The Deeds of the Disturber (43 page)

"Like Oldacre, Wilson met the Earl through Lord St. John, who does have a dilettante's interest in archaeology, and who also possesses
a perverse sense of humor. They were all involved in the original scheme. Why should Lord St. John not participate if it comforted his friend and allowed him to mock the conventions he despised? At first the rituals and concomitant orgies took place at Mauldy Manor; it is no wonder the housemaids heard strange noises from the room in question at various times. Then the Earl's father discovered what was going on. He was no saint, but these perversions appalled him; he presented the violated mummy to the British Museum and forbade further experiments. Shortly thereafter he died; and although it probably can never be proved, I suspect the hunting accident was no accident. It would be interesting to obtain a list of the guests who were present on that occasion.

"I also suspect that Oldacre was not one of the original members of the conspiracy. He may have discovered what was happening in the dignified halls of the Museum and was then, perforce, allowed to join the group. Not content with a subordinate role, he demanded greater power and a share of the money Wilson was squeezing from Lord Liverpool. So Wilson killed him. He considered himself quite safe, did the gentle Mr. Wilson, until Emerson and I entered the case. He knew our reputations, and feared (quite correctly, as it proved) that we would see through his scheme. It was my discovery of Ayesha's involvement that brought matters to a head. As Emerson once pointed out, most opium dens are managed by Indians or Chinese; it was not mere happenchance that Lord Liverpool procured his supply of the drug from this particular establishment. He was introduced to it and to Ayesha by Wilson, who had worked in Egypt, and had connections in the Egyptian community here.

"By this time Wilson faced another dangerous dilemma. The Earl was dying; the grim, though lucrative charade could not be continued much longer. In the beginning, Lord St. John had been a willing participant in the scheme; they all took turns playing the
sem
priest, which is why that mysterious individual's behavior confused us so—on one occasion hesitant and unsure of his role, on another confident and cool. As time went on St. John came to despise Wilson, and to resent his power over Liverpool; but by then he was helpless to interfere. Liverpool would brook no criticism of the man he hoped would save his life, and after the murder of Oldacre convinced St. John that the 'harmless' game had turned to deadly earnest, he could not expose the plot without involving his friend in a nasty scandal, even a possible accusation of murder. Yet St. John was a potential threat to Wilson, and the Earl himself was becoming increasingly undependable, as the
disease strengthened its hold on his decaying body. If he decided the treatment was a failure, and turned on his would-be savior, exposure was equally certain.

"Wilson decided to kill two birds with one stone—silence the Earl before he became a danger, and provide the police with the murderer for whom they were searching. He forced Ayesha to lead me into a trap; unlike the other hieroglyphic inscriptions we had seen, this message was so clumsy and inept it would have been taken for the product of someone relatively ignorant of the language. Wilson intended to use me in the ceremony we interrupted this evening. He planned to dismiss all the witnesses and dispatch both me and Liverpool, in such a way as to leave no doubt that the Earl had killed me and then himself—or, perhaps, that we had killed one another. I can think of a number of ways in which it could have been arranged—"

"I am sure you could, ma'am," said the Inspector respectfully. "But it was Miss Minton, not you—"

I waved my hand negligently. "A minor change in the cast of the play, Inspector. Miss Minton's role in all this was a very curious one. I fancy Wilson planned to marry her. To say he loved her would be a perversion of that noble word, but that is how he probably would have described it. Yet he resented her casual, contemptuous treatment of him, and when he learned she was penniless, he found it hard to conceal his outrage and disbelief. The insane egotism that had prompted his delusion (for I hardly need say that a lady like Miss Minton would never have consented to become his wife) now persuaded him that she had deceived and betrayed him, and made him determine to gain revenge. He discovered that same evening that she was here in this house. She had to be; otherwise I could not have ascertained so quickly that she was unharmed. I erred—I frankly admit it—by telling him, but I tried to protect the girl by insisting she remain here until morning. I had no idea she would dare disobey ME. In fact, she was in such a state of anger and chagrin that she determined to leave the house at once; and Wilson, who had been waiting outside in the hope of finding a means of communicating with her, had no difficulty in persuading her to accompany him. No doubt she expected him to escort her to her lodging, but once in the hansom cab she was at his mercy. It is not without reason that young ladies are warned against those dangerous vehicles!"

