the captain's linen he had laid out for my use on his damask-covered cot was composed of the very finest silk. even the socks were silk. i was positively ashamed to draw my stained and work-worn outer garments over them; and i thought, with a sigh, of my two decent suits of tweed lying, like the dutchman's anchor, far away—in a cairo lodging-house, to be precise. i shaved with the captain's razor and wondered why i did not in the least mind resting indebted to his courtesy. the removal of my beard laid bare the weal the captain's whip had raised. perhaps that was the reason. he came in just as i had finished and he saw the weal on instant. "i wish to the lord you'd just blacken one of my eyes," he said remorsefully. "the sight of that makes me feel an out-and-out cad. not ten minutes before it happened miss ottley had been telling me the angel of goodness you had been to her."

i sat down on the edge of the cot and grinned. "it gives me quite a distinguished appearance," i replied, "and, say, didn't it give me back my temper nicely, too."

"little wonder you were wild," said he. "but why didn't you break me up while you were about it? you could have, easily enough. lord! how big and strong you are."

"and ugly," i supplemented.

he flushed all over his face. "you make me feel a silly girl-man by comparison," he cried. "a man ought to be ugly and strong-looking like you. i'd give half my fortune to possess that jaw."

"what a boy it is!" i said delightedly, for i was proud of my jaw, and i love flattery.

"i'm having a cot made now; it will be put over there for you. you'll share my diggings, won't you? i want us to be friends," beamed the captain.

there was something so ingenuous and charming in his frankness that i assented at once.

"it's funny," he said afterwards. "but i detested you at first. have a cigar. this box of cabanas is for you. they're prime. i've more in my kit when they are finished. lie down and rest while you smoke one, won't you? lunch won't be ready for an hour yet, and you must be fagged."

i wasn't a bit, but i lay back and puffed a mouthful of delicious smoke with a long-drawn sigh of luxury.

"you needn't talk. miss ottley says you don't like talking," said the captain. he lit a cigar and sat down on his kit box. "i'm a real gabbler, though," he confessed. "do you mind?"

"no, fire away, sonny!"

[pg 77]

he fired. it was all about himself and miss ottley: how they had been brought up together, predestined sweethearts: how they had quarrelled and made up and quarrelled again: how really and truly in their hearts they adored each other: and how—if it had not been for the girl's intense devotion for her father, they would have been married long ago. he characterised sir robert as an extremely selfish man, who, ever since his wife's death, had used his daughter as a servant and secretary because he could get no other to serve him as well and intelligently. "but he doesn't really care for her a straw," concluded the captain. "and he would sacrifice her without remorse to his beastly mummy hobby for ever if i'd let him. but i won't. i'm going to put my foot down presently. i've waited long enough. he has done nothing but drag her all over europe translating papyri for him for the last six years. and she has worked for him like a slave. it's high time she had a little peace and happiness."

"translating papyri," i repeated. "a scholar, then?"

"between ourselves," replied the captain, "sir robert's fame as a scholar and an egyptologist rests entirely upon his daughter's labours. without her he would be unknown. she did all the real work. he reaped the credit. she is three times the scholar he is, and i know a frenchman who regards her knowledge of cuneiform as simply marvellous. he is a professor of ancient [pg 78]languages, too, at the sorbonne, so he ought to know."

"queer she never mentioned a word of it to me," said i.

"oh!" cried the captain, "she is the modestest, sweetest creature in the universe. i sometimes think she is positively ashamed of her extraordinary ability. whenever i speak of it she apologises—and says she only learned the things she knows to be a help to her dear old father. dear old father, indeed! the selfish old swine ought to be suppressed. he loathes me because he fears i'll persuade her to leave him. if she wasn't so useful she could go to the deuce for all he'd care. but it's got to end soon or i'll know the reason why. don't you think i'm right? we've been engaged now seven years."

"i consider you a model of patience," i replied.

"besides," said the captain, starting off on a new tack, "the old man is positively uncanny. it's my belief he has an underhanded motive in his love for mummies, especially for his latest find, this ptahmes. he's a spook-hunter, you know—and he told me one day in an unguarded moment that he expected to live a thousand years."

