THE FORTIETH DOOR

by

MARY HASTINGS BRADLEY

AUTHOR OF _The Wine of Astonishment_, etc. 

1920

TOARTHUR MILLS CORWIN

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I. A RASH PROMISE II. MASKS AND MASKERS III. IN THE PASHA'S PALACE IV. EXPLANATIONS V. AT THE GARDEN GATE VI. A SECRET OF THE SANDS VII. TO McLEAN'S ASTONISHMENT VIII. TEWFICK RECEIVES IX. A WEDDING PRESENT X. THE RECEPTION XI. THE FORTY DOORS XII. THE UNINVITED GUEST XIII. THE BEY RETURNS XIV. WITHIN THE WALLS XV. UNDERGROUND XVI. OUT OF THE DARKNESS XVII. AZIZA XVIII. AZIZA IS OFFENDED XIX. AN INTERRUPTION XX. BEYOND THE DOOR XXI. MISS JEFFRIES MAKES A CALL XXII. FROM THE BAZAARS XXIII. IN THE DESERT XXIV. THE TOMB OF A KING XXV. IN CAIRO XXVI. THE PAINTED CASE

CHAPTER I

A RASH PROMISE

He didn't want to go. He loathed the very thought of it. Everyflinching nerve in him protested. 

A masked ball--a masked ball at a Cairo hotel! Grimacing throughpeep-holes, self-conscious advances, flirtations ending in giggles!Tourists as nuns, tourists as Turks, tourists as God-knows-what, allpreening and peacocking!

Unhappily he gazed upon the girl who was proposing this horror as abright delight. She was a very engaging girl--that was the mischiefof it. She stood smiling there in the bright, Egyptian sunshine, gayconfidence in her gray eyes. He hated to shatter that confidence. 

And he had done little enough for her during her stay in Cairo. Onetea at the Gezireh Palace Hotel, one trip to the Sultan al HassanMosque, one excursion through the bazaars--not exactly an orgy ofentertainment for a girl from home!

He had evaded climbing the Pyramids and fled from the ostrich farm. He had withheld from inviting her to the camp on the edge of theLibyan desert where he was excavating, although her party had shownunmistakable signs of a willingness to be diverted from the beatenpath of its travel. 

And he was not calling on her now. He had come to Cairo for suppliesand she had encountered him by chance upon a corner of the crowdedMograby, and there promptly she had invited him to to-night's ball. 

"But it's not my line, you know, Jinny, " he was protesting. "I'm sofearfully out of dancing--"

"More reason to come, Jack. You need a change from digging up ruinsall the time--it must be frightfully lonely out there on the desert. I can't think how you stand it. "

Jack Ryder smiled. There was no mortal use in explaining to JinnyJeffries that his life on the desert was the only life in the world, that his ruins held more thrills than all the fevers of her touristcrowds, and that he would rather gaze upon the mummied effigy of anylady of the dynasty of Amenhotep than upon the freshest and fairestof the damsels of the present day. 

It would only tax Jinny's credulity and hurt her feelings. And heliked Jinny--though not as he liked Queen Hatasu or the littlenameless creature he had dug out of a king's ante-room. 

Jinny was an interfering modern. She was the incarnation ofimpossible demands. 

But of course there was no real reason why he should not stop overand go to the dance. 

 * * * * *

Ten minutes later, when she had extracted his promise and abandonedhim to the costumers, he was scourging his weakness. 

He had known better! Very well, then, let him take his medicine. Lethim go as--here he disgustedly eyed the garment that the Greek waspresenting--as Little Lord Fauntleroy! He deserved it. 

Shudderingly he looked away from the pretty velvet suit; he scornedthe monk's robes that were too redolent of former wearers; herejected the hot livery of a Russian mujik; he flouted the banalityof the Pierrot pantaloons. 

Thankfully he remembered McLean. Kilts, that was the thing. Tartans, the real Scotch plaids. Some use, now, McLean's precioussporrans. .. . He'd look him up at once. 

Out of the crowded Mograby he made his way on foot to the Esbekeyihquarters where the streets were wider and emptier of Cairenetraffickers and shrill itinerates and laden camels and jostlingdonkeys. 

It was a glorious day, a day of Egypt's blue and gold. The sky was awash of water color; the streets a flood of molten amber. A littlewind from the north rustled the acacias and blew in his bronzed facecool reminders of the widening Nile and dancing waves. 

He remembered a chap he knew, who had a sailing canoe--but no, hewas going to get a costume for a fool ball!

Disgustedly he turned into the very modern and official-lookingresidence that was the home of his friend, Andrew McLean, and theoffices of that far-reaching institution, the Agricultural Bank. 

A white-robed, red-sashed and red-fezed houseboy led him across thetiled entrance into the long room where McLean was concluding aconference with two men. 

"Not the least trace, " McLean was saying. "We've questioned all ournative agents--"

Afterwards Ryder remembered that indefinite little pause. If the twomen had not lingered--if McLean had not remembered that he was anexcavator--if chance had not brushed the scales with lightningwings--!

"Ever hear of a chap called Delcassé, Paul Delcassé, a Frenchexcavator?" McLean suddenly asked of him. "Disappeared in the desertabout fifteen years ago. "

"He was reported, monsieur, to have died of the fever, " one of themen explained. 

McLean introduced him as a special agent from France. His companionwas one of the secretaries of the French legation. They were tryingevery quarter for traces of this Delcassé. 

Ryder's memory darted back to old library shelves. He saw a thin, brown volume, almost uncut. .. . 

"He wrote a book on the Tomb of Thi, " he said suddenly. "PaulDelcassé--I remember it very well. "

Now that he thought of it, the memory was clear. It was one of thosebooks that had whetted his passion for the past, when his studentmind was first kindling to buried cities and forgotten tombs and allthe strange store and loot of time. 

Paul Delcassé. He didn't remember a word of the book, but heremembered that he had read it with absorption. And now the specialagent, delighted at the recognition, was talking eagerly of thewriter. 

"He was a brilliant young man, monsieur, but he was of no importanceto his generation--and he becomes so now through the whim of acapricious woman to disinherit her other heirs. After all this timeshe has decided to make active inquiries. "

"But you said that Delcassé had died--"

"He left a wife and child. Her letters of her husband's deathreached his relatives in France, then nothing more. They feared thatthe same fever--but nothing, positively, was known. .. . A sad story, monsieur. .. . This Delcassé was young and adventurous and an ardentexplorer. An ardent lover, too, for he brought a beautiful Frenchwife to share the hazards of his expedition--"

"An ardent idiot, " thrust in McLean unfeelingly. "Knocking a womanabout the desert. .. . Not much chance of a clue after all theseyears, " he concluded with a very British air of dismissal. 

But the French agent was not to be sundered from the American whoremembered the book of Delcassé. 

From his pocket he brought a leather case and from the case a largeand ornate gold locket. 

"His picture, monsieur. " He pressed the spring and offered Ryder theminiature. "It was done in France before he returned on that lasttrip, and was left with the aunt. It is said to be a good likeness. "

Ryder looked down upon the young face presented to his gaze with afeeling of sympathy for this unlucky searcher of the past who hadleft his own secret in the sands he had come to conquer--sympathymingled with blank wonder at the insanity which had brought a womanwith it. .. . 

McLean couldn't understand a man's doing it. 

Jack Ryder couldn't understand a man's _wanting_ to do it. Love toRyder was incomprehensible idiocy. Woman, as far as he wasconcerned, had never been created. She was still a spectacle, anhistorical record, an uncomprehended motive. 

"Nice looking chap, " he commented briefly, fingering the curious oldcase as he handed it back. 

"I'll keep up the inquiries, " McLean assured them, "but, as I said, nothing will come of it. .. . It's been fifteen years. One more grainlost in the desert of sand. .. . By luck, you know, you might juststumble on something, some native who knew the story, but if fevercarried them off and the Arabs rifled their camp, as I fancy, they'll jolly well keep their mouths shut. No white man willknow. .. . I don't advise your people to spend much money on thesearch. "

"Odd, the inquiries we get, " he commented to Ryder when theFrenchmen had completed their courteous farewells. "You'd think theBank was a Bureau of Information! Yesterday there was a stir abouttwo crazy lads who are supposed to have joined the Mecca pilgrims indisguise. .. . Of course our clerks are Copts and _do_ pick up a bitand the Copts will talk. .. . I say, Jack, what are you doing?" hebroke off to demand in astonishment, for Jack Ryder had seatedhimself upon a divan and was absorbedly rolling up his trouser leg. 

"The dear Egyptian flea?" he added. 

"Not at all. I am looking at my knees, " said Ryder glumly. "I justremembered that I have to show them to-night. .. . A ball--inmasquerade. At a hotel. Tourist crowd. .. . How do you think they'lllook with one of your Scotch plaidies atop?" he inquired feelingly. 

"Fascinating, Jack, fascinating, " said the promptly sardonic McLean. "You--at a masquerade!. .. So that's what brought you to town. "

He cocked a taunting eye at him. "Well, well, she must be a mostengaging young person--you'll be taking her out on the desert withyou now, like our friend Delcassé--a pleasant, retired spot for abody to have his honeymoon . .. No distractions of society . .. Undiluted companionship, you might say. .. . Now what made you thinkshe'd like your knees?" he murmured contemplatively. "Aren't youjust a bit--previous? Apt to startle and frighten the lady?"

"Oh, go on, go on, " Ryder exhorted bitterly. "I like it. It's betterthan I can do myself. Go on. .. . But while you are talking trot outyour tartans. Something clannish now--one of those ancestral rigsthat you are always cherishing . .. Rich and red, to set off my dark, handsome type. "

"Set off you'll be, Jack dear, " promised McLean, dragging out a hugechest. "Set off you'll be. "

 * * * * *

Set off he was. 

And a fool he felt himself that night, as he confronted hisbrilliant image in the glass. A Scot of the Scots, kilted in vividplaid, a rakish cap on his black hair, a tartan draped across hisshoulder, short, heavy stockings clasping his legs and low shoes gaywith big buckles. 

"Oh, young Lochinvar has come out of the west, " warbled McLeanmerrily, as he straightened the shoulder pin of silver and Scotchtopaz. 

"Out of Hades, " said Ryder, rather pointlessly, for he felt it wasHades he was going into. 

Chiefly he was concerned with his knees and the striking contrastbetween their sheltered whiteness and the desert brown of hisface. .. . Milky pale they gleamed at him from the glass. .. . Bonyhard, they flaunted their angles at every move. .. . He was gratefulthat he was not a centipede. 

 "Oh, 'twas all for my rightful king, That I gaed o'er the border; Twas all for--

"You didn't tell me her name, now, Jack. "

"Where's my mask?" Ryder was muttering. "I say, aren't there anypockets in these confounded petticoats?"

"In the sporran, man. .. . There!" McLean at last withheld his handfrom its handiwork. "Jock, you're a grand sight, " he pronounced witha special Scottish burr. "If ye dinna win her now--'Bonny Charley'snow awa, '" he sung as Ryder, with a last darkling look at his vividimage, strode towards the door. 

"He's awa' all right--and he'll be back again as soon as he can makeit. "

With this cheerless anticipation of the evening's promise, thedeparting one stalked, like an exiled Stuart, to his waitingcarriage. 

For a moment more McLean kept the ironic smile alive upon his lips, as he listened to the rattle of the wheels and the harsh gutturalsof the driver, then the smile died as he turned back into the room. 

"Eh, but wouldn't you like it, though, Andy, " he said to himself, "if some girl now liked you enough to get you to go to one of thosedamned things. .. . The lucky dog!"

CHAPTER II

MASKS AND MASKERS

Moors and Juliets and Circassian slaves and Knights at Arms werefast emerging from lift or cloak room, and confronting each otherthrough their masks in sheepish defiance and curiosity. Adventurousspirits were circulating. Voices, lowered and guarded, began toengage in nervous, tittering banter. .. . Laughter, belatedlysmothered, flared to betrayals. .. . 

The orchestra was playing a Viennese waltz and couple after coupleslipped out upon the floor. 