I had proceeded thus far without interruption from Emerson or Ramses, and all at once it struck me that this was so unusual as to merit inquiry. Emerson was smirking in a manner that made me want to shake him, and Ramses . . .

"That child is intoxicated," I exclaimed. "Emerson, how could you!"

Emerson was just in time to prevent Ramses from sliding quietly off his chair onto the floor. The boy's eyes were closed, and he did not stir when his father lifted him into his arms.

"He isn't drunk, Amelia, he is tired," said Emerson indignantly. "The little lad has had a busy night."

"Busy night, indeed. Busy week would be more like it. I don't suppose he has been in his bed more than . . . Take him up and tuck him in, Bob. And pray don't forget to take off those ghastly garments, and wash him, and—"

Emerson gave Ramses into the waiting arms of the footman, remarking, "Be gentle, Bob."

"Yes, sir. I will, sir."

"Now, then," I said, when Bob and his sleeping charge had departed, "it is getting late and we should all think of retiring. But first, Inspector, you owe me an explanation. I hope you aren't going to claim you followed the same train of deductive reasoning that led me to the solution of the crime?"

"Oh, no, ma'am," said the Inspector, blinking. "Such a train of reasoning would be quite beyond me. No; I am sorry to admit it was the dull, boring routine of police investigation that led me into quite the wrong conclusion. We make use of informers—"

"Ahmet," I exclaimed. "That wretched little spy! He told me nothing!"

"Well, ma'am, perhaps you did not ask the right questions," said Inspector Cuff mildly. "We took Ahmet into custody for his own protection. Knowing the reputations of the young gentlemen, I already had some suspicions of them, and after prolonged questioning—no, ma'am, not bullying, just questioning—Ahmet admitted Lord Liverpool was one of Ayesha's customers. Not in the opium den itself; she had rooms upstairs reserved for more distinguished visitors. Then later, when the professor—"

"Good Gad, only look at the time," Emerson exclaimed, taking his watch from his pocket. "I don't like to be inhospitable, Inspector— Mr. O'Connell—Gargery—"

A murmur of agreement interrupted the list, and the Inspector rose to his feet. "Yes, sir, you are quite right. I must be getting along. With profound thanks, Professor and ma'am—"

We said good night to the Inspector in the hall, and then proceeded upstairs. I looked in on Ramses and found him sound asleep; the parts of him that showed were relatively clean. I had my suspicions about the rest, but I decided not to disturb him. Returning to my room, I
found Emerson lying on the bed. He was not asleep, however, and as soon as I closed the door he rose with his customary alacrity and began to assist me in preparing for repose, remarking that it would be thoughtless to disturb one of the maids at that hour.

"Emerson," I said.

"Yes, Peabody? Curse these buttons ..."

"You interrupted the inspector just as he was about to explain how you had assisted him in his investigations."

"Did I, Peabody? Ah, there we go . . ."

A button bounced on the floor. "How did you assist him, Emerson? For if you are going to tell me you knew Eustace Wilson was the ringleader—"

"Did you know, Peabody?"

"Did I not explain my reasoning, Emerson?"

"Yes, Peabody, you did, and most ingeniously, too. However, the expression on your face when you saw Wilson in the carriage—"

"You could not have seen my expression, Emerson. My back was to you."

Emerson kicked a garment out of the way and wrapped both arms around me. "You thought it was Lord St. John. Oh, come, Peabody; I'll confess if you will."

"You too, Emerson?"

"Everything pointed to him, Peabody. The eminence grise, the Machiavellian mentor, the power behind the throne—"

"He was almost too perfect," I said regretfully. "He had been a soldier, hardened to slaughter and the spilling of blood; he is intelligent, cynical, quick-thinking ..."

"Corrupt and dissipated," said Emerson, snapping his teeth together.

"Yes; but I fancy he had honestly sickened of the life that had brought his friend to such a hideous doom. He told me he had, but naturally I was somewhat skeptical of his claims of newfound virtue. I fear his manner is unfortunate; one tends to find double entendres and hidden meanings in everything he says. At any rate, he was not present this evening, and I sincerely hope he will find the good woman he purports to be seeking, and that she may assist him in attaining peace of mind and a virtuous life."