"what's a spook-hunter, captain?"

"oh! i mean a spiritualist. he has a medium chap, he keeps in london—a rascally beggar who bleeds thousands a year out of him. they have séances. the medium scamp pretends to go into a trance and tells him all sorts of rubbish about[pg 79] the nile kings and prophets and wizards and magicians and the elixir of life. it is dashed unpleasant for me, i can tell you. there's always some wild yarn going round the clubs. and as i'm known to be ottley's prospective son-in-law, i have the life chaffed out of me in consequence. the latest was that the medium chap—oscar neitenstein is his name—put ottley in the way of finding an old theban prophet's tomb—this very ptahmes, don't you know. and though he has been underground 4000 years, neitenstein has fooled ottley into expecting to find the prophet still alive. it's too idiotic to speak seriously about, of course; but on my honour the yarn drove me out of england. it got into the comic papers. ugh! you know what that means. but i'm not sorry in one way. so i've come here to have it out with ottley. and i'm going to—by gad."

"you haven't spoken to him yet?"

"i have, but he treated me like a kid. told me to run away and play and allow serious people to work. i stormed a bit, but it was no use. it made him so angry that he nearly took a fit—and i had to leave. since then he has been shut up with his infernal mummy, in that cave temple over there—and he won't even let his daughter go within yards of the door. that's curious, isn't it?"

"very."

"and there's that business about the mysterious arab," went on the captain. "the ugly horror[pg 80] that tried to throttle you and has been frightening miss ottley. she thinks it's a ghost. but i reckon not."

"ah!"

"i reckon sir robert knows all about that arab, though he pretends he does not know. in my opinion it's another of those spook mediums of his, and he is keeping the ugly beast hidden away somewhere. probably the fellow is some awful criminal who has got to hide. sir robert would shelter hill or even that australian wife-murderer deeming if he said he was a medium."

"you extend my mental horizon," i remarked. "the arab mystery is clearing up."

the captain simply beamed. "so glad you catch on," he said. "do you know, i am depending heaps upon you in this business."

"how?"

the monosyllable disconcerted the captain. he stuttered and hawed for a while. but, finally, he blurted out, "well, you see, she won't leave her father under existing circumstances on any account, that's the trouble. but i'm hoping if we can convince the old man he is being fooled by a pack of scoundrels he will return to his sober senses and live sensibly, and then——" he paused.

"and then—wedding bells," i suggested.

"exactly," replied the captain. "and see here, i have a plan."

"ah!"

[pg 81]

"it's to lay for that arab, as a first step—and catch the brute."

"and what then?"

the captain looked rather foolish. "well," he said, "well—oh!—we'd be guided by circumstances then, of course. we might induce him to confess—don't you think?"

i could not help laughing. "if you want to know what i think," i said, "it is, that you are in the position of a man who knows what he wants but does not in the least understand how to get it. still count on my help. if we can lay the arab by the heels we shall not harm anyone deserving of consideration, and we will put miss ottley's mind at rest, at all events; i hate to think that she is worried by the rascal. what do you propose?"

"i thought of hiding by the temple to-night. i passed it late last evening, and though sir robert was ostensibly alone, i could swear i heard voices. what do you say?"

"certainly."

"shake," said the captain. we shook. "now let's go to lunch," said he. we went.

"that's belleville's shanty," observed the captain, pointing to a neighbouring tent. "i don't like the fellow, do you?"

"i don't know him."

"he's a spook-hunter like sir robert."

"ah!"

[pg 82]

"the beggar is in love with miss ottley."

"oh!"

"he had the impudence to tell her to her face one day that she would never marry me. he declared that it was written—by spooks, i suppose. one of these days i'll have to break his head for him. but he is not a man you can easily quarrel with. you simply can't insult him. he comes up smiling every time."

"an unpleasant person."

