The Last Camel Died at Noon Read Online Free PDF Page A

of my wife, at whom you are staring with an intensity that compounds your initial offence...'

    The young man sat up as if he had been propelled by a spring, stammering apologies. Emerson assisted him to a chair - that is to say, he shoved him into one - and, with a scarcely less heavy

    hand, helped me to rise. Turning, I saw that Evelyn had gathered the children and was shepherding them from the room. I nodded gratefully at her and was rewarded by one of her sweet smiles.

    Our unexpected visitor began with a question. 'Is it true, Professor that you are planning to travel in the Sudan this year?'

    'Where did you hear that?' Emerson demanded.

    Mr Forthright smiled. 'Your activities, Professor, will always be a subject of interest, not only to the archaeological community but to the public at large. As it happens, I am in an indirect manner connected with the former group. You will not have heard my name, but I am sure you are familiar with that of my grandfather, for he is a well-known patron of archaeological subjects - Viscount Blacktower.'

    'Good Gad!' Emerson bellowed.

    Mr Forthright started. 'I - I beg your pardon, Professor?'

    Emerson's countenance, ruddy with fury, might have intimidated any man, but his terrible frown was not directed at Mr Forthright. It was directed at me. 'I knew it,' Emerson said bitterly. 'Am I never to be free of them? You attract them, Amelia. I don't know how you do it, but it is becoming a pernicious habit. Another cursed aristocrat!'

    Walter was unable to repress a chuckle, and I confess to some amusement on my own part; Emerson sounded for all the world like an infuriated sans-culotte, demanding the guillotine for the hated aristos.

    Mr Forthright cast an uneasy glance at Emerson.

    'I will be as brief as possible,' he began.

    'Good,' said Emerson.

    'Er - but I fear I must give you some background if you are to understand my difficulty.'

    'Curse it,' said Emerson.

    'My... my grandfather had two sons.'

    'Curse him,' said Emerson.

    'Uh... my father was the younger. His elder brother, who was of course the heir, was Willoughby Forth.'

    'Willie Forth the explorer?' Emerson repeated, in quite a different tone of voice. 'You are his nephew? But your name

    'My father married Miss Wright, the only child of a wealthy merchant. At his father-in-law's request, he added the surname of Wright to his own. Since most people, hearing the combined name, assumed it to be a single word, I found it simpler to adopt that version.'

    'How accommodating of you,' said Emerson. 'You don't resemble your uncle, Mr Forthright. He would have made two of you.'

    'His name is familiar,' I said. 'Was it he who proved once and for all that Lake Victoria is the source of the White Nile?'

    'No; he clung doggedly to the belief that the Lualaba River was part of the Nile until Stanley proved him wrong by actually sailing down the Lualaba to the Congo, and thence to the Atlantic.' Willoughby Forth's nephew smiled sardonically. 'That, I fear, was the sad pattern of his life. He was always a few months late or a few hundred miles off. It was his great ambition to go down in history as the discoverer of... something. Anything! An ambition that was never realised.'

    'An ambition that cost him his life,' Emerson said reflectively. 'And that of his wife. They disappeared in the Sudan ten years ago.'

    'Fourteen years ago, to be precise.' Forthright stiffened. 'Did I hear someone at the door?'

    'I heard nothing.' Emerson studied him keenly. 'Am I to expect another uninvited visitor this evening?'

    'I fear so. But pray let me continue. You must hear my story before -'

    'I beg, Mr Forthright, that you allow me to be the judge of what must or must not be done in my house,' said Emerson. 'I am not a man who enjoys surprises. I like to be prepared for visitors, especially when they are members of the aristocracy. Is it your grandfather whom you expect?'

    'Yes. Please, Professor, allow me to explain. Uncle Willoughby