Free The Camelot Caper by Elizabeth Peters Page A

above the preposterous nose his eyes were warm with amusement. “My dear innocent, I am involved. Don’t you see that I am their only link with you? When they fail to find you skulking in Russell Square (and just the place for it, too), they’ll apply to me again. With thumbscrews, mayhap, or a portable Iron Maiden…”
    â€œHow can you joke about it?”
    He put his hand over her clenched fist. With a slight shock she realized that this was the first time he had ever touched her, except for the conventional gestures of courtesy. Perhaps that was why his fingers felt unusually warm and strong.
    â€œDarling Jess, it is a joke. The whole thing is farcical. Very little has been done to either of us, really. When you consider how violent theymight have been, you ought to be reassured. In a way they were rather laughable villains. That damned mustache—”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œWhy, it was a fraud, of course. False. Didn’t you see that?”
    â€œI didn’t have time to think about it,” Jess admitted.
    â€œI did. No one would deliberately grow a thing like that. Oh, it’s a nice touch; it definitely does distract the viewer from more important features. But don’t you see, it’s such a juvenile attempt at disguise, almost a…What’s the matter now?”
    Jess closed her mouth with a snap.
    â€œSo that’s it,” she muttered.
    â€œWhat? What, what, what?”
    â€œI wondered why he looked familiar,” Jess said slowly. “The mustache put me off. But without it—he’s the image of…of my father.”
    David, in the act of lighting a cigarette, inhaled involuntarily and burst into a fit of coughing. When he had gotten his breath under control, he said indignantly, “For a minute there I thought you were losing track of the plot. This is a suspense story, not a tale of black magic. Ghosts are out. You think, then, that the SecondMurderer—sorry, the Second Villain—might be…”
    â€œOh, I’m sure! The resemblance is too strong for coincidence. It must be Cousin John.”

FOUR
    â€œ Are you sleeping, are you sleeping ,
    Cousin John, Cousin John …”
    â€œI wish I were,” Jessica interrupted. She stared gloomily out the car window. The suburbs of London were just as depressing and unpicturesque as their American counterparts. Row on row of drab little houses, rendered even more dismal by the cloudy skies. The weather had returned to normal; a gentle drizzle was falling.
    â€œ Morning bells are ringing ,
    The hero’s boldly singing ….”
    â€œThat’s terrible line. And what makes you think you’re the hero?”
    â€œNuts-to-you, Cou-sin John. I must be the hero. I’m the only one around except Cousin John, and he is obviously the villain.”
    â€œIt’s still a terrible line.”
    â€œDear me, you are crotchety in the morning, aren’t you? I’m glad I found out about that. Cheer up, we’ll be out of London before long, and then you can enjoy the spectacle of the English countryside in a thick fog.”
    â€œHmmmph.” Jess leaned back and put her cold hands in her pockets. She was wearing her brand-new pink raincoat and cap, which she had bought especially for the trip. It was bright on a dull day, no doubt about that, but it was too thin for an English spring. The cold was damp and penetrating, and she was too proud to ask David to turn on the heater. So she tried to concentrate on the view out the front window, obscured by streaks of rain and by the monotonous movements of the windshield wiper.
    She knew she ought to be rising above such minor troubles as rain. She was lucky to be where she was. Their departure from London had been a miracle of complex planning, most of it done by David; she suspected that about half the complications had been David’s enthusiasm for a good plot. Some day she really must read