The Deeds of the Disturber (41 page)

Emerson started forward, but he was too late; the sound of a shot rang out, and the Earl staggered back, clutching his side. He dropped to his knees; it appeared for a dreadful moment that he was bowing before the god. Then he fell forward onto his face and lay still.

Emerson's headlong rush struck the killer and bowled him over before he could aim again. Only one of the masked attendants remained in the room—the tall, thin fellow wearing the baboon head. I dashed at him with my parasol raised, but before I could bring it down I was seized by a pair of sinewy bare arms, and a bare, sinewy hand wrested the weapon from my grasp. I had not overlooked the litter-bearers; I had realized they were present; but I had taken them for paid attendants, like the thugs hired by the Earl to fill out the necessary number of priests, and I had never expected they would risk themselves in a criminal struggle. Evidently 1 had been sadly in error.

Two more of them had collared the man in the baboon mask, and the third pair pounced on the combatants—or, I should say, the single combatant, for Emerson had dragged the
sem
priest to his feet and was
about to administer a mighty blow to the midsection when he was grasped and pulled away. Before he could shake off his assailants, the killer snatched up the gun he had dropped and leveled it, not at Emerson, but at me.

"Everything seems to have gone wrong tonight," he remarked rather breathlessly. "You, there—the little one, whose robe badly needs to be shortened—I don't know how you happen to be present, Mrs. Emerson, but you are next on my list, and if your allies don't stop struggling I will shoot."

The back of his mask had been smashed when he fell; he had to hold it in place with one hand. Emerson's ibis-head was in tatters, and the priest laughed aloud when he looked at him.

"Time to unmask," he said with sinister gaiety. "Don't be shy, Mrs. Emerson, I'd know you anywhere. And the big fellow has to be the professor. I might have known he'd choose Thoth. The scholar of the pantheon . . . But who's the baboon?"

I removed the mask and threw it aside. So did Emerson. The baboon folded his arms and stood still; one of the Egyptians snatched off the mask.

"Inspector Cuff!" I cried.

"Good evening, Mrs. Emerson," said the Inspector politely.

"Well, this is certainly a ridiculous state of affairs," I remarked somewhat later. "I left a message for you, Inspector, explaining the situation and asking you to search Mauldy Manor if I had not returned by morning. But I suppose I cannot expect you to come to the rescue now. Didn't you even bring a brace of constables with you?"

"You don't understand, Mrs. Emerson," the Inspector replied sadly. "This is a very delicate matter—very delicate indeed. I am here without the permission or the knowledge of my superiors, and my little pension—"

"Oh, never mind. This is no time for excuses. We must bend all our efforts on escape."

"Any ideas?" inquired Emerson.

He was leaning against the wall, his arms folded. We were all leaning against the wall; there was nothing in the room to sit on. It was one of the bare stone-walled cells in the cellars, differing from the others only in the fact that it had a stout door, which was now closed and bolted.

"One or two," I replied.

"I hope they are better than the last one," Emerson said grumpily.

"You said the bars on those windows were rusted through—"

"On the other windows they are. Someone has renewed these recently. I wonder how many unhappy prisoners have languished in this foul cell?"

Neither of them replied. I went on thoughtfully, "It is Miss Minton I am chiefly concerned about. We must hasten to make our escape and hope we are in time to save her."

"I wouldn't object to saving myself—and you, ma'am," said the Inspector. "And may I say how much I admire your composure?"

"Thank you. I have no great fear for our safety. If he had meant to kill us, he would have done it on the spot, instead of imprisoning us."

"Now that is just the sort of unfounded conclusion you are always jumping to, Peabody," Emerson exclaimed. "We make a fairly formidable trio; even though the odds were against us, we might have inflicted some damage on our friend the priest if he had tried to murder us then and there. Now he can exterminate us at his leisure, without risking his precious hide."

"But his options are limited, Emerson, you must confess. It is only in sensational novels that the villain floods the cellar room with water or poison gas. And he must know that the first person who comes in that door will be subject to violent attack."

Emerson began, "Starvation—"

"Takes a long time. Someone will certainly find us before that eventuates, even if we are unable to free ourselves, which I consider probable."

Another dismal silence fell. I was about to make a little joke about pessimism, and the necessity of keeping up one's spirits, when I became aware of an odd sensation. Something cold and slimy slid across my foot. There are very few dangers I cannot accept with equanimity; but I really do not like reptiles.

