The Deeds of the Disturber (33 page)

"It is oil, I believe," I remarked, wiping my fingers on my handkerchief. "But I was not speaking of the house, Emerson; I was referring to its owner. Whatever his failings, it is tragic to see a young man facing inevitable, imminent death."

"The disease has already attacked his brain," Emerson muttered. "You observed the characteristic excitability. He could have homicidal fits, Peabody."

"I did not get that impression, Emerson."

"Impressions don't count for a jot. You are softening toward the young rascal because he is ill, and because he says he likes cats."

"It is an engaging quality, Emerson."

"That depends," said Emerson darkly, "on
how
he likes them."

Twelve

H
.ENRY STOPPED THE CARRIAGE in front of the house to let us out before going on around to the mews. As we descended, Emerson turned and shook his fist. "Hi, there, you little rascal! Don't try that again; you'll break a leg."

"I trust you were not speaking to me," I remarked playfully.

Emerson gestured at a ragged urchin who was retreating at full speed. "Another of those street arabs. They will hang on to the backs of carriages and cabs; it's a dangerous trick."

The wretched child—who had now disappeared from sight—aroused uncomfortable memories. "We had better go up and see what Ramses has been doing."

"That was not Ramses, Amelia. How could it be?"

"I didn't say it was. I only said I wanted to see what Ramses has been up to."

When Gargery admitted us, he was so puffed up with news he could hardly wait to take our things before telling it. "You've had a number of callers, sir and madam. That journalist has been twice—"

"Mr. O'Connell?"

"I believe that is his name, madam," said Gargery, his nose in the air. "He seemed in a state of some agitation, and said he would return later."

"If he hopes to presume on my good nature," Emerson began angrily.

"He would not be so foolish, Emerson. Who else, Gargery?"

"A young gentleman from the Museum, madam. A Mr. Wilson. Here is his card. He also said he would call again later in the hope of
finding you in. Then this letter was hand-delivered; it appears to be of some importance."

My heart gave a great leap. Ayesha had said I would know her messenger. Well, I had not been there to see him. The envelope was conventional enough, of heavy, expensive, cream-colored linen, bearing my name in a flowing (obviously female) hand.

I ripped it open, trying to appear casual and at the same time prevent Emerson (who was breathing heavily into my left ear) from seeing the contents. It was an invitation to tea on Thursday from a friend of Evelyn's.

"Curse it," I said involuntarily.

"Were you expecting some particular message?" Emerson inquired pointedly.

"Er—no, of course not. I wonder what Mr. O'Connell wants?"

Gargery had not finished. "Professor, someone called for you."

"Who was it?" Emerson asked.

"He left no name, Professor. But he seemed quite put out—rudely so—to find you were not at home."

The pronoun did not relieve me. A messenger from Ayesha could be male or female.

"Oh, did he," said Emerson, bristling. "What sort of person was this scoundrel?"

"An unmannerly, arrogant sort of scoundrel, sir," Gargery replied. "And a foreigner to boot. He had a pronounced accent—"

A stifled exclamation burst from my lips. Emerson gave me a curious look. "What sort of accent, Gargery?"

"I don't know, sir. He wore a turban, sir. I took him for an Indian."

"Do we know any Indians, Peabody?" Emerson asked.

"I don't think so, Emerson." But we knew a good many Egyptians; and they also wore the turban.

"He said he would call again," Gargery volunteered.

"Hmph," said Emerson. "Well, Amelia, it appears we are about to be deluged by visitors, curse them. If you want to speak with Ramses, you had better do it now."

"It is almost time for tea," I replied, glancing at the watch pinned to my lapel. "Tell them to bring it in, Gargery, and ask the children to come down."

Emerson went upstairs to change out of the despised frock coat, and I proceeded to the drawing room. I was looking through the afternoon post when the children entered, and after greeting them, I remarked to
Percy, "It is strange we haven't heard anything from your mama, Percy. Not that I wish to alarm you—for I am sure there is no cause—but perhaps I ought to write to her. Have you the address?"

"No, Aunt Amelia, I haven't. It was somewhere in Bavaria," Percy added helpfully.

"I see. Hmmm. Ramses, would you mind sitting over there, across the room? I congratulate you on washing your face and your hands, but the aroma of chemicals that clings to your clothing . . . What experiments are you working on?"