"There is nothing like the influence of a good woman," Emerson agreed solemnly. "Now, then, Peabody, why don't we—"

"With all my heart, Emerson."

After a prolonged interval Emerson raised his head and said somewhat breathlessly, "That was excellent, Peabody, and I intend to continue in
the same vein almost at once; but first, would you care to admit you
were mistaken about—"

"I see no reason to continue the discussion, Emerson." "Mmmmmm," said Emerson. "Well, Peabody, I must confess your
arguments are extremely persuasive."

A gray, rainy dawn was breaking before we fell asleep, and the same gloomy light met my eyes when I opened them some hours later. The house was quiet and peaceful; there was no sign of Ramses, at the foot of the bed, or at the door; and I lay in sleepy content for a time, engaged in philosophical meditation. There is nothing more soothing, I believe, than the consciousness of duty accomplished and dangers overcome. Another murderer had been safely delivered into the arms of the law, and I could now turn my attention to a little problem that had been perplexing me for several days. It had to do—inevitably—with Ramses. However, before I could concentrate on the matter, Emerson awoke, and the ensuing distractions, of the sort in which he is peculiarly gifted, turned my attention in another direction.

As a result it was quite late in the afternoon before we finally emerged from our room. Owing to the inclement weather, the skies outside were quite dark and all the lamps had been lighted. As we proceeded arm in arm along the corridor, Emerson remarked, "I presume you will insist on having tea, Peabody."

"Have you any objections, Emerson?"

"Well, yes, confound it, I do; and you know what they are, Peabody."

"I assure you, my dear, that I am about to turn my attention to the problem."

"Very well, my dear Peabody, I will leave it to you. But I warn you, I can't stand it much longer. I need peace and quiet if I am to finish that confounded manuscript—"

Before he could continue, a horrendous shriek reverberated through the house. It came from the direction of the children's rooms.

"Curse it," Emerson exclaimed. "What now? That child has the most piercing voice of any female I have ever heard. What will she be like in ten years, after her lungs have expanded? I tell you, Peabody—"

"That was not Violet, Emerson," I said. "If you will be quiet a minute ..." Sure enough, another scream confirmed my hypothesis; it had come, I felt certain, from a female older than Violet. "One of the maids, I believe," I continued. "Perhaps we had better go and see what is wrong."

We met the maid in question—Mary Ann it was—in the hallway.

She had both hands over her face, and ran full-tilt into Emerson, who politely caught her and propped her against the wall before proceeding on his way. "No use asking her," he remarked. "She appears to be in quite a state of agitation. I suppose that was Ramses' room from which she emerged?"

"That would be a safe assumption even if I had not seen her come out the door," I replied. "She must have gone to call him to tea and found . . . What, one wonders?"

We were soon to learn. The door was open. Somehow I was not surprised to find Ramses was not alone. He and Percy stood confronting one another across the table on which Ramses' mummies were arranged. Their faces presented an interesting contrast in color, for Percy was flushed and livid with anger, and Ramses was as pale as I had ever seen him. Owing to the natural darkness of his complexion and his deep tan, his cheeks had turned an odd shade of milky brown. On the table between them was what appeared to be a new specimen—very new indeed, for it was covered with gore that ran freely from its wounds.

The carcass was that of a rat. With their long, obscenely naked tails and sharp teeth, rats are not the loveliest of God's creatures; but they are nevertheless God's creatures. The mutilations inflicted on this one were of a sort that could only have been perpetrated, not by claws of cat or fangs of dog, but by a sharp knife held in a human hand. Worst of all, the faintest pulsation of the flayed body showed that the wretched thing still lived, though mercifully it was incapable of feeling pain.

Emerson was at my side, as he always was when danger or difficulty threatened. He carried the thing away; I did not look to see what he did, and after a moment he said quietly, "It is dead, Peabody."

"Thank you, my dear Emerson."

I looked at the two boys. Percy was biting his lip and his eyes were luminous with tears he strove to hold back. The countenance of "Ramses" Walter Peabody Emerson was its usual enigmatic mask; but my keen maternal eyes caught a flicker of emotion in his black eyes. Apprehension, I thought.