Read Online The Secret of Abdu El Yezdi by Mark Hodder - Free Book Online Page A

ghost.
    He removed his topper and put it on the hat-rack, placed the cane in an elephant-foot holder, and popped open his collar button.
    Mrs. Angell let loose a shriek and threw her not inconsiderable weight across the intervening space and into his arms.
    â€œMy goodness! My goodness! What has Africa done to you? You’re as thin as a broom handle! Your lip is bleeding! Your eye is black! Your trousers are torn! You look as sick as a dog! Isabel has been waiting! We knew you’d be arriving today but thought you’d be home earlier! You found the Nile, Captain Burton? Of course you did! The papers say you’re a hero! Are you hungry? What do you think of the light in the sky? Do you know what it is? I’ll get you fresh clothes! My goodness!” She raised her voice to a shrill scream. “Miss Isabel! Miss Isabel!”
    Burton disentangled himself from her arms. “Slow down, Mother Angell. Calm yourself. I’m quite fine. I’ve been a little ill and I had a slight accident on the way here, but it’s nothing to be concerned about. The comforts of home will soon put me to rights.”
    â€œOh!” she cried out. “Thank the Lord you’ve returned to us. Such a long time away and every single day of it I worried you were being eaten by giraffes or stung by poisonous monkeys.”
    â€œAfrica wasn’t so bad,” he responded. “I’ve already encountered more danger right here in London. And to answer your earlier questions—no, I’m not hungry, and yes, fresh clothes would be most welcome. Isabel?”
    A mellow voice sounded from the top of the stairs. “Dick.”
    He looked up and saw Isabel Arundell, having obviously just emerged from his study, standing on the landing. She was tall, slender, and pretty—with large clear eyes, a straight Grecian nose, and thick, lustrous blonde hair.
    â€œA pot of tea, please, Mrs. Angell!” he bellowed, and shot up the staircase and into Isabel’s embrace.
    She held him tightly and sobbed onto his shoulder.
    â€œIsabel,” he whispered. “Isabel. Isabel.”
    He pushed her away a little, so he could lean in and kiss the side of her neck. His split lip left two small spots of blood on her jugular.
    â€œBlanche is here!” she gasped.
    â€œI don’t care,” he said. “I have to kiss you. You waited.”
    â€œOf course I did. You’re bleeding. You look all banged-up. Have you had an accident?”
    â€œYes, just a mishap.” He pulled out his handkerchief, wiped the little red stains from her skin, and dabbed the square of cotton against his mouth.
    â€œWe can marry,” he said. “I’m done with Africa.”
    â€œCome and say hello to her.”
    â€œIsabel, have your parents given their blessing?”
    â€œNot their blessing, but their permission. They realise I won’t accept any other man.”
    He nodded, checked his handkerchief, put it away, and followed her into the study.
    It felt strange to be back. Nothing had changed, but it all appeared dreamlike in the shifting multicoloured illumination that streamed in between the open curtains. His three desks were still piled high with books and papers; the swords and daggers still hung on the wall over the fireplace, with spears and guns in the alcoves to either side; his old boxing gloves still dangled from the corner of the mantelpiece; the bureau still stood between the two tall sash widows; the bookcases were still warped beneath the weight of his books; and his comfortable old saddlebag armchair was right where he’d left it.
    Isabel’s petite younger sister, Blanche, rose from the chair.
    He strode to her, grabbed her hand, and gave it a peck.
    â€œHello, Little Bird. I’m sorry I missed your wedding. How is old Smythe Piggott?”
    â€œHello, Richard. The sky has lit up to celebrate your return. I’m fine, but do emphasise the pig when you say my