Lounging against the wall, Ryder glowered mockingly through his maskholes at the motley. It was so exactly as he had foreseen. He wasbored--and he was going to be more bored. He was jostled--and he wasgoing to be more jostled. He was hot--and he was going to be hotter. 

Where in the world was Jinny Jeffries? He deserved, he felt, exhilaratingly kind treatment to compensate him for this insanity. He gazed about, and encountering a plump shepherdess ogling him hestepped hastily behind a palm. 

He fairly stepped upon a very small person in black. A phantom-likesmall person, with the black silk hubarah of the Mohammedanhigh-caste woman drawn down to her very brows, and over the entireface the black street veil. Not a feature visible. Not an eyebrow. Not an eyelash, not a hint of the small person herself, except avery small white, ringed hand, lifted as if in defense of hisclumsiness. 

"Sorry, " said Ryder quickly, and driven by the instinct ofreparation. "Won't you dance?"

A mute shake of the head. 

Well, his duty was done. But something, the very lack of allinvitation in the black phantom, made him linger. He repeated hisrequest in French. 

From behind the veil came a liquidly soft voice with a note ofmirth. "I understand the English, monsieur, " it informed him. 

"Enough, then, to say yes in it?"

The black phantom shook its head. "My education, alas! has onlyproceeded to the N. " Her speech was quaint, unhesitating, but oddlyinflected. "I regret--but I am not acquainted with the yes. "

A gay character for a masked ball! Indifference and pique swungRyder towards a geisha girl, but a trace of irritation lingered andhe found her, "You likee plink gleisha?" singularly witless. 

He'd tell McLean just how darned captivating his outfit was, hepromised himself. 

And then he caught sight of a familiar pair of gray eyes smilingover the white veil of an odalisque. Jinny Jeffries was wearing oneof the many costumes there that passed for Oriental, a glitteringassemblage of Turkish trousers and Circassian veils, silver shawlsand necklaces and wide bracelets banding bare arms. 

As an effect it was distinctly successful. 

"Ten thousand dinars could not pay for the chicken she has eaten, "uttered Ryder appreciatively in the language of the old slavemarket, and stepped promptly ahead of a stout Pantalon. 

"Jack! You did come!" There was a note in the girl's voice as if shehad disbelieved in her good fortune. "Oh, and beautiful as RoderickDhu! Didn't I tell you that you could find something in that shop?"she declared in triumph. 

"Do you imagine that this came out of a costumer's?" Ryder swung herswiftly out in the fox trot before the crowd invaded the floor. "IfAndy McLean could hear you! Why this, this is the real thing, theScots-wha-hae-wi'-Wallace-bled stuff. "

"Who is Andy McLean?"

"Andrew is Scotch, Single, and Skeptical. He is a great pal of mineand also an official of the Agricultural Bank which is by way ofbeing a Government institution. These are the togs of his HielandGrandsire--"

"Why didn't you bring him?"

"Too dead, unfortunately--grandsires often are--"

"I mean Andrew McLean. "

"It would take you, my dear Jinny, to do that. You brought me--andI can believe in anything after the surprise of finding myselfhere. "

Jinny Jeffries laughed. "If I could only believe what you say!"

"Oh, you can believe anything I say, " Jack obligingly assured her. "I'm very careful what I _say_--"

"I wish I were. "

"You'd have to be careful how you look, Jinny--and you can't helpthat. The Lord who gave you red hair must provide the way to eludeits consequences. .. . I suppose the Orient isn't exactly a manlessSahara for you?"

She countered, her bright eyes intent, "Is it a girl-less Sahara foryou, Jack?"

"The only woman I have laid a hand on, in kindness or unkindness, died before Ptolemy rebuilt Denderah. "

"That's not right--"

"No? And I thought it such a virtuous record!"

"I mean, " Jinny laughed, "that you really ought to be seeing more oflife--like to-night--"

"To-night? Do you imagine this is a place for seeing life?"

"Why not?" she retorted to the irony in his voice. "It's realpeople--not just dead and gone things in cases with their lives alllived. I don't care if you are going to be a very famous person, Jack, you ought to see more of the world. You have just been buriedout here for two years, ever since you left college--"

Beneath his mask the young man was smiling. A quaint femininenotion, that life was to be encountered at a masquerade! This motleyof hot, over-dressed, wrought up idiots a human contact!

Life? Living?. .. Thank you, he preferred the sane young Englishofficials . .. The comradeship of his chief . .. The glamor of hisdesert tombs. 

Of course there was a loneliness in the desert. That was part of thebig feeling of it, the still, stealing sense of immensity reachingout its shadowy hands for you. .. . Loneliness and restlessness. .. . These tropic nights, when the stars burned low and bright, and thehot sands seemed breathing. .. . Loneliness and restlessness--but theygave a man dreams. .. . And were those dreams to be realized here?

The music stopped and the ever-watchful Pantalon bore down uponthem. Abandoning Jinny to her fate, Ryder sought refuge and acigarette. 

The hall was crowded now; the ball was a flash of color, a whirl ofsatins and spangles and tulle and gauze, gold and green and rose andsapphire, gyrating madly in vivid projection against the black andwhite stripes of the Moorish walls. The color and the music had senttheir quickening reactions among the throng. Masks were lendingaudacity to mischief and high spirits. 

Three little Pierrettes scampered through the crowd, pelting rightand left with confetti and balloons, and two stalwart monks and athin Hamlet pursued them, keeping up the bombardment amid a greatcombustion of balloons. A spangled Harlequin snatched his handsfull of confetti and darted behind a palm. 

It was the palm of the black phantom, the palm of Ryder's rebuff. Perhaps the Harlequin had met repulse here, too, and cherishedresentment, not a very malicious resentment but a mocking feint ofit, for when Ryder turned sharply after him--oddly, he himself wasstrolling toward that nook--he found Harlequin circling with mockentreaties about the stubbornly refusing black domino. 

"Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, won't you join thedance?" chanted Harlequin, with a shower of confetti flung at thegirl's averted face. 

There was such a shrinking of genuine fright in her withdrawal thatRyder had a fine thrill of rescue. 

"My dance, " he declared, laying an intervening hand on her muffledarm. 

His tartan-draped shoulder crowded the Harlequin from sight. 

She raised her head. The black street veil was flung back, but ablack yashmak was hiding all but her eyes. Great dark eyes theywere, deep as night and soft as shadows, arched with exquisitelycurved brows like the sweep of wild birds' wings. .. . The most lovelyeyes that dreams could bring. 

A flash of relief shone through their childish fright. With suddenconfidence she turned to Ryder. 

"Thank you. .. . My education, monsieur, has proceeded to the Ts, " shetold him with a nervous little laugh over her chagrin, drowned in aburst of louder laughter from the discomfited Harlequin, who turnedon his heel and then bounded after fresh prey. 

"Shall we dance or promenade?" asked Ryder. 

Hesitatingly her gaze met his. Red and gold and green and blueflecks of confetti were glimmering like fishscales over her blackwrap and were even entangled drolly in the absurd lengths of hereye-lashes. 

"It is--if I have not forgotten how to dance, " she murmured. "If itis a waltz, perhaps--"

It was a waltz. Ryder had an odd impression of her irresolutionbefore, with strange eagerness, he swept her into the music. Withinthe clumsy bulk of her draperies his arm felt the slightness of heryoung form. She was no more than a child. .. . No child, either, at amasquerade, but a fairy, dancing in the moonlight. .. . She was a leafblowing in the breeze. .. . She was the very breeze and the moonlight. 

And then, to his astonishment, the dance was over. Those moments hadseemed no more than one. 

"We must have the next, " he said quickly. "What made you think youhad forgotten?"

"It is nearly four years, monsieur, since I danced with a man. "

"With a man? You have been dancing with girls, then?"

She nodded. 

"At a school?"

"At a--a sort of school. " The black domino laughed with ruefulness. "At a very dull sort of school. "

"To which, I hope, you are not to return?"

She made no answer to that--unless it was a sigh that slipped out. 

"At any rate, " he said cheerily, "you are dancing to-night. "

"To-night--yes, to-night I am dancing!" There was triumph in heryoung voice, triumph and faint defiance, and gayety again in herchanging eyes. 

Extraordinary, those eyes. Innocent, audacious, bewildering. .. . Tolook down into them produced the oddest of excitement. 

He took off his mask. Masks were hindering things--he could see somuch better without. 

She, too, could see better--could see him better. Shyly, yetintently, her gaze took note of him, of the clean, clear-cut youngface, bronzed and rather thin, of the dark hair that looked darkeragainst the scarlet cap, of the deep-set eyes, hazel-brown, that methers so often and were so full of contradictory things . .. Life . .. And humor . .. And frank simplicity . .. And subtle eagerness. 

He looked so young and confident and handsome. .. . 

"You are--a Scotchman?" slipped out from her black yashmak. 

"Only in costume. I am an American. "

She repeated it a little musingly. "I do not think I ever met anAmerican young man. " She added, "I have met old ones--yes, andmiddle-aged ones and the women--but a young one, no. "

"A retired spot, that school of yours, " said Ryder appreciatively. "You are French?"

"That is for your imagination!" Teasingly, she laughed. "I am, monsieur, only a black domino!"

It was the loveliest laugh, Ryder was instantly aware, and theloveliest voice in the world. Yes, and the loveliest eyes. 

He forgot the crowd. He forgot the heat. He forgot--alas!--JinnyJeffries. He was aware of an intense exhilaration, a radiant senseof well-being, and--at the music's beginning--of a small palmpressed again to his, a light form within his arm . .. Of shy, enchanting eyes out from the shrouding black. 

"Do put that veil away, " he youthfully entreated. "It's quite time. The others are almost all unmasked. "

Her glance about the room returned to him with mock plaintiveness. She shook her head as they spun lightly about a corner. 

"Perhaps, monsieur, I have an unfortunate nose. "

"My nerves are strong. "

"But why afflict them?" Prankishly her eyes sparkled up at him overthe black veil that made her a mystery. "Enjoy the present, monsieur!"

"Are you enjoying it?"

Her lashes dropped, like black butterflies. She was a changeling ofa girl, veering from gayety to shyness. .. . Her gaze was now on herwrist watch, a slender blaze of platinum and diamonds. 

"The present--yes, " she said in a muffled little voice. 

He bent his head to hear her through the veil. 

A tormenting curiosity was assailing him. It had become not enoughto know that she was young and slender, with enchanting eyes and ateasing spirit of wit. .. . Vaguely he had thought her to be French, one of the quaint _jeunes filles_ so rarely taken traveling. 

But who was she? A child at her first ball? But what in the worldwas she doing, back in the palms, away from her chaperon?

He realized, even in the cloud of his fascination, that French_jeunes filles_ are not wonted to lurk about palms at a ball. 

Was she a little Cinderella, then, slipping among the guests? Somepoor companion, stealing in for fun?. .. She was too young. And therewas that watch, that glitter of diamonds upon her wrist. 

"Have you just come to Cairo?"

She shook her head. "For some time--I have been here. "

"Up the Nile yet?"

"The Nile--no, monsieur. "

"But you are going?"

"That--that I do not know. Sometime, perhaps. "

She sounded guarded. .. . He hurried into revelations. 

"I am staying not far from Cairo, myself. I am an excavator--on anexpedition from an American museum. "

"Ah, you dig?"

"Well, not personally. .. . But the expedition digs. .. . We've had somebully finds. "

"And you came from America--to dig in the sands?" The black dominolaughed softly. "For how long, monsieur?"

"This is my second year. "

Still laughing, she shook her shrouded little head at him. "But Icannot understand! What wonderful thing do you hope to find--whatburied secret--?"

"Nothing half as wonderful as to know who you are, " he said boldly. 

"That, too, is--is buried, monsieur!"

"But not beyond discovery, " he told her very gayly and confidently, and danced the music out. 

As the last strains died, they paused for an instant as if the spellstill bound them, then his arms fell slowly away, and he heard thegirl draw a quick, startled breath. Her eyes sped to that tiny, blazing watch; when she lifted them he thought he surprised a gleamof panic. 

"How fast is an hour!" she said with an excited little laugh. "Timeis a--a very sudden thing!"

