Crocodile on the Sandbank (Amelia Peabody, #1)

by Elizabeth Peters

“My dear Peabody,” he gasped. “You amaze me. Can it be that you are a secret romantic after all?”

I hope I number patience among my virtues, but shilly-shallying, when nothing is to be gained by delay, is not a virtue.

He stood pressed up against the rail that enclosed the upper deck as I advanced upon him, and from the look on his face you would have thought I were a crocodile intent on devouring him, boots, bones, and all.