbed in through the window and, without so much as a glance in my direction, walked into the bathroom and slammed the door.