Sudden, indeed! How long since he had been a badly bored, impatientyoung man, mocking the follies of the masquerade? How long since hehad danced with Jinny, flouting her notion of this sort of thing aslife? How long since he had looked into a pair of dark disquietingeyes . .. Listened to a gay little voice. .. . 

Many important things in life happen suddenly. Juliet happened verysuddenly to Romeo. Romeo happened as suddenly to Juliet. 

But Jack Ryder was not remembering anything about Romeo and Juliet. He was watching that glance steal to the wrist watch again. 

Then, as if with a determination of the spirit, they smiled up athim. 

"Monsieur the American, " said the black domino, "you have been mostkind to an--an incognita--of a masque. I hope that you dig out ofyour sands all the secrets that you most desire. "

"You sound as if you were saying good-bye, " said Jack Ryder withquick denial in his blood. 

The smile in her eyes flickered. 

"Perhaps I have kept you too long from the other guests. "

He shook his head. "They don't exist. "

"Ah! I will give you the chance to say such nice things to them. "

"But I never say nice things--unless I mean them!"

"Never--monsieur?"

"Never. I am very careful what I say, " he assured her, even as hehad assured another girl, in what different meaning, hours orcenturies before. "You can believe anything that I say. "

"A young man of character! Perhaps that goes with the Scotchcostume. I have read the Scots are a noble people. "

"They haven't a thing on the Americans. You must know me better anddiscover--"

But again her eyes had gone, almost guiltily, to that watch. Andwhen she raised them again they were not smiling but very strangelyresolved. 

"Monsieur, it is so hot--if you would get me a glass of sherbet?"

"Certainly. " Convention brought out the assent; convention turnedhim about and marched him dutifully toward the crowded table sheindicated. 

But something deeper than convention, some warning born of thattoo-often consulted watch and that strange look in her eyes, thatuneasy fear and swift resolve, turned him quickly about again. 

Other couples had strolled between them. He hurried through andstepped back among the palms. 

The place was empty. The black domino was gone. 

 * * * * *

He wasted one minute in assuring himself that she was not hidden insome corner, not mingled with the crowd. But the niche was desertedas a rifled nest. Then his eyes spied the door that the greendecorations had conspired to hide and he wrenched it open. 

He found himself on a little balcony overlooking the hotel garden. He knew the place in daytime--palms and shrubs and a graveled walkand painted chairs where he had drunk tea with Jinny and watched aRussian tourist beautifully smoking cigarettes. 

Now the place was strange. Night and a crescent moon had wroughttheir magic, and the garden was a mystery of velvet dusks and ivorypallors. The graveled path ran glimmering beneath the magnolias. Over the wall's blankness the eucalyptus defined its crooked linesagainst the blue Egyptian sky. 

No living thing was there . .. Nothing . .. Or did that shadow stir?There, just at the path's end. 

Ryder's lithe strength was swift. There was one breathless moment ofpursuit, then his hand fell with gripping fierceness upon thehuddled dark figure that had sped so frantically to the tiny door inthe garden's end. .. . A moment more and she would have been through. 

His hand on her shoulder turned her towards him. Her eyes met hiswith a dash of desperation. .. . He was unconscious how his own wereblazing . .. How queerly white his face had gone under its desertbrown. 

She was actually running away. She had meant never to see him again. He had frustrated her, but the blow she had meant to deal him wasstill felt. 

His voice, when it came, sounded shaken. 

"You were going to leave me?"

Strangely her eyes changed. The defiance, the panic fear, faded. Acloud of slow despair welled up in them. 

"What else?" she said very softly. 

He did not lose his hold on her. He drew her back into the shadowswith involuntary caution, and he felt her slender body trembling inhis grasp. The tremors seemed to pass into his own. 

A sense of urgency was pressing upon him. He was not himself, notany self that he had known. He stood there, in the Egyptian night, in the motley of a Scotch chieftain, grasping this mysteriouscreature of the masquerade, and he heard a voice that he did notknow ask of her again and again, "But why? Why? Why were you going?"

It was not, he was telling himself, and her eyes were telling him, as if she wanted to go. He knew what he knew. .. . Those had beenenchanted hours. .. . Yet she had deceived and fled from him. 

Her eyes looked darkly back at him through the dusk. 

"Because I must return to my own life. " Her voice was a whisper. "And I did not want you to know--"

"To know what? Who are you? Where were you going?" A confusion ofconjecture, fantastic, horrible, impossible, was surging in him. Dim, vague, terrible things. .. . 

"Who are you, anyway?"

She looked away from him, to the door which she had tried to gain. 

"No masker, monsieur. .. . For me, there is no unveiling. "

Ryder's hand stiffened. He felt his blood stop a moment, as if hisheart stood still. 

And then it beat on again in a furious turmoil of contradiction ofthis impossible thing that she was telling him. 

"That door, monsieur, is to the lane, and in the lane another doorleads to another garden--the garden of a girl you can never know. "

He was no novice to Egypt. Even while his credulity was stillbattling with belief, his mind had realized this thing that hadhappened . .. The astounding, unbelievable thing. .. . He had heardsomething of those Turkish girls, daughters of rich officials, whoselives were such strange opposition of modernity and tradition. 

Indulgence and luxury. French governesses and French frocks . .. Freedom, travel, often, --Paris, London, perhaps--and then, as thegirl eclipses the child--the veil. Still indulgence and luxury, still books and governesses and frocks and motors and society--but afeminine society. 

Not a man in it. Not a caller. Not a friend. Not a lover. .. . Not aninterview, even, with the man who is to be the husband--until thebride is safe in the husband's home. Hidden women. Secret, secludedlives. .. . Extinguished by tradition--a tradition against which theirearlier years only had won modern emancipation. 

And she--this slim creature in the black domino--one of thoseinvisibles?

Stark amazement looked out of his eyes into hers. 

"You--a Turk?" he blurted. 

"I--a Turk!" Her head went suddenly high; she stiffened withdefensive pride. "I am ashamed--but for the thing I have done. Thatis a shameful thing. To steal out at night--to a hotel--to aball--And to dance with a man! To tell him who I am--Oh, yes, I ammuch ashamed. I am as bold as a Christian!" she tossed at himsuddenly, between mockery and malice. 

Still his wonder and his trouble found no words and the shadow onhis face was reflected swiftly in her own. 

"I beg you to believe, monsieur, that never before--never have Idone such a thing. My greatest fault was to be out in the gardenafter sunset--when all Moslem women should be within. But my nursewas indulgent. "

Almost pleadingly she looked up at the young man. "Believe this ofme, monsieur. I would not have you think of me lightly. But to-nightsomething possessed me. I had heard of the masque, and I rememberedthe balls of the Embassy where I danced when I was so young and so Islipped away--there was a garden key that I had stolen, long ago, and kept for another thing. .. . I did not mean to dance. Only to lookon at the world again. "

"Oh, my good Lord, " said Jack Ryder. 

And then suddenly he asked, "Are you--do you--whom do you livewith?"

And when she answered in surprise, "But with whom but my father--heis Tewfick Pasha, " he drew a long breath. 

"I thought you'd tell me next you were married, " he said limply. 

The next moment they were laughing the sudden, incredibly absorbedlaughter of youth. 

"No husband. I am one of the young revoltées--the moderns--and I amthe only daughter of a most indulgent father. "

"Well, that's something to the good, " was Ryder's comment upon that. He added, "But if that most indulgent father caught you--"

He looked down at her. The secret trouble of her answering look toldhim more than its assumption of courage. 

This was no boarding school girl lingering beyond hours. .. . This wasa high-born Moslem, risking more than he could well know. 

The escapade was suddenly serious, tremendously menacing. 

She answered faintly, "I have no idea--the thing is so impossible!But of course, " she rallied her spirit to protest, "I do not thinkthey would sew me in a sack with a stone and drop me in the river, like the odalisques of yesterday!"

She added, her voice uncertain in spite of her, "I meant only tostay a moment. "

"Which is the way?" said Jack briefly. 

With caution he opened the gate into the black canyon of the lane. Silence and darkness. Not a loiterer, only one of the furtivestarved dogs, slinking back from some rubbish. .. . 

The girl moved forward and keeping closely at her side he followed;they crossed to the other wall, and turned towards the right, stopping before the deeper shadow of a small, pointed door set intothe heavy brick of the high wall. From her draperies the girl drewout a huge key. 

She fitted it into the ancient lock and turned it; carefully shepressed open the gate and stared anxiously into the gloom of theshadowy garden that it disclosed. 

Relief colored her voice as she turned to him. 

"All is quiet. .. . I am safe, now. .. . And so--good-bye, monsieur. "

"And this is where you live?" Ryder whispered. 

"There--in that wing, " she murmured, slipping within the gate, andhe stole after her, and looked across the garden, through a fringeof date palms, to the outlines of the buildings. 

Dim and dark showed the high walls, black as a prison, only here andthere the pale orange oblong of a lighted window. 

"Did you climb out the window?" he murmured. 

From beneath the veil came a little sound of soft derision. 

"But there are always bars, even in the garden windows of theharemlik!. .. No, I stole down by an old stair. .. . That wing, there, on the right. "

Barred on the garden, and on the street the impregnable woodenscreens of the mashrubiyeh, those were the rooms where this girlbeside him was to spend her life--until that most indulgent fatherwearied of her modernity and transferred her to other rooms, asbarred and screened, in the palace of some husband!. .. That thoughtwas brushing Ryder . .. With other thoughts of her present risk . .. Of her lovely eyes, visible again, above the veil, thoughts of thestrangeness and unreality of it all . .. There in the shrubbery of apasha's garden, the pasha's daughter whispering at his side. 

"What about your mother--?" he asked her. "Is she--?"

"She is dead, " the girl told him, with a drop in her voice. 

And after a long moment of silence, "When I was so little--but Iremember her, oh, indeed I do . .. She was French, monsieur. "

"Oh! And so you--"

"I am French-Turk, " she whispered back. "That is very often so--inthe harems of Cairo. .. . She was so lovely, " said the girl wistfully. "My father must have loved her very much . .. He never broughtanother wife here. Always I lived alone with my old nurse and thegovernesses--"

"You had--lessons?"

"Oh, nothing but lessons--all of that world which was shut away sosoon. .. . French and English and music and the philosophy--Oh, weTurks are what you call blue stockings, monsieur, shut away with ourbooks and our dreams . .. And our memories . .. We are so young andalready the real world is a memory. .. . Sometimes, " she said, with atremor of suppressed passion in her still little tones, "I couldwish that I had died when I was very young and so happy when myfather took me traveling in Europe. .. . I played games on the decksof the ships . .. I had my tea with the English children. .. . I wentdown into the hold to play with their dogs. .. "

She broke off, between a laugh and a sigh, "Dogs are forbidden toMoslems--but of course you know, if you have been here two years. .. . And emancipated as we may be, there is no changing the customs. Wemust live as our grandmothers lived . .. Though we are not as ourgrandmothers are. .. "

"With a French mother, you must be very far from what some of yourgrandmothers were!"

"My poor French mother!" Whimsically the girl sighed. "Must I blameit on her--the spirit that took me to the ball?. .. To-morrowthis will be a dream to me. .. . I shall not believe in myshamelessness. .. . And you, too, must forget--"

"Forget?" said Ryder under his breath. 

"Forget--and go. Positively you must go now, monsieur. It is verydangerous here--"

"It is. " There was a light dancing in his hazel eyes. "It is moredangerous every moment--"

"But I mean--" Her confusion betrayed itself. 

"But I mean--that you are magic--black magic, " he murmured bendingover the black domino. 

The crescent moon had found its way through a filigree of boughs. Faintly its exploring ray lighted the contour of that shrouded head, touched the lovely curves of her arched brows and the tender pallorof the skin about those great wells of dark eyes. .. . From his owneyes a flame seemed to pass into hers. .. . Breathlessly they gazed ateach other . .. Like dim shadows in a garden of still enchantment. 