"Oh, Emerson, I am afraid there is a snake in here," I said.

"It is not a snake, Peabody," Emerson said in a strangled voice. "It is water. Curse it, Peabody, aren't we in enough trouble without you offering suggestions to a killer? Let him invent his own murder method."

"Now, Emerson, that is nonsense. This is only an unfortunate coincidence. Where do you suppose the water is coming from? Strike another match, will you?"

"They are almost gone, Peabody, and so are the pages from the inspector's pocketbook," Emerson replied calmly. "We used several when we first investigated the room and the window, if you remember. But I expect that pipe, which you insisted was a drainage pipe—"

"Yes, to be sure. Save the matches, then, Emerson."

The storm had passed and the moon was out; a faint ray illumined a narrow patch of floor, and as I watched I saw the ripple of water spread and deepen. It looked very pretty and silvery and harmless.

"I wonder how long it will take to fill the room," I mused.

"I don't care how long it will take to fill the room," Emerson replied furiously. "Here, Cuff, let me have another go at those bars. If you can raise me on your shoulders-—"

"Keep calm, Emerson, I beg you," I said. "This is really rather an inefficient way of killing people, you know. The door, though quite tight, is not sealed shut, and when the water rises to window level it will run out—"

"Not as fast as it is running in," Emerson replied; and indeed he was probably correct, for already the icy water was over my ankles. "And since it comes from the river, there is quite a lot of it at his disposal."

"Yes, I expect so. In that case . . . Inspector, will you please turn your back?"

"I don't know what you intend to do, ma'am," said Cuff mildly, "but I assure you I cannot see a blooming thing. You could—er—disrobe in perfect propriety."

"That is what I am going to do," I replied. "So, your protestations notwithstanding, I would prefer that you turn your back. As a gesture, you understand."

Emerson splashed to my side. "Peabody, what the devil—you don't have another belt of tools under those trousers, by any chance?"

"No, Emerson, but I have something that may serve us just as well. The idea occurred to me after . . . after ..."

"Don't be so tactful, Peabody," Emerson growled. "After that bas— . . . that fellow Sethos abducted you."

"Yes, quite. My belt and its accoutrements, are too conspicuous to be overlooked, so I thought perhaps . . . Emerson, please stop fumbling at me. You have your hand ..."

"What the devil are you doing?" Emerson demanded.

"We are not alone, Emerson," I reminded him. "Here, hold this and keep it from getting wet. And this."

"Peabody, what is... good Gad! My dear, are you wearing a corset?"

"Emerson, please!"

"I thought you felt rather rigid this evening," Emerson exclaimed. "But you swore you would never wear the cursed things because—"

"I can't stand this," said Inspector Cuff suddenly. "Mrs. Emerson, I respect and admire you more than any lady I have ever known, but if
you don't tell me why you are—er—disrobing, I may lose my mind."

'it is very simple," I said. "Most women wear corsets; they are not regarded as potential weapons. But what, gentlemen, holds a corset in position?"

"Cursed if I know," said Emerson.

"Stays," muttered the inspector. "Narrow strips of whalebone—or steel!—sewed into pockets along the sides and back ..."

"Like this one," I said, pressing it into Emerson's hand. "Be careful, my dear, it is quite sharp; I had it set into its own little scabbard, and very uncomfortable it was, I must say. And this one, which is serrated along one edge . . . Now you can have another go at those bars, Emerson."

"Incredible, Mrs. Emerson," gasped the inspector.

"Elementary, my dear Inspector Cuff. How do you know so much about corsets, if I may ask? Are you a married man?"

"No, ma'am, I am not. I have been a confirmed bachelor all my life. But by Heaven, Mrs. Emerson, you have shaken my belief in the advantages of the single life. If I could meet another such woman as you—"

"There is only one of her," Emerson said, in tones of intense satisfaction. "Just as well, I expect . . . Put your clothes back on, Peabody. Here we go, Cuff ..."

It was all the Inspector could do to raise that mighty form, so as soon as I was dressed, I went to help. The water lapped at my calves as I stood with my back braced against the wall and Emerson's boot resting on my shoulder. The play of moonlight across the limpid liquid had a strange, hypnotic fascination . . .