"a bounder," said the captain with intense conviction. "lord, how hot it is!"

we entered the eating tent as he spoke. the table was already laid. dr. belleville stood near the head of it talking to miss ottley. a couple of soudanese flitted about affecting to be busy, but effecting very little. at sight of me both shuddered back against the canvas and stood transfixed. one held a spoon, the other a plate. they looked extremely absurd. i told them in arabic that only the dishonest had occasion to fear the evil eye, and took a seat. instantly both rushed to serve me. my companions, not possessing the evil eye, were forced to wait. miss ottley became satirical, but i was hungry and her shafts glanced off the armour of my appetite. when i had finished my first helping of currie she sat down. "there's no use waiting for father," she sighed. "i shall take his lunch to him by-and-by."

dr. belleville echoed the sigh. "my dear young[pg 83] lady," said he, "permit me now," and he vanished a minute later carrying a tray.

"you see," said the captain, sotto voce, to me.

"more currie," i said, addressing, not the captain, but the tent. immediately one of the soudanese slipped and sprawled on the floor in his eagerness to serve. the other leaped over his fellow's prostrate body and whisked away my plate. he returned it loaded in about five seconds. miss ottley broke into a half-hysterical laugh. it kept up so long that at last i looked at her in surprise. she had a knife and fork before her, but nothing else; also the captain. "what is the matter?" i demanded.

"look," she gurgled. following her finger i turned and saw both soudanese standing like statues behind me. "wretches," i cried, "have you nothing else to do?"

they uttered a joint howl of terror and fled from the tent. but the joke had staled. i took after them hot foot, caught them and drove them back to work, to find that my companions in the meanwhile had helped themselves. dr. belleville, however, entered a moment later, and at a nod from me the trembling soudanese became his abject slaves.

dr. belleville had something to say. "the negroes are frightened of you," he began.

"they fancy i have the evil eye."

"humph!" cried the doctor. "talk german—they understand english. it's not that."

[pg 84]

"what then?"

"sir robert ottley sent one of them to you—with a message—last night. he returned this morning with three ribs broken. he is lying in the hospital tent now—in a high fever."

"a tall, thin man—the eyes set far apart in the skull?" i asked.

dr. belleville shook his head. "no. short, thick-set, snub-featured, but a giant in strength."

"how did he explain his accident?"

"that unwittingly he angered you."

"the man is a liar," i declared indignantly. "i had a set-to with a skulking rogue last night. that is true enough. but the fellow i encountered and threw was taller than myself."

the doctor shrugged his shoulders. "it was a dark night, i believe." then a minute later—"ottley is much annoyed. this meeraschi was an excellent subject. ottley was experimenting with him."

"how?"

"hypnotically."

i glanced at the others, but they were talking apart.

"ottley sent me a message?" i asked, returning to the doctor.

"yes," replied belleville between mouthfuls. he was gulping down his lunch like a wolf in a hurry. "he wants you," he went on.

"needless to say i received no message."

[pg 85]

"needless?" repeated belleville. "and you here?"

the tone was so insulting that i arose and walked quietly out of the tent. the sun was blazing hot. i thought of the cool cave temple and wandered towards it. why not see sir robert at once? why not, indeed. two black sentinels guarded the middle pylon, skulking in the shadow of a column. when i approached they stood bolt upright. they were armed with rifles. they barred the way.

"ottley!" i shouted. "ottley!" and once again "ottley!"

at the third the little baronet's face appeared in the stone doorway.

"oh! pinsent," he said, and stared at me. i read doubt in his glance, some fear and anger and uneasiness. but there was much else i could not read. his skin was as yellow as old parchment, and he did not look a well man by any means.

"it is roasting—here," i observed.

he swallowed audibly, as a woman does recovering from tears. "ah, well," he said. "come in—here."

the blacks vastly relieved, it appeared, lowered their arms and gave me passage. sir robert, however, still blocked the door. i traversed the pylon and stood before him. "we can talk here," said he.

but i had no mind to be treated like that. i looked him in the face and talked to him like this: "i am not welcome. i can see it. but it matters[pg 86] nothing to me. i have rights. i gave you back your life. you made me a promise. you broke your promise. that relieves me of any need to be conventional. i am curious. i intend to satisfy my curiosity. invite me into the cavern and show me what you have there to be seen. or i shall put you aside and help myself. i can do so. your blacks do not frighten me, armed or unarmed. as for you, pouf! now choose!"