And then, as from a palpable clasp, she tried to slip away. "Truly, I must go! It is so late--"

Ryder's heart was pounding within him. He did not recognize thisstate of affairs; it was utterly unrelated to anything that had gonebefore in his merry, humorous, rather clear-sighted and wary younglife. .. . He felt dazed and wondering at himself . .. Andirresponsible . .. And appalled . .. But deeper than all else, he felteager and exultant and strangely, furtively determined aboutsomething that he was not owning to himself . .. Something thatleaped off his lips in the low murmur to her, "But to-morrownight--I shall see you again--"

She caught her breath. "Oh, never again! To-night has noto-morrow--"

"Outside this gate, " he persisted. "I shall wait--and other nightsafter that. For I must know--if you are safe--"

"See, I am very safe now. For if I were missed there would berunning and confusion--"

He only drew a little closer to her. "To-morrow night--or another--Ishall come to this door--"

"It must not open to you. .. . It is a forbidden door--forbidden asthat fortieth door in the old story. .. . There are thirty and ninedoors in your life, monsieur, that you may open, but this is theforbidden--"

"I shall be waiting, " he insisted. "To-morrow night--or another--"

She moved her head in denial. 

"Neither to-morrow nor another night--"

Again their eyes met. He bent over her. He knew a gleam of sharpestwonder at himself as his arms went swiftly round that shroudingdrapery, and then all duality of consciousness was blotted out inthe rush of his young madness. For within that drapery was the soft, human sweetness of her; his arms tightened, his face bent close, andthrough the sheer gauze of her veil his lips pressed her lips. .. . 

Some one was coming down the walk: Footsteps crunched the gravel. 

Like a wraith the girl was out of his arms . .. In anger or alarmhis whirling senses could not know, although it was their passionateconcern. But his last gleam of prudence got him through the gate heheard her locking after. 

And then, for her sake, he fled. 

CHAPTER III

IN THE PASHA'S PALACE

Nearer sounded the footsteps on the graveled walk and in frightenedhaste the girl drew out the key from the gate and slipped away intothe shrubbery, grateful for the blotting shadows. 

At the foot of a rose bush she crouched to thrust the key into ahole in the loose earth, covering the top and drawing the lowbranches over it. 

"Aimée, " came a guarded call. "Aimée!"

Still stooping, she tried to steal through the bushes, but thethorns held her and she stood up, pulling at her robes. 

"Yes? Miriam?" she said faintly, and desperately freeing herself, she hurried forward towards the dark, bulky figure of her old nurse, emerging now into the moonlight. 

"_Alhamdolillah_--Glory to God!" ejaculated the old woman, butcautiously under her breath. "Come quickly--he is here--thy father!And thou in the garden, at this hour. .. . But come, " and urgently shegripped the girl's wrist as if afraid that she would vanish againinto the shadows of the shrubbery. 

Aimée felt her knees quake under her. "My father!" she murmured, and her voice died in her throat. 

Had he discovered? Had some one seen her slip out? Or recognized herat the ball?

The panic-stricken conjectures surged through her in dismayingconfusion. She tried to beat down her fear, to think quickly, torally her force, but her swimming senses were still invaded with thesurprise of those last moments at the gate, her heart still beatingwith the touch of Ryder's arms about her . .. Of that long, deep look. .. That kiss, beyond all else, that kiss. .. . 

Little rivers of fire were running through her veins. Shame andproud anger set up their swift reactions. Oh, what wings of wild, incredible folly had brought her to this! To be kissed like--like adancing girl--by a man, an unknown, an American!

How could he, how could he! After all his kindness--to hold her solightly. .. . And yet there had been no lightness in his eyes, thoseeager, shining young eyes, so gravely concerned. .. . 

But she could not stop to think of this thing. Her father waswaiting. 

"He came in like a fury, " the old nurse was panting, as theyscurried up the walk together, "and asked for you . .. And your roomempty, your bed not touched!. .. Oh, Allah's ruth upon me, I wenttrotting through the house, mad with fear. .. . Up to the roofs thendown to the garden . .. Sending him word that you were dressing thathe should not know the only child of his house was a shameless one, devoid of sense. "

"But there is no harm in a garden, " breathed the girl, her face hotwith shame. "To-night was so hot--"

"Is there no coolth upon the roof?"

"But the roses--"

"Can roses not be brought you? Have you no maids to attend you?"

"I am tired of being attended! Can I never be alone--"

"Alone in the garden!. .. A pretty talk! Eh, I will tell thy father, I will have a stop put to this--_hush_, would you have him hear?"she admonished, in a sudden whisper, as they opened the little doorat the foot of the dark well of spiral steps. 

Like conspirators they fled up the staircase, and then with fumblinghaste the old nurse dragged off the girl's mantle and veil, muttering at the pins that secured it. She shook out thepale-flowered chiffon of her rumpled frock and gathered back astrand of her dark, disordered hair. 

"Say that you were on the roofs, " she besought her. 

For a moment the girl put the warm rose of her cheek against the oldwoman's dark, wrinkled one. 

"But you are good, Dadi, " she said softly, using the Turkish wordfor familiar old servants. 

With a sound of mingled vexation and affection Miriam pushed herahead of her into the drawing-room. 

It was a long, dark room, on whose soft, buff carpet the little giltchairs and sofas were set about with the empty expectancy of a stagescene in a French salon. French were the shirred, silk shades uponthe electric lamps, French the music upon the chic rosewood piano. 

And then, as if some careless property man had overlooked them inchanging the act, two window balconies of closely carved old wood, of solidly screening mashrubiyeh wood, jutted out from onecream-tinted wall, and above a gilded sofa, upholstered in thedelicate fabric of the Rue de la Paix, hung a green satin bannerembroidered in silver with a phrase from the Koran. 

Tewfick Pasha was at one side of the room, filling his match case. He was in evening dress, a ribbon of some order across a ratherswelling shirt bosom, a red fez upon his dark head. 

At his daughter's entrance he turned quickly, with so sharp a gleamfrom his full, somewhat protuberant black eyes that her guilty heartfairly turned over in her. 

It made matters no more comforting to have Miriam packed from theroom. 

She would deny it all, she thought desperately . .. No, she wouldadmit it, and implore his indulgence. .. . She would admit nothing butthe garden. .. . She would admit the ball. .. . She would _never_ admitthe young man. .. . 

With conscious eyes and flushing cheeks, woefully aware ofdew-drenched satin slippers and an upsettingly hammering heart, Aimée presented the young image of irresolute confusion. 

To her surprise there was no outburst. Her father was suddenly gayand smiling, with a flow of pleasant phrases that invited heraffection. In his good humor--and Tewfick Pasha liked always to bekept in good humor--he had touches of that boyish charm that hadmade him the _enfant gâté_ of Paris and Vienna as well as Cairo andConstantinople. An _enfant_ no more, in the robustly rotund forties, his cheerful self-indulgence demanded still of his environment thatsmiling acquiescence that kept life soft and comfortable. 

And now it suddenly struck Aimée, through her tense alarm, that hissmile was not a spontaneous smile, but was silently, uneasily askinghis daughter not to make something too unpleasant for him . .. Thatsomething that had brought him here, at an unprecedented midnight. .. That had kept him waiting until she, supposedly, should rise anddress. .. . 

If it were not then a knowledge of her escapade--?

The relief from that fear made everything else bearable. She waseven able to entertain, with a certain welcome, the alternativealarm that he had decided to marry again--that nightmare from whoserealization the unknown gods (or more truly, the unknown goddessesof the Cairene demi-monde!) had assisted to save her. 

There was a furtive excitement about him that fanned thesupposition. 

Then, quite suddenly, the illuminating lightning cut the clouds. 

"My dear child, I have news, really important news for you. If Ihave not been discussing your future, " said Tewfick Pasha, staringwith stern nonchalance ahead and determinedly unaware of her instantstiffening of attention, "I have by no means been neglectful ofit. .. . To-day--indeed to-night--there has been a consummation of myplans. .. . It is not to every daughter that a father may hurry withsuch an announcement. "

Her first feeling was a merciful relief. He knew nothing then of theball! She could breathe again. .. . It was her marriage that hadbrought him. 

No new danger, that, but the eternal menace that she had always todread. .. . But how many times had he promised that she should have nounknown husband, imposed by tradition! How many times had sheindulged dreams of Europe, of bright, free romance!

And now he was off on some tangent from which it would need all hercoaxing wit to divert him. With wide eyes painfully intent, herlittle, jeweled fingers very still in their locked grip in her lap, the color draining from her cheeks, she sat waiting for therevelation. 

What was it all? Had he really decided upon something? Upon someone?

Tewfick Pasha appeared in no hurry to inform her. He wanderedrather confusedly into a rambling speech about her age and herposition and the responsibilities of life and his inabilities toprevent their reaching her, and about his very tender affection forher and his understanding of all those girlish reticences andreluctances which made innocent youth so exquisite, while silentlyhis daughter hung her head and wondered what he would be saying ifhe knew that she had broken every canon of seclusion and convention, had talked and danced with a man. .. . 

His astonishment would be so horrific that she flinched even fromthe thought. 

And if he knew, moreover, that this man had caught her and kissedher--!

She told herself that she was disgraced for life. She had a dreamydesire to close her eyes and lean back and dream on about thatdisgrace. .. . 

But she must listen to her father. He was talking now about thepowers of wealth, not merely the nominal riches of his somewhatprecarious political affiliations, but solid, sustaining, investedand invulnerable wealth. 

Unexpectedly Aimée laughed. "He must be very plain, " she declared, her face brightening with mockery, "if you take so long to tell mehis name!"

Not, she added to herself under her breath, that any name wouldweigh a feather's difference!

"On the contrary, " and the pasha's eyes met hers frankly for thefirst time and he seemed delighted to indulge a laugh, "he has thereputation of good looks. He is much _à la mode_. "

"Beautiful and golden--did you meet him just to-night, my father?"Aimée went on, in that light audacity which he had loved to indulge. 

Now he smiled, but his glance went uneasily away from her. 

"Not at all. This is a serious affair, you understand--the devil ofa serious affair!" and for the first time she felt she heard theaccents of his candor. 

But again he was back to voluble protestation. This man was reallyan old friend. He boggled over the word, then got it out resonantly. A man he knew well. Not a young man, perhaps--certainly he was notgoing to hand his only daughter to any boy, a mere novice inlife!--but a man who could give her the position she deserved. Notonly a rich man, but an influential one. 

His name, he brought out at last, was Hamdi Bey. He was a general inthe armies of the sultan. 

It was a long moment before she could piece any shreds ofrecollection together. 

Hamdi Bey . .. A general. .. . Why, that was a man her father haddisliked . .. More than once he had dropped resentful phrases of hisairs, his arrogance . .. Had recounted certain clashes with maliciousjoy. 

And now he was planning--no, seriously announcing--

A general . .. He must be terribly old. .. . 

Not that it made any difference. Old or young, black or white, general or ghikar, would mean nothing in her life. She would havenone of him . .. None of him. .. . Never would she endure thehumiliation of being handed over like a toy, an odalisque, aslave. .. . 

What had happened? She could only suppose that her father had beenovercome by that wealth of the general's on which he had made hersuch a speech. Or perhaps his dislike of Hamdi had been founded onnothing but resentment of Hamdi's airs of superiority, and now thatthe bey was condescending to ask for her hand her father's flatteredappeasement was rushing into genial acceptance. 

Anything might be possible to Tewfick Pasha's eternally youthfulenthusiasms. 

She told her frightened heart that she was not afraid. .. . Her fatherwould never really fail her. .. . And she would never surrender tothis degradation; for all her fright and all her flinching fromdefiance she divined in herself some hidden stuff of resistance, tenacious to endure . .. Some strain of daring which had made herbrave that wild escapade to-night. 

Was it still the same night? Were the violins still playing, thepeople still dancing in their fairy land of freedom?. .. Was thatyoung man in the Highland dress, that unknown American, was he backthere dancing with some other girl?

What was it he had said? To-morrow night, and another night, hewould be there in the lane. .. . If she would come! As if she woulddemean herself, after his rude affront, to steal again to the gate, like a gardener's daughter--!

Her thoughts were so full of him. And now she had this new horror toface, this marriage to Hamdi Bey. Did her father dream that shewould not resist? It was against such a danger that she had long agostolen a garden key, a key to the outer world in which she hadneither a friend nor a piaster to save her. .. . 