"Just my usual experiments, Mama."

"Nasty," muttered Violet, reaching for a muffin.

Gargery appeared at the door. "Mr. O'Connor is here, madam."

"O'Connell," I corrected, knowing full well Gargery had deliberately mistaken the name. "Show him in, then. And tell the professor to hurry."

O'Connell came in with his usual rush, stuffing his cap into his pocket. "What is it now, Kevin?" I asked. "A murder, or another arrest, or what?"

"Nothing so bad as that, Mrs. E. At least I hope it is not." He took the chair I indicated and looked curiously at the children.

"No more muffins, Violet," I said sharply. "And don't pout, or Aunt Amelia will put you on bread and water for a few days. Go over there in the corner and play nicely with your doll."

"I don't want ..." Violet began.

Percy patted her on her fat curls. "I will play spillikins with you, Violet. If you will excuse us, Aunt Amelia?"

"Quite the little gentleman," said Kevin, as the two went off hand in hand. "And how are you, Master Ramses? No ill effects after last night, I hope?"

Fearing that Ramses would answer in detail—scratch by scratch and bruise by bruise—I answered for him. "None. Emerson's wound was not so serious as I feared. He should be here . . . Well, Gargery, where is the professor?"

Gargery, who, the Reader may have noted, was not inclined to suppress his feelings or his opinions, made no attempt to conceal his agitation. "He's gone off, Mrs. Emerson. With that Indian."

"What?" I half-rose from my chair. "With no explanation, no word—"

"All he said, madam, was that he was going out and would be back later, and not to worry. But, madam, I can't help worrying, not with
all those heathens seemingly after the professor and you, and this fellow was such a haughty, high-handed chap ..."

"Did you see where they went?" I inquired.

"He had a carriage waiting, madam. A nice turnout it was, with as fine a pair of matched grays as I've ever seen."

"Was there nothing distinctive about the carriage? No armorial bearings or crest?"

"No, madam. Just a plain black brougham—very handsome, and polished to a turn, madam. They drove off in the direction of Pall Mall—"

"Which means nothing," I muttered. Pall Mall leads to Hyde Park and Park Lane . . . and to a million other places.

"No, madam. They were off so fast I didn't have time to send anyone after them—and when I made so bold as to say to the professor that perhaps he ought to take Bob along, or one of the others, he gave a queer kind of laugh and said no one else had been included in the invitation, madam. He was looking . . . queer, madam."

"Afraid, Gargery?"

"Madam!"

"Of course not. Angry?"

"Well ..."

"You said he laughed."

"But in a queer way, madam."

"Oh, do go away, Gargery," I exclaimed. "If you can't do better than that . . . Now, now, don't be hurt, I know you did your best and I am sure there is no need for concern."

"Thank you, madam," said Gargery mournfully.

After he had gone I looked at Ramses. "Do you know anything about this, Ramses?"

"No, Mama. Which is something of a blow to my pride, since I try always to be
au courant
when the safety of yourself or Papa is involved. One might of course speculate—"

"Do not speculate, Ramses."

"What is all this about, Mrs. E.?" Kevin asked curiously.

I had almost forgotten his presence until that moment. I ought not to have been so indiscreet; but I beg the Reader to say honestly whether she would not have done the same.

"Nothing, I suppose," I replied. "I ought to apologize, Mr. O'Con-nell, for this interruption prevented you from telling me why you came to see me."

Kevin cleared his throat, crossed his legs, uncrossed them, and cleared his throat again. "I happened to be passing by—"

"Three times in one day? Dear me, Kevin, I have never seen you so ill at ease, not even when you broke into my house in Kent and knocked my butler down. What on earth can it be this time?"

"It is probably nothing," Kevin began, crossing his legs.

"Stop fidgeting and speak out. I will be the judge of whether it is important."

"Well ... I wondered whether you had heard anything from Miss Minton."

"She is still at her grandmama's, I believe," I replied, wondering what had prompted the question. Some professional matter, I assumed.

Kevin uncrossed his knees and struck one of them with his clenched fist. "No, Mrs. E., she is not. No one has seen her or heard from her for almost a week."

"Impossible. How do you know she isn't there?"

"A friend—a person—a friend—wrote to her. A letter came back saying she was in London, and giving the address you know. But her landlady says she has not been there since Friday."