"dr. pinsent," said sir robert. (he was shaking like an aspen.) "in about ten minutes my dragoman is setting out for cairo. if you will be good enough to bear him company he will hand you at the end of the journey my cheque for a thousand pounds."

"i ought to have told you," i murmured, "that it is a point of honour with me to keep my word."

"two thousand," said sir robert.

"at all costs," said i.

"five thousand!" he cried.

"you rich little cad!" i growled, and looked into the muzzle of a revolver.

sir robert's eyes, seen across the sights, glittered like a maniac's. "go away!" he whispered. "go—or——"

i thought of an old, old policeman trick and assumed an expression of sudden horror. "take care," i cried. "look out—he will get you."

the baronet swung around, gasping and ghastly. in a second i had him by the wrist.

[pg 87]

"what was it?" he almost shrieked.

"a policeman's trick," i answered coldly, and disarmed him.

"curse you! curse you!" he howled, and doubling his fists, he rushed at me, calling on his blacks the while. the latter gave me momentary trouble. but it was soon over. i propped them up like lay figures against the columns, facing each other, afterwards, and extracted the charges from their guns. looking over the sand, i saw miss ottley and dr. belleville and the captain walking under umbrellas towards the tanks. i felt glad not to have disturbed them. sir robert had disappeared within the cavern. i followed him. he had put on a large masque which entirely covered his face, and he was fumbling with the screw stopper of a huge glass jar at the farthest corner of the cavern. the sarcophagus had been overturned. it now rested in the centre of the cavern, bottom upwards. and on the flat, leaden surface of the bottom was stretched out, stiff and stark, the naked body of a tall, brown-skinned man. the body glistened as if it had been rubbed with oil. it was almost fleshless, but sinews and tendons stood out everywhere like tightened cords. one might almost have taken it for a mummy. it had, however, an appearance of life—or rather, of suspended animation, for it did not move. i wondered and stepped closer to examine it. i looked at the face, and recognised the arab who had attacked me on the previous night, the[pg 88] arab who had frightened miss ottley and myself more than once. his mouth was tight shut; his eyes were, however, open slightly. he did not seem to breathe. i put my finger on his cheek, and pressed. the flesh did not yield. i ran my eyes down his frame and uttered a cry. three of his ribs were broken. then i felt his pulse; it was still. the wrist was as rigid as steel—the arm, too—nay, the whole man. "he is dead," i exclaimed at last, and looked at sir robert. the little baronet was re-stoppering the glass jar, but he held a glass in one hand half filled with some sort of liquid. presently he approached me—but most marvellously slowly.

i felt his pulse

"this man is dead," i said to him. "he attacked me last night. i threw him and perhaps broke his ribs. but i did not kill him, for he fled. how comes it he is dead?"

sir robert, for answer, threw at my feet the contents of the jar. then i understood why he wore the masque. the cavern was filled with the fumes of the deadly perfume of the sarcophagus on instant. one sniff and my senses were rocking. i held my breath, but in spite of that the cavern swung round me with vertiginous rapidity.

it seemed best to retire. i did so, but how i hardly know. somehow or another i reached the pylon, passed the blacks and stepped upon the sand. about fifty paces off i saw a beautiful grove of palm trees suddenly spring up out of the desert.[pg 89] such magic was most astonishing. i said to myself, "they cannot be real, of course. i am merely imagining them." but their shade was so deliciously inviting that i simply had to accept its challenge. i entered the grove and sat down beside a little purling stream of crystal water. it was very pleasant to dip my hands in it. presently a lovely naiad rose up out of the pool, seized my hands and pressed them to her lips. that was pleasant, too. then she came and sat quite near me on the banks of the rill and drew my head upon her lap and stroked cool fingers through my hair, crooning a tender love song all the while. that was pleasantest of all. but her crooning made me drowsy. like the lorelei's song, it charmed away my senses, and i slept.