"My dear father, " she said entreatingly, "please do not tell me thatyou really mean--that you really think you would like to--that youwould consider--this man--"

He turned on her a suddenly direct, confessing look. 

"Aimée, I have _arranged_ this matter. "

He added heavily, "To-night. That is what I came to tell you. "

In the silence that settled upon them he finally ceased his effortto ignore her shocked dismay. He abandoned his airy pretense thatthe affair could possibly evoke her enthusiasm. He sucked at hiscigarette like a rather sullen little boy. 

"I have always indulged you, Aimée, " he said at last, withoutlooking round at her. "I hope you are not going to make meinfernally sorry. "

"I think you are m-making me inf-fernally sorry, " said an unsteadylittle voice. 

He looked about. His daughter was sitting very still upon thegilded sofa beneath the banner of Mahomet; as he regarded her twogreat tears formed in her dark eyes and ran slowly down her cheeks. 

With a sound of impatience he jumped to his feet and began to paceup and down the room. 

This, he pointed out heatedly, to her, was what a man got whoindulged his daughter. This is what came of French and Englishgovernesses and modern ideas. .. . After all he had done--more thanany other father! To sit and weep! Weep--at such a marriage! Whatdid she expect of life? Was she not as other women? Did she neverlook ahead? Had she no pride, no ambition--no hopes? Did she wishnever to marry, then, to become an _old mees_ like her Englishcompanion?

"I am but eighteen, " she said quiveringly. "Oh, my father, do notgive me to this unknown--"

"Unknown--unknown! Do I not know him?"

"But you promised--"

Angrily he gestured with his cigarette. "Do I know what is good foryou or do I not? Have I your interest at heart--tell me! Am I asavage, a dolt--"

"But you do not know what it is to be unhappy. I beg of you, myfather, --I should die with such a life before me, with such a manfor my husband. I am too French, too like my mother--"

"Ah, your mother!. .. Too French, are you?. .. But what would you havein France?" he demanded with the bursting appearance of a manmaking every effort to restrain himself within unreasonable bounds. "Would not your parents there arrange your marriage? You might seethe fiancé, " he caught the words out of her mouth, "but only for atime or two--after the arrangements--and what is that? What morewould you know than what your father knows? Are you a thing to beexhibited--given to a man to gaze at and appraise? I tell you, no. .. . You are my daughter. You bear my name. And when you marry youmarry in the sanctity of the custom of your father--and you go toyour husband's house as his mother went to his father. "

Timidly she protested, "But my mother--and you--"

"Do not speak of your mother! If she were here she would counselgratitude and obedience. " He turned his back on her. "This is whatcomes, " he muttered, "of this modernity, this education. .. . "

He pitched away his stub as if he were casting all that he hatedaway with it. 

She had never seen him so angry. Helplessly she felt that his vanityand his word were engaged with the general more than she haddreamed. She felt a surge of panic at the immensity of the troublebefore her. 

"But, my father, if you love me--"

"No, my little one, if _you_ love _me_!"

With a sudden assumption of good humor over the angry red mottlinghis olive cheeks, he came and sat beside her, putting his arm abouther silently shrinking figure. 

"I am a weak fool to stay and drink a woman's tears, as the sayinggoes, " he told her, "but this is what a man gets for being goodnatured. .. . But, tears or not, I know what is best. .. . Come, Aimée, have I not ever been fond of you--?"

He patted her hand with his own plump one where bright rings weresparkling deep in the encroaching flesh. Aimée looked down with asudden wild dislike. .. . That soft, ingratiating hand, with itsdimples and polished nails, which thought it could pat her so easilyinto submission. .. . 

It was nothing to him, she thought, chokingly, whether she was happyor unhappy. He had decided on the match--perhaps he had foreseen herprotests and plunged into it, so as to be committed against herentreaties!--and he was not stopped by any thought of her feelings. 

After all her hopes! After all he had promised!

But she told herself that she had never been secure. Beneath all hertrust there had always been the silent fear, slipping through theshadows like a serpent. .. . Some instinct for character, moreprecocious than her years, had whispered through her fond blindness, and initiated her into foreboding. 

"Come now, my dear, " he said heartily, "this is a surprise, ofcourse, but after all you will find it is for the best--much for thebest--"

His voice died away. After a long pause, "You may make thearrangements, " she told him in a still, tenacious little voice, "butyou cannot make me marry him. .. . I will never put on the marriagedress. .. . Never wear the diadem. .. . Never stir one step within hishouse. "

A complete silence succeeded this declaration. He got up violentlyfrom beside her. She did not dare look at him. He was going away, she thought. 

It would be the beginning of war. She did not know what he would dobut she knew that she would endure it. 

And the gossip of the harems would be her protection. Heropposition, bruited through those feminine channels, would not belong in reaching Hamdi Bey. .. . And no man could to-day be so callousof his pride or the world's opinion that he would be willing toreceive such a revolting bride. 

Did her father think of that, that poor, pale power of hers? Hestood irresolute, as if meditating a last exhortation, and thensuddenly turned on her the haggard face of a violent despair. 

"Would you see me ruined?" he said passionately. 

Sharply he glanced about the room, at the far, closed doors where itwas not inconceivable that old Miriam was lurking, and strode overto her and began talking very jerkily and huskily, over her benthead. 

"I tell you that Hamdi is making this a condition--it is the priceof silence, of those papers back. .. . He came to me to-night. I knewthat hound of Satan had been smelling about, but I could notimagine--as if, between gentlemen--"

At that, she lifted her stupefied head. .. . Her father, with the faceof a cornered fox!. .. She caught her breath with the shock of it. Her lips parted, but only her mute eyes asked their startledquestions. 

Hurriedly, shamefacedly, with angry resentments andself-justifications, he was pouring a flood of broken phrases ather. She caught unintelligible references to narrow laws and theimbecile English, to impositions binding only upon the fools. .. . Andthen the word _hasheesh_. 

Sharply then the truth took its outlines. Her father had beensmuggling in hasheesh. Hamdi Bey had discovered this, and Hamdi Bey, unless silenced, had threatened betrayal. 

The danger was real. English laws were stringent. Vaguely thehorrors loomed--arrest, trial. .. . Even if he escaped the scandal wasruin. .. . 

Small wonder that her father had come flying upon the wings of hisdanger and its deliverance, small wonder that his brow was wet andhis lips dry and his eyes hard with terror. 

Thrown to the winds now his pretense of affection for Hamdi Bey! Hehated and feared him. The old fox had done this, he declared, to geta hold upon him, for always there had been bad blood. 

And the bey had heard, of course, of the beauty of the pasha'sdaughter. Some cousin had babbled. .. . And undoubtedly the rumor ofthat beauty--Tewfick Pasha received his inspiration upon the moment, but that was not gainsaying its truth--had determined the bey tofind some vulnerable hold. 

He was like that, a soft-voiced, sardonic devil! And this accursedbusiness of the hasheesh had served his ends. To-night, he had comewith his proofs. .. . 

"So you see, " muttered Tewfick Pasha, "what the devil of a seriousbusiness this is. And how any talk of--of unreadiness--if you werenot amiable, for example, to his cousin when she calls uponyou--might serve to anger him. .. . And so--"

Significantly his glance met hers. Her eyes fell, stricken. Thecolor flooded her trembling face. She quivered with confused pain, with shame for his shame, with terror and fright . .. With a hot, protective compassion that tore at her pride. .. . 

She struggled against her dismay, trying for reassuring little wordsthat would not come. Her heart seemed beating thickly in her throat. 

She never knew just what she said, what little broken words of pity, of understanding, of promise, she achieved. But her father suddenlydropped beside her, with an abandon reminiscent of the _enfant gâté_of his Paris days, and drew her hands to his lips, kissing theirsoft, quiescent palms. .. . She drew one away and placed it upon hisdark head from which the fez had tumbled. 

For the moment she was sorry, as one is sorry for a hurt child. Andher sorriness held her heart warm, in the glow of giving comfort. 

She had need of that warmth. For a cold tide was rising in her, atide of chill, irresistible foreboding. .. . 

For all the years of her life. .. . For all the years. .. . 

CHAPTER IV

EXPLANATIONS

The remaining hours of Jack Ryder's night might be divided intothree periods. There was an interval of astounding exhilarationcoupled with complete mental vacancy, during which a figure in aScots costume might have been observed by the astonished Egyptianmoon striding obliviously along the silent road to the Nile, pastsleeping camels and snoring _dhurra_ merchants--a period duringwhich his sole distinguishable sensation was the memory ofenchanting eyes, of a voice, low and lovely . .. Of a slender figurein a muffling tcharchaf . .. Of the touch of soft lips beneath agauzy veil. .. . 

This period was succeeded by hours of utter incredulity, in which helay wide-eyed on the sleeping porch of McLean's domicile and staredinto the white cloud of his fly net and questioned high heaven andhimself. 

Had he really done this? Had he actually caught and kissed thisgirl, this girl whose name he did not know, whose face he had neverseen, of whom he knew nothing but that she was the daughter of aTurk and utterly forbidden by every canon of sanity andself-preservation?

In the name of wonder, what had possessed him? The night? The moon?The mystery of the unknown?. .. If he had never really kissed her hemight have convinced himself that he had never really wanted to. Buthaving kissed her--!

He looked upon himself as a stranger. A stranger of whom he would beremarkably wary, in the days and nights to come . .. But a strangerfor whom he entertained a sort of secret, amazed respect. There hadbeen an undeniable dash and daring to that stranger. .. . 

During the third period he slept. 

When he awoke, late in the morning, and descended from a cold tub toa breakfast room from which McLean had long since departed, hebrought yet another mood with him, a mood of dark, deep disgust anda shamed inclination to dismiss these events very speedily frommemory. For that shadowy and rather shady affair he had abandonedthe merry and delightful Jinny Jeffries and got himself involved nowin the duty of explanations and peacemaking. 

What in the world was he going to say?

He meditated a note--but he hated a lie on paper. It looked sothunderingly black and white. Besides, he could not think of any. "Dear Jinny--Awfully sorry I was called away. "

No, that wouldn't do. He could take refuge in no such vagueness. Unfortunately, he and Jinny were on such terms of old intimacy thata certain explicitness of detail was expected. 

"Dear Jinny--I had to leave last night and take a girl home--"

No, she would ask about the girl. Jinny had a propensity forlocating people. It wouldn't do. 

His masculine instinct for saying the least possible in a matterwith a woman, and his ripening experience which taught him to leaveno mystery to awaken suspicion, wrestled with the affair for sometime and then retired from the field. 

He compromised by telephoning Jinny briefly--and Jinny was equallyas brief and twice as cool and cryptic--and promising to take herout to tea. 

He reflected that if he took her to tea he would really have to stayover another night, for it would be too late to regain his desertcamp. But the circumstances seemed to call for some social amend. .. . And no matter how many nights he stayed he certainly was not goingto lurk about that lane, outside garden doors!

He must have been mad, stark, staring, March-hatter mad!

 * * * * *

That morning, during its remainder, he concluded his buying ofsupplies and saw to their shipment upon the boat that left upon thefollowing morning. That noon he lunched with an assistant curator ofthe Cairo museum who found him a good listener. 

That afternoon he escorted Jinny Jeffries and her uncle and aunt, the Josiah Pendletons, to tea upon the little island in the Cairopark, where white-robed Arabs brought them tea over the tiny bridgeand violins played behind the shrubbery and white swans glided uponthe blue lake, and then he carried them off in a victoria to viewthe sunset from the Citadel heights. 

Not a word about the dance--except a general affirmative to Mrs. Pendleton's question if he had enjoyed himself. The Pendletons hadnot stayed to look on for long, and Jinny had apparently not wornher bleeding heart upon her sleeve. 

But this immunity could not last. He could not hug the protectingPendletons to him forever. 

Nor did he want to. They waned upon him. Mrs. Pendleton'sconversation was a perpetual, "Do look at--!" or dissertations fromthe guide books--already she had imparted a great deal of FlindersPetrie to him about his tombs. Mr. Pendleton was neitherenthusiastic nor voluble, but he was attacking the objects of theirtravels in the same thorough-going spirit that he had attacked andsurmounted the industrial obstacles of his career, and he went to agreat deal of persistent trouble to ascertain the exact dates ofpassing mosques and the conformations of their arches. 