The door opened. "Mr. Wilson to see you, madam," Gargery announced.

"What the—what is he doing here?" Kevin demanded.

"I don't know. Perhaps he is paying a social call. Some people do that, you know. Ah, Mr. Wilson, how nice to see you. You know Mr. O'Connell, I believe."

Wilson nodded distantly at Kevin, who did not respond with even that minimal show of courtesy. He took a chair.

"I stopped by to ask how you are feeling, after that dreadful business last night," he began. "And to inquire after the professor, who, I understand, was injured."

"That was kind of you. As you see, I am undamaged, and the professor is ... The professor is well. I didn't see you there, Mr. Wilson."

"I was in the wings, so to speak," was the smiling reply.

"Well, I am glad you weren't hurt in the melee."

Wilson raised his hand to his brow and brushed his hair back, displaying a purpling bruise.

"I did encounter the priest—one of them. You see the result."

I made noises expressive of regret and concern. Then Kevin, whose fidgeting had assumed the proportions of an epileptic attack, sprang to his feet. "It's back to me job I must go," he announced, in the vilest
brogue I had yet heard from him. "Wishing you good day, Mrs. Emerson—"

"No, sit down, Mr. O'Connell. I assure you I have not forgotten you or your inquiry. Let us ask Mr. Wilson if he knows anything, since he is a friend of Miss Minton's."

"Something about Miss Minton?" Wilson asked. "What is the trouble?"

"She has disappeared," I said gravely. "At least I hope it is not as serious as that; but apparently no one has laid eyes on her since Friday."

"She is visiting the Dowager Duchess, her grandmother," said Wilson.

His calm infuriated Kevin. "Begorra, but she is not. The old lady hasn't seen a hair of her, and neither has anyone else."

Wilson stiffened. "I fancy she would not like casual acquaintances speculating on her whereabouts," he said coldly. "She has many friends; a wealthy young lady like that—"

"Och, don't be more of a fool than you can help, man," cried O'Connell. "I only found it out lately, but you, being such a particular friend of hers, must have known—she hasn't a penny. The old Duchess is living on pride and pretense, keeping up appearances and subsisting on radishes and carrots she raises in the castle courtyard!"

Wilson was as surprised as I. His jaw dropped. "That—that is impossible," he sputtered. "She obtained her position on the
Mirror
—"

"Through her own abilities." Kevin spat the words between his teeth. He appeared to be on the verge of striking young Wilson, but I knew—for I know the human heart—that his anger was directed against himself. "There was influence, surely, the old lady trading on past friendships, but, but . . . May the devil curse my tongue and may it wither and drop out for the things I said! She's a poor wage earner, like meself, and where would she go—alone, with not a spare shilling in her little pockets, then ..."

He shoved his clenched fists into his pockets and turned away.

Wilson had gone dead white. "But . . . if this is true ..."

"It's true," said Kevin, without turning.

"But ... but Mr. O'Connell is right . . . When one thinks of the dreadful things that can happen to a young woman like that... in this vile city ..."

Dedicated student of human nature that I am, I had followed the dialogue with considerable interest. Poor Emerson, he would be so annoyed when he learned that the "cursed romantic interest" he deplored was a feature of this case . . . Poor Emerson indeed. If he had gone where I suspected he had gone, he would have cause to rue the day.

But this was not the time to yield to those emotions; I had another little matter to settle first. Both young men appeared desperately distressed and I did not want to prolong their anguish any longer than was absolutely necessary. On the other hand, I did not want to make a dogmatic pronouncement when there was a possibility, however slight, that I might be mistaken.

"I think I know where Miss Minton might be," I said.

Kevin whirled around. Wilson rose impetuously. In chorus they cried, "Where? What? Why—"

"I said I thought I knew. If I am correct (and I usually am), there is absolutely no cause for concern—on your parts, at least. As for Miss Minton herself . . . You had better run along now and let me pursue my investigation."

They were not to be got rid of so easily, but I quelled their questions and pleas with a firm hand. "Neither of you is in a position to demand that I betray Miss Minton's confidence. Were either of you married or affianced to her, I might admit such a claim, but you are not, and therefore I decline to answer. I promise I will send round to you (both of you) the moment I confirm my theory. The sooner you leave, the sooner I can begin to investigate."