Suddenly the moonlight was cut off. Emerson let out a sharp cry and started back. Our human pyramid swayed dangerously. My foot slipped and I sat down with a splash, as Cuff, cursing with more imagination than I would have credited him with, struggled to keep his balance.

"What the devil is going on?" I shouted.

"You won't believe it," said Emerson in a hollow voice.

Then another voice said calmly, "Good evening, Mama. Good evening, Papa. Good evening, sir. I do not know who you are, but in view of the fact that you share the incarceration of my dear parents, I can only assume you are an ally, or possibly ..."

Fifteen

H
.OW LONG RAMSES went on I cannot say. I was incapable of interrupting him, and I fancy Emerson felt the same. When next I took note of what was going on, another voice was speaking.

"Oh, sir, are you there? Oh, madam, are you all right? Don't worry, sir and madam, we'll have you out of there!"

I had started to stand up. I sat down again. "Gargery?"

"Yes, madam, I am here, at your service. Oh, madam—"

I made an effort. "Ramses," I said, rising slowly to my feet and observing, in passing, that the water was now almost to my knees. "Even if you remove the bars, your papa cannot get out that window; it is too narrow. You will have to go around through the house."

"I am afraid that is out of the question, Mama," said Ramses. "Papa, if you will please stand away from the window? We have chisels, sledgehammers, and other tools, but we cannot employ them while you—"

"Yes, my son," said Emerson. He got down—or Cuff collapsed, most probably the latter. In between the ear-shattering attacks on the narrow window and its surrounding, I inquired, "Why can't you come through the house, Ramses?"

Crash, thud. "It is on fire, Mama," said Ramses.

I had to wait till the next lull before pursuing the matter. "I take it, Ramses, that the miscreants have fled? For I cannot suppose they would allow you ..."

Crash, thud, crash. "Now, Mama, Papa, and sir," said Ramses, "please withdraw to the farthest corner and crouch down with your
backs turned. It is as I feared; we will never break through by this method. The walls are eight feet thick. Fortunately I brought along a little nitroglycerin—"

"Oh, good Gad," shrieked Inspector Cuff.

I thought for a minute the whole wall was going to collapse, but after the sound of the explosion had faded, and my ears had stopped ringing, and Emerson had lifted me up out of the water, I saw that it still stood, though the gap in it was large enough to have admitted a horse and carriage, much less Emerson. With Gargery's enthusiastic assistance we climbed out; and while Emerson anxiously inspected the inspector, who appeared to be in a condition of mild catatonia, I had leisure to examine my surroundings.

The far end of the wing, which included the temple, was ablaze. Flames spouted from the windows and soared from the roof. There was nothing to be done there, so I turned my attention to Ramses.

He had not had time to change clothes, I suppose. He was dressed as I had seen him once before, like a ragged, filthy little street urchin. One eye was half closed. I had not observed that Percy had hit his eye.

"Miss Minton," I said, keeping my priorities clearly in mind. "I don't suppose you—"

"We 'ave the young lady, madam," said Gargery. "She was in the carriage with the gentleman—well, I don't suppose I should call him a gent, madam, since according to Master Ramses here—"

"We," I repeated. "You and Ramses and—"

"Henry, and Tom, and Bob—all of the footmen, madam. And the other young gentleman."

Behind me I heard Emerson exclaim, "Come, come, Cuff, this is no way for a grown man to behave," followed by the sound of a sharp slap. It did the job; Cuff said weakly, "Thank you, Professor. I beg your pardon; I don't believe I have ever had an experience quite like . . . Now then. What's going on here, eh?"

I believe he was addressing Gargery, but of course it was Ramses who replied, and I must say he was as succinct as possible. "We arrived on the scene a few minutes ago, sir, just in time to intercept a carriage that was driving rather quickly toward the gate. Fearing that Mama (for at the time I was unaware Papa was also here) might be within, I ordered it stopped, which was successfully accomplished, though the gentleman inside fired a pistol, blowing a hole through Bob's cap and slightly wounding Henry in the left thumb. The gentleman was subdued after a brief struggle and I then discovered the lady inside was not Mama,
but Miss Minton, who was in a state of what appeared to be mild inebriation, though further investigation (that is, smelling her breath) suggested that opium rather than alcohol—"