The travelers had already "done" the Citadel. They had climbed itsrocky hill, they had viewed the Mahomet Ali mosque and its columnsand its carpets and had taken their guide's and their guidebook'sword that it was an inferior structure although so amazinglyeffective from below; they had looked studiously down upon the cityand tried to distinguish its minarets and towers and ancient gates, they had viewed with proper quizzicalness the imprint in the stoneparapet of the hoof of that blindfolded horse which the last of theMamelukes, cornered and betrayed, had spurred from the heights. 

So now, no duty upon them, Ryder led them past the Citadel, up theMokattam hills behind it, to that hilltop on which stood the littleancient mosque of the Sheykh-el-Gauchy, where the sunset spacesflowed round them like a sea of light and the world dropped intominiature at their feet. 

Below them, in a golden haze, Cairo's domes and minarets wereshining like a city of dreams. To the north, toy fields, vividgreen, of rice and cotton lands, and the silver thread of thewinding Nile, and all beyond, west and southwest, the vast, illimitable stretch of desert, shimmering in the opalescent air, sweeping on to the farthest edge of blue horizon. 

"A nice resting place, " said Jack Ryder appreciatively of the tombof the Sheykh-el-Gauchy. 

"I presume the date is given, " Mr. Pendleton was murmuring, as hebegan to ferret with his Baedecker. 

Mrs. Pendleton sighed sentimentally. "He must have been very fond ofnature. "

"He was very distrustful of his wives, " said Ryder, grinning. "Hehad three of them, all young and beautiful. "

"I thought you said he was a saint?" murmured Jinny, to whichinterpolation he responded, "Wouldn't three wives make any man asaint?" and resumed his narrative. 

"And so he had his tomb made where he could overlook the whole cityand observe the conduct of his widows. "

"They could move, " objected Miss Jeffries. 

"The female of the Mohammedan species is not the free agent that youimagine, " Ryder retorted, beginning with a smile and ending with aqueer, reminiscent pang. He had a moment's rather complicated twingeof amusement at her reactions if she should know that to anencounter with a female of the Mohammedan species was to beattributed his departure from her party last night. 

And then he remembered that he hadn't decided yet what to tell herand the time was undoubtedly at hand. 

The time _was_ at hand. The Pendletons were too thorough-goingAmericans not to abdicate before the young. They did not saunterself-consciously away and make any opportunity for Jack and Jinny, as sympathetic European chaperons might have done; they satmatter-of-factedly upon the rocks while their competent young peoplebetook themselves to higher heights. 

Conscientiously Ryder was pointing out the pyramid fields. 

"Gizeh, Abusir, Sakkara, Dahsur--and now here, if you look--that'sthe Medun pyramid--that tiny, sharp prick. If we had glasses. .. . "

"Yes; but why didn't you like the ball?" murmured Jinny the direct. 

"I did like the ball. Very much. "

"Then why didn't you stay?"

"I--I wasn't feeling top-hole, " he murmured lamely, wondering whygirls always wanted to go back and stir up dogs that had gonecomfortably to sleep. 

"Did it come on suddenly?" said Jinny, unsympathetically, her eyesstill upon the pyramids. 

Something whimsical twitched at Jack Ryder's lips. "Very suddenly. Like thunder, out of China crost the bay. "

"I suppose that dancing with the same girl in succession brings onthe seizures?"

So she had noticed that!. .. Not for nothing were those bright, grayeyes of hers! Not for nothing the red hair. 

"Well, I rather think it did, " he said deliberately. "That girl wasa child who hadn't danced in four years--so she said, and I believeher. "

And Jinny received what he intended to convey. "Stepped on yourbuckled shoon and you felt a martyr?. .. But why bolt? There wereother girls who _had_ danced within four years--"

"I went into the garden, " he murmured. "The fact is, I was feelingawfully--queer, " he brought out in an odd tone. 

Queer was a good word for it. He let it go at that. He couldn't dobetter. 

Jinny looked suddenly uncertain. Her pique was streaked withcompunction. She had been horribly angry with him for running away, and she remembered his opposition to the idea enough to besuspicious of any disappearance--but there was certainly an accentof embarrassed sincerity about him. 

Perhaps he _had_ been ill. Sudden seizures were not unknown inEgypt. And for all his desert brown he didn't look very rugged. 

She murmured, "I hope you hadn't taken anything that disagreed withyou. "

"H'm--it rather agreed with me at the time, " said Jack, and thenbrought himself up short. "I expect I haven't looked very sharpafter myself--"

But Jinny did not wholly renounce her idea. "Does it always take youat dances you don't want to go to?"

"That's unfair. I came, you know. "

"You came--and went. "

"I'd have been all right if I hadn't come, " he murmured, and Jinnyfelt suddenly ashamed of herself. 

"Do you suppose that you would stay all right if you came todinner?" she offered pacificably. "It's our last night, you know, till we come back from the Nile. "

"I wish I could. " Ryder stopped short. Now, why didn't he? Certainlyhe didn't intend--

But his tongue took matters promptly out of his hesitation's hands. "Fact is, I've an engagement. " He added, appeasingly, "That's why Iwas so keen on getting you for tea. " And Jinny told himappreciatively that it was a lovely tea and a lovely view. 

"We're going to be at the hotel, I expect, " she threw out, carelessly, "and if you get through in time--"

Rather hastily he assured her that indeed, if he got through intime--

She was a nice girl, was Jinny. A pretty girl, with just the rightamount of red in her hair. Sanity would have sent him to the hotelto dine with her. 

Sanity would also have sent him to the Jockey Club with McLean. 

Certainly sanity had nothing to do with the way that he kept himselfto himself, after his farewells at the hotel with the Pendletons, and took him to an out-of-the-way Greek café where he dined verybadly upon stringy lamb and sodden baklava. 

Later he wandered restlessly about dark, medieval streets wheresquat groups were clustered about some coffee house door, intentupon a game of checkers or some patriarchal story teller, recounting, very probably, a bandied narration of the Thousand andOne Nights. Through other open doors drifted the exasperating nasaltwang of Cairene music, and idly pausing, Ryder could see above thered fezes and turbans that topped the cross-legged audiences thedark, sleek, slowly-revolving body of some desert dancing girl. 

Irresolutely he drifted on to the Esbekeyih quarters, to the streetswhere the withdrawn camels and donkeys had left pre-eminent thecarriages and motors of that stream of Continental night life whichsets towards Cairo in the season, Russian dukes and Germanmillionaires, Viennese actresses and French singers and ladies of noavowed profession, gamblers, idlers, diplomats, drifters, vividflashes of color in the bizarre, kaleidoscopic spectacle. 

It was quite dark now. The last pale gleam of the afterglow hadfaded, and the blue of the sky, deepening and darkening, was piercedwith the thronging stars. It was very warm; no breeze, but a fitfulstirring in the tops of the feathery palms. 

The streets were growing still. Only from some of the hotels camethe sound of music from lighted, open windows. 

Jinny would be rather expectant at her hotel. He could, of course, drop in for a few minutes since he was so near. .. . He walked pastthe hotel. .. . Jinny would be packing--or ought to be. A pity todisturb her. .. . And his dusty tweeds and traveling cap was nocalling costume. .. . 

He walked past again. And this time he paused, on the brink of adark canyon of a lane, running back between walls hung withbougainvillea. 

Quite suddenly he remembered that he had told that girl, whose namehe did not know, that he would come. It was a definite promise. Itwas an obligation. 

He could do nothing less. It might be unwelcome, absurd, a nuisance, but really it was an obligation. 

He sauntered down the lane, keeping carefully in the shadow. Heloitered within that deep-set door--and felt a queer throb ofemotion at the sight of it--and so, sauntering and loitering, hewaited in the darkening night, promising himself disgustedly throughthe dragging moments to clear out and be done with this, but stillinterminably lingering, his pulses throbbing with that disownedexpectancy. 

Very cautiously, the gate began to open. 

CHAPTER V

AT THE GARDEN GATE

Inch by inch the gate edged open. Warily he presented himself. Thefurtive crack gave him an instant's glimpse of a dark form withinthe shadows, then, in his face, it closed. 

Ryder waited. In a moment it was opened wider, and he saw thedark-shrouded head and the veiled face of the Turkish girl, and outfrom the blackness the sparkle of young eyes. 

"Is it--but who is it?" whispered a doubtful voice, and at his, "Whyit is I--the American, " quickly drawing off his cap, a little handdarted out of the darkness to pluck him swiftly within and the doorwas closed to within an inch of its opening. 

Then the black phantom, drawing him back among the shrubbery, against the wall, turned with a muffled note of laughter. 

"But the costume! Imagine that I--I was looking again for a Scottishchieftain with red kilts and a feather in his cap!"

"And instead--" Ryder glanced down at his tweeds with humorousrecognition of his change of figure. Then his eyes returned to her. 

"But you are the same, " he murmured. 

She was indeed the same. The same black street mantle, down to hervery brows. The same black veil, up to her very eyes. And theeyes--! Their soft mysterious loveliness--the little winged tilt ofthe brows!

Apparently their effect was disconcertingly the same. He wasconscious of a feeling that was far from a normal calm. 

"So you were all right?" he half whispered. "Those steps, lastnight, you know, made me horribly afraid for you--"

"But, yes, I am all right. "

As excitement gained upon him, a constraint was falling upon her. They were both remembering that moment, overlooked in the rush ofrecognition, when they had parted in this place, when he had had thetemerity to clasp and kiss her. 

Aimée was standing rigid and wary, ready for flight at the firstfear. She told herself that she had only come through pride, thepride that insisted upon humbling his presumption. She would let himsee how bitterly he had offended. .. . She had only come for this, shetold herself--and to see if he had come. 

If he had _not_ come! That would have dealt a sorrily humiliatingblow. 

But he was here. And reassured and haughty, repeating that she wasmortally offended, her spirit alternating between pride and shameand a delicious fear, she stood there in the shrubbery, fascinated, like a wild, shy thing of another age. 

"That was old Miriam, " she explained constrainedly. "My father hadcome in--with unexpectedness. "

"Lord, it was lucky you were back!"

"Yes, it was--lucky, " she assented. "If it had been half an hourbefore--"

She broke off. There came to the young man a sobering perception ofthe risk she ran, of the supreme folly of this escapade to whichthey were entrusting themselves. 

It was a realization that deserved some consideration. But, obstinately, with young carelessness, he shook it off. After all, this was comparatively safe for her. She was not out of bounds. Atan alarm he could slip away and no one could ever know. What riskthere might be was chiefly his own. 

"When you asked who it was, " he murmured, "it occurred to me thatyou did not know my name--nor I yours. My own, " he added, as shestood unresponsive, "is Ryder--Jack Ryder. You can always get aletter to me at the Agricultural Bank. That is the quickest way. Myfriend, McLean there, always knows where my diggings are. When inCairo I stop with him; or at the Rossmore House. "

"I shall not need to get a letter to you, monsieur, " she told himstiffly. 

"But, if you did, how would you sign it?"

"Aimée. .. . That is French--after my mother. "

"Aimée. That means Beloved, doesn't it?"

She was silent. 

Surely, she thought with a swelling heart, if he were sorry he wouldtell her now. It was the moment for contrition, for appeasement, forwhatever explanation his American ways might have. 

She had thought about him all night. She had given his declaration ahundred forms--but always it had been a declaration. 

Now she waited, flagellating her sensitive pride. 

Ryder was conscious of the constraint tightening about them and inthe dragging pause an uncomfortable common sense had time to put itsdisconcerting questions. 

What did it matter what her name meant? What in the world was hedoing here?. .. . And what did she think she was doing here?. .. Notthat he wanted her to go. .. . 

And suddenly it didn't matter--whatever they thought. It was enoughthat they were together in that still, soft, jasmine-scented dark. He was breathing quickly; his pulses were beating; he had a feelingof strange, heady delight. 

The crescent moon was up at last, sailing clear of the house tops, sending its bright rays through the filigree of tall shrubs. Afinger of light edged the contour of her shrouded head. 

He bent a little closer. 

"Won't you, " he said softly, "take off your veil for me?"

Appalled, she clasped it to her. He had no idea in the world of theshock of that request. It would be only a faint parallel of itsimpropriety to suggest to Jinny Jeffries that she discard her frock. Even Ryder's acquaintance with Egypt could not tell him how thatswift, confident eagerness of his could startle and affront. 

"I want to see you so very much, " he was murmuring, and met thechill disdain of her retort, "But it is not for you to see my face, monsieur!"

"Who is to see it?" he demanded. 

"Who but the man I am to marry, " she gave distinctly back. 

The word hit him like stone. 

He was conscious of a shock. Did she intend to rebuke--or toimply--to question his intention? The steadiness of her low voicesuggested a certain steadiness of design. .. . He had heard of girlswho knew their own minds . .. Girls with unexpectedly far-sightedvision. .. . Perhaps, poor child, she looked upon him as romanticescape from all that was restrictive in her life. Secluded women gofast--when they start. 

The devil take him for that kiss!

A somewhat set look upon his thin face guarded the fluctuations ofhis soul, but the blood rose strongly under his dark skin. 

For a moment he did not venture upon a reply, and in that moment hewas suddenly aware that she had caught his meaning from him--andthat it was a horrible mistake. It was one of those instants ofhighly-charged exchanges of meanings whose revelation was as uselessto be denied as powerless to be explained. 

Then her words came in tumultuous, passionate refutation of histhought. "That is what my father had come to tell me--that he hadarranged my marriage. It is a very splendid thing. To a general--arich general!"

She had not meant to tell him like that! But for the moment she wassavagely glad to hurl it at him. 

He made no answer. His eyes were inscrutably intent. A variety ofthings were rearranging themselves in his head. 

"You're--you're going to marry him?" he said slowly. 

"What else?" But she felt the phrase unfortunate and plunged pastit. "It is not for me to say no, monsieur. It is for my father toarrange. "

"But his indulgence--? You were telling me, you know, that he was sofond of you. And that you were one of the moderns--the revoltingmoderns--"

Jack Ryder's tone was questioningly cynical and its raillery cutthrough her brief sham of pride. 

"So I thought, too, last night. " A tinge of infinite disillusionmentwas in her young voice. "But it is not so. "

"Then you accept--?"

The shrouded head nodded. 

"But you can't want to, " he broke out with sudden heat. "You don'tknow him at all, do you--this general?"

"Know him? I have never seen his face nor heard his voice--and Iwould die first, " she added with bitter, helpless fierceness underher breath. 

The veil muffled that from him. "But why--why?" he repeated in anangrily puzzled way. 

She made a little gesture of weary impotence. Out of the darkdraperies her hands were like white fluttering butterflies. 

"What can I do?"

"I should think you could do the Old Harry of a lot. "

"Weep?" said the girl with a pale irony not lost upon him. 

"Weep--or row. Or run, " he added, almost reluctantly. 

She turned away her head. "I know, I thought once that I could run. For that I stole the key to this gate. But where would I run, monsieur? I have neither friends, nor--nor the resources. .. . Therehave been girls--two sisters--who ran away last year--but they werealready married and they had cousins in France. For me, my cousinsdo not exist. I do not know my mother's family. They disowned herfor her marriage, my father says. And so--but it is not possible toevade this. .. . It is not possible. This marriage is required. "

"Required--rot! Can't you--don't you--" he paused, looking down uponher in tremendous and serious uncertainty. The impulse was strongupon him to tell her that he would help her. The accents of hervoice had seemed to tear at his very heart. 

It was utter madness. Where, in the map of Africa, would he hideher? And how would he take care of her? What would he do to her?Make love to her? Marry her? Take home a wife from an Egyptianharem--a surprising acquisition with which to startle and enchanthis decorous family in East Middleton!

And a pretty end to his work here, his reputation, hisresponsibilities--

It was madness. And the fact that the thought had presented itself, even for his flouting mockery, indicated that he was mad. He toldhimself to be careful. Better men than he had everlastingly done forthemselves because upon a night of stars and moonshine somedark-eyed girl had played the very devil with their common sense. 

He reminded himself that he had never set eyes on her until lastnight, that she might be the consummate perfection of a minx, thatthere might not be a word of truth in all of this. 

This general, now! Sudden. Not a word about it last night. And now--

He had an inkling that even Mohammedan fathers do not rush mattersat such a pace. 

For all he knew the girl might be inventing this general--for someartless reasons of her own. For all he knew she might be married tohim and desirous of escape. 

But he didn't believe it. She was too young and shy and virginal. The accents of her candor rebuked his skepticism. He merely toldhimself these things because the last vestige of his expiring commonsense was prompting him. 

And after all these creditable and excellent exhortations, to theutter extinction of the last vestige of that common sense he heardhimself saying abruptly, "But isn't there anything in the world thatI can do--?"

"Nothing, monsieur. "

"But for you to submit--like this--"

"It is not to be helped. "

"But it _is_ to be helped--if you really dislike it, " he addedjealously. 

"I cannot help it, because--because my father--" She hesitated. Thehonor of her father and her family pride and affection were allinvolved, yet suddenly the sacrifice of these became more tolerablethan to consent to that image of herself which she saw swiftlydefining itself in his mind, that slight, weak creature, whoseacquiescent passivity submitted to this marriage. 

The thought was unbearable. She was burning beneath her veil. Shewould tell him. .. . And perhaps she was not averse, in her childishpride, to the pitiful glory of having him see her in the beauty ofher filial sacrifice. 

"My father has--has done something against the English laws, " shefaltered, "and Hamdi Bey, this general, knows of it, and will informunless--unless my father makes this marriage. A cousin of his hasseen me, " she added, her young vanity forlornly rearing its head, "and told Hamdi that I am not--not too ill-looking a girl--"

Her essay of a laugh died. 

Ryder's look deepened its sharp, defensive concentration. 

"This is true--I mean your father is not just putting somethingover--telling you to get your consent?"

Her thoughts flew back to her father's haggard face. "Oh, it istrue! I know. "

"And he's going to hand you over--What sort is this Hamdi?"

"A general. Old. Evil enough to lay traps to obtain me. "

"It's abomination. " The anger in the young man surged beyond hiscontrol. "You must not do it. .. . If your father is clever enough tobreak a law let him be clever enough to mend it--by himself. Such asacrifice is not required. .. . You must realize what this means toyou. You must realize--Look here, I'll help you. I'll plan someescape. There must be ways. I have friends--"

She stifled the leap of her heart. She held her head high and madewhat she thought was a very noble little speech. "It is for myfather, monsieur. You do not understand. It is to save my father. "

He looked at her in silence. He was afraid to answer for a moment;he could feel the unruly blood beating even in the lips he pressedtogether. 

"But don't you understand--" he blurted at last and broke off. 

After all, he did not know this girl. If he swayed her judgment now, and dragged her away, what life, what compensation could he offerher? How did he know that she would not regret it? Would she behappier in a world unknown?. .. . 

She had been brought up to this sort of thing. It was bred inher. .. . Marriage was her inevitable game. This very charm sheexercised, this subtle, haunting invasion of his senses, what wasthat but another proof of the harem existence where all influenceswere forced to serve the ends of sex . .. 

And she was so maddeningly resigned to taking this general!

A queer hot rage was gaining possession of him. "Oh, well, if youprefer this, " he said brutally, with a youthful desire to wreak painin return for that strange pain which something was inflicting uponhim. 

A girl who would let him kiss her one night--and on the next informhim that she was giving herself to an unknown--an old Turk. .. . Ifshe could go like that, to some other's arms and lips . .. 

He wanted to take her fiercely in his arms and crush her lipsagainst his and then fling her away and say, "Oh, go to him now--ifyou can!"

And at the same time he wanted to gather her to him as tenderly asif she were a flower he was guarding and tell her that he wouldprotect her against all the world. 

He was divided and confused and blindly angry. He felt baffled andfrustrated. He was both aching and raging. And yet he was capable ofreminding himself, in some corner of his uninvaded mind, that thiswas undoubtedly the best thing for them both. 

What else? For him? For her?

And yet his tongue went on stabbing her. 

"If this is what you are determined to do--" he heard himself sayinghardly, yet with a hint of deferred finality. 

It was as if he had said, "If this, then, is what you are like! Ifyou are the soft, submissive harem creature, the toy, theodalisque--If you will endure undesired love rather than face theworld--"

And she knew that was what he was saying to her. The injusticebrought a lump of self-pity to her throbbing throat. .. . That heshould not realize and honor the courage of her sacrifice. .. . Thathe should reproach, despise. .. . She had expected other entreaties. .. Protestations. .. . 

Her heart ached with a throb of steady dreariness. 

But she did not stir. Not a line of her drooping draperies waveredtowards him. And swallowing that lump in her throat, she achieved atoneless, "That is what I am going to do. "

At the other end of the garden a sound came from the house. 

Ryder seemed to rouse himself. "Good-bye, then, " he said, uncertainly. 

"Good-bye, monsieur. "

He looked oddly at her. "Good-bye, " he muttered again, and turned, and stumbled out of the gate. 

A pool of moonlight lay without its arches, and he stepped into itas if coming out of the shadows of an enchanted garden. He stood andstraightened himself as if throwing off that garden's spell. He putback his shoulders and took a quick step down the lane. 

A slight sound drew his eyes back. 

She had followed him to the gate; she stood there, in the moonlight, against the inky wells of shadow into which her black robe flowed, and in the moonlight her face, gazing after him, was an exquisite, ethereal apparition, like a spirit of the garden. 

She had cast off her veil. He had a vision of her dark eyes shiningover rose-flushed cheeks, of deeper-rose-red lips in curves ofhaunting sweetness, of the tender contour of her young face, fixedunforgettingly in the radiant moonlight--only an instant's vision, for while the blood stopped in his veins the darkness engulfed her, like a magician's curtain. 

But he waited while he heard the gate closed. Still he waited whilehe heard her locking it. And then for all his hot young pride, heturned back and knocked upon it. He called softly. He whisperedentreaties. 

Not a sound. Not an answer. 

In a revulsion of feeling he turned and made his way blindly fromthe lane. 

She had heard his voice. Like a creature utterly spent, she had beenleaning against the great gate from which she had withdrawn the key. But she uttered not a breath in answer, and after she had heard hisfootsteps die away she turned slowly back and groped among the roseroots for the key's hiding place. 

Mechanically she smoothed it over and moved on towards the house. All was quiet there. That sound had been no alarm. Unobserved sheslipped within the little door, and up the spiral steps. 

She had not seen the dark eyes that were watching her, from theother side of the rose thicket. After the girl had gained the house, the old woman came forward and stooped before the marked bush, muttering under her breath at the thorns. After a few moments shegave a little grunt of satisfaction and her exploring hand drew outthe key. 

Smoothing again the rifled hiding place among the roses, she madeher careful way into the house. 

CHAPTER VI

A SECRET OF THE SANDS

The siesta was past. The sun was tilting towards the west andshadows were beginning to jut out across the blazing sands. 

Over the mounds of rubbish the bearers had resumed their slowprocession, a picturesque frieze of tattered, indigo-robed, ebonyfigures, baskets on heads, against a cloudless cobalt sky, and againthe hot air was invaded with the monotonous rise and fall of theirlabor chant. 

A man with a short, pointed red beard and an academic face beneath apith helmet was stooping over the siftings from those baskets, intent upon the stream of sand through the wire screens. Patientlyhe discarded the unending pebbles, discovering at rare intervalssome lost bead, some splinter of old sycamore wood, some fragment ofpottery in which a Ptolemy had sipped his wine--or a kitchen wenchhad soaked her lentils. 

Beyond the man were traces of the native camp, a burnt-out fire, aroll of rags, a tattered shelter cloth stuck on two totteringsticks, and distributed indiscriminatingly were a tethered goat, awhite donkey with motionless, drooping ears, and a few superciliouscamels. 

The camp was in the center of a broken line of foothills on thedesert's edge. North and south and west the wide sands swept out tomeet the sky, and to the east, shutting out the Nile valley, thehills reared their red rock from the yellow drift. 

Among the jutting rock in the foreground yawned dark mouths thatwere the entrances of the discovered tombs, and within one of thesetombs was another white man. He was conducting his own siftings inhigh solitude, a lean, bronzed young man, with dark hair and eyesand, at the present moment, an unexhilarated expression. 

It had been two weeks since Jack Ryder had returned to camp. Twointerminable weeks. They were the longest, the dullest, thedreariest, the most irritatingly undelighting weeks that he had everlived through. 

But bitterly he resented any aspersion from the long-sufferingThatcher upon his disposition. He wanted it distinctly understoodthat he was _not_ low-spirited. Not in the least. A man wasn't inthe dumps just because he wasn't--well, garrulous. Just because hedidn't go about whistling like a steam siren or exult like a cheerleader when some one dug up the effigy of a Hathor-cow. .. . Justbecause he objected when the natives twanged their fool strings allnight and wailed at the moon. 

The moon was full now. Round and white it went sailing blandly overthe eternal monotony of desert. .. . Round and white, it lighted upthe eternal sameness of life. .. . He had never noticed it before, buta moon was a poignantly depressing phenomenon. 

He couldn't help it. A man couldn't make himself be a comedian. Itwasn't as if he wanted to be a grump. He would have been glad to beglad. He wanted Thatcher to make him glad. He defied him to. 

He didn't enjoy this flat, insipid taste of things, this dull grind, this feeling of sameness and dullness that made nothing seem worthwhile. .. . A feeling that he had been marooned on a desert island, far from all stir and throb of life. 

Suppose he did dig up a Hathor-cow? Suppose he dug up Hathorherself, or Cleopatra, or ten little Ptolemies? What was the good ofit?

Not Jinny Jeffries herself could have cast more aspersions upon thepersonal value of excavations. 

When he was tired of denying to himself that there was anythingunusual the matter with him, he shifted the inner argument and tookup the denial that anything which had happened in Cairo those twoweeks before had anything to do with it. As if that rash encounter_mattered_! As if he were the silly, senseless sentimental sort ofidiot to go mooning about his work because of a girl--and a girlfrom a harem with a taste for secret masquerades and Turkishmarriages!

As if he cared--!

Of course--he admitted this logically and coldly now to himself, ashe sat there in the ray of his excavator's lantern, on the sandedfloor at the end of the Hall of Offerings--of course, he was sorryfor the girl. It was no life for any young girl--especially aspirited one, with her veins bubbling with French blood. 

The system was wrong. If they were going to shut up those girls, they had no business to bring them up on modern ideas. If they keptthe mashrubiyeh on the windows and the yashmak on their faces theyought to keep the kohl on their eyes and the henna on their fingersand education out of their hidden heads. 

It was too bad. .. . But, of course, they were brought up to it. Lookhow quickly that girl had given in. She was Turkish, through andthrough. Submissive. Docile. .. . And a darned good thing she was, too! Suppose she had taken him at his fool word. Suppose she hadreally wanted to get away!

Lucky, that's what he'd been. And it would be a lesson to him. Neveragain. No more masked young things with their stolen keys and theirharem entrances. No more whispered tales of woe in a shady garden. No more--

Violently he wrenched himself from his No Mores. Recollection had away of stirring an unpleasant tumult. 

But it was all over. He had forgotten it--he _would_ forget it. Hewould forget _her_. Work, that was the thing. Normal, sensible, every day work. 

But there was no joy in this tonic work. Somewhere, between a nightand a morning, he had lost that glow of accomplishment which hadbuoyed him, which had made him fairly ecstatic over the discovery ofthis very tomb. 

For this tomb was his own find. It had been found long before by theplundering Persians, and it had been found by Arabs who hadplundered the Persian remains--but between and after those findingsthe oblivious sands had swept over it, blotting it from the world, choking the entrance hall and the shafts, seeping throughhalf-sealed entrances and packing its dry drift over the rifledsarcophagus of the king and over the withered mummy of the younggirl in the ante-room. The tombs had been cleared now, down almostto the stone floors, and Ryder was busy with the drifts that hadlodged in the crevices about the entrance to the shaft. 

It was really an important find. Although much plundered, the wallswere intact, and the delicate carvings in the white limestone wallswere exceptional examples. And there were some very interestingthings to decipher. A scholar and an explorer could well beenthusiastic. 

But Ryder continued to look far from enthusiastic. Even when hisgroping fingers, searching a cranny, came in contact with a hardsubstance his face did not change to any lightning radiance. Unexpectantly he picked up the sand-encrusted lump and brushed itoff. A gleam of gold shone in his hand. But it was no ancient amuletor necklace or breast guard--nor was it any bit of the harness ofthe plundering Persians. It was a locket, very heavily and ornatelycarved. 

He stood a moment staring down at the thing with a curious feelingof having stood staring down at exactly the same thing before--thatsubconscious feeling of the repetition of events which supports thetheories of reincarnationists--and then, quite suddenly, memory cameto his aid. 

In McLean's office. That day of the masquerade. Those visitingFrenchmen and that locket they had shown him. Of course the thingreminded him--

And it was remarkably alike. The same thick oval, the same ponderouseffect of the coat of arms--if it should prove the same coat of armsthat would be a clue!

With his mind still piecing the recollection and surmise togetherhis fingers pressed the spring. There was a miniature within, but itwas not the picture of Monsieur Delcassé. Ryder was looking downupon the face of a girl, a beautiful, spirited face, with merry eyesand wistful lips--dark eyes, with a lovely arch of brow, androse-red lips with haunting curves. 

And eyes and brows and lips and curves, it was the face of the girlwho had gazed after him in the moonlight against the shadows of thepasha's garden. 

CHAPTER VII

TO McLEAN'S ASTONISHMENT

"It is no end of good of you, Jack, to take this trouble, " AndrewMcLean remarked appreciatively, looking up from his scrutiny of thepacket which his unexpected luncheon guest had pushed over to hisplate. 

"Uncommon thoughtful. It's undoubtedly a twin to that locket, theportrait of the man's wife--whatever his name was. "

"Delcassé, " said Jack Ryder promptly. 

Gratefully he drained the second lemon squash which thesilent-footed Mohammed had placed at his elbow. It had been a hardmorning's trip, this coming in from camp in high haste, and he washot and dusty. 

"You might have sent the thing, " McLean mentioned. "I daresay thatspecial agent chap has left the country, for I recollect he said hewas at the end of his search. .. . And, of course, this isn't much ofa clue--eh, what?"

"It's everything of a clue, " insisted Ryder. "It shows where thisFrenchman was working, for the first thing--"

"Unless it had been stolen by some native who lost it in thattomb. "

"Natives don't lose gold lockets. Of course it might have beenstolen and hidden--but that's far-fetched. It's much more likelythat this was the very tomb where Delcassé was working at the timeof his death. For one thing, the place showed signs of previousexcavation up to the inner corridor, and there I'll swear no moderngot ahead of me. And for another thing, it's a perfect specimen ofthe limestone carving of the Tomb of Thi which Delcassé wrote hisbook about--looks very much as if it might be by the same artist. There's a flock of hippopotami in a marsh scene with the identicaldrawing, and there's the same lovely boat in full sail--but there, you bounder, you don't know the Tomb of Thi from a thyroid gland. You're here to administer financial justice, the middle, the high, and the low; your soul is with piasters, not the past. But take myword for it, it's exactly the spot where an enthusiast of the ThiTomb would be grubbing away. .. . Lord, they could choose their findin those days!"

"It's uncommonly likely, " McLean conceded, abandoning his demolishedcherry tart and pulling out his briar. "And if the locket proves theduplicate of the other it indicates that it's a portrait of MadameDelcassé, but it doesn't indicate what has become of MadameDelcassé. .. . Though in a general way, " McLean deduced with Scotchjudicialness, "it supports the theory of foul play. The woman wouldhardly have lost her miniature, or have sold it, except underpressing conditions. In fact--"

Ryder was brusque with his facts. 

"That doesn't matter--Madame Delcassé doesn't matter. The thing thatmatters is--"

As brusquely he broke off. His tongue balked before the revelationbut he goaded it on. 

"That there is a girl--the living image of that picture. "

"I say!" McLean looked up at that, distinctly intrigued. "That'sgetting on. .. . You mean you've seen her?"

Ryder nodded, suddenly busy with his cigarette. 

"Where is she, now? In Cairo? That's luck, man!. .. And you say she'slike?"

"You'd think it her picture. "

"It's an uncommon face. " McLean bent over it again. "I fancied theartist had just been making a bit of beauty, but if there's a girllike that--! Fancy stumbling on that!. .. But where is she? And whatname does she go by?"

"Oh, her name--she doesn't know her own, of course. " Ryder pauseduncertainly. "She's in Cairo, " he began again vaguely. "She'd bejust about the right age--eighteen or so. She--she's had awf'lyhard luck. " Distressfully he hesitated. 

The shrewd eyes of McLean dwelt upon him in sorrowful silence. "Eh, Jock, " he said at last, with mock scandal scarcely veiling rebuke. "I did not know that you knew any of that sort--the poor, wee lostthing. .. . Tell me, now--"

"Tell you you're off your chump, " said Jack rudely. "She's no lostlamb. Fact is, she's never spoken to a man--except myself. " Herather enjoyed the start this gave McLean after his insinuations. Ithelped him on with his story. 

"The girl doesn't know her own name at all, I gather. She thinksshe's the daughter of Tewfick Pasha. Her mother married the Turk anddied very soon afterwards and he brought up this girl as his own. She says she's his only child. "

He paused, ostensibly to blow an elaborate smoke ring, but actuallyto enjoy McLean's astonishment. As astonishment, it was distinctlyvivid. It verged upon a genuine horror as Ryder's meaning sank intohis friend's mind. 

McLean knew--slightly--Tewfick Pasha. He knew--supremely--theinviolable seclusion of a daughter of such a household. He knew theutter impossibility of any man's speech with her. 

Yet here was Ryder telling him--

Ryder's telling him was a sketchy performance. He mentioned thegirl's appearance at the masquerade and their acquaintance. Hetouched lightly upon her attempted flight and his pursuit. Even morelightly he passed over those lingering moments at her garden gateand the exchange of confidences. 

"She said that her dead mother had been French. And that her namewas her mother's--Aimée. So there is--"

"But the likeness, man--her face? She never unveiled to you?"

"Well, the next night--"

"The _next_ night?"

It was at this point that Ryder began to lose his relish of McLean'sastonishment. 

"Yes, the next night, " he repeated with careful carelessness. .. . "Itold the girl I would come and see if she got in all right--therehad been some footsteps the night before--"

"And you went? And she came?"

"Do you suppose she sent her father?"

"You're lucky she didn't send her father's eunuch, " McLean retortedgrimly. "Well, get on with your damning story. The girl took off herveil--"

"Nothing of the kind, " said Jack a trifle testily--so soon doesconventional masculinity champion the conservatism of the other sex!"That was just as I was going--gone, in fact. I looked back and shehad drawn her veil aside. The moon was bright on her face--I saw heras clear as daylight, and I tell you that this miniature is apicture of her. She is Delcassé's daughter and she doesn't know it. Her mother was stolen by that disgusting old Turk--"

"Hold on a bit. Fifteen years ago Tewfick could hardly have beenthirty and he has the rep of a Don Juan. It may have been a loveaffair or it may have been plunder. .. . The girl remembers her?"

"Very little. She was so young when her mother died. She said thatthe father was so in love that he never married again. "

"H'm . .. It seems to me that I've heard tales of our Tewfick and ofpretty ladies in apartments. Cairo is a city of secrets andtattlers. However--as to this Delcassé inheritance, I'll just notifythe French legation--"

"We'll have to look sharp, " said Ryder quickly. "There's no time tolose. The girl is to be married. "

"Married?. .. But she'll inherit the money just the same. "

"But she doesn't want to be married, " Ryder insisted anxiously. "Herfather--her alleged father--has just sprung this on her. Says thereare political or financial reasons. He's been caught in some dirtywork by this Hamdi Bey and he's stopping Hamdi's mouth with thegirl. .. . And we've got to stop that. "

"I wonder if we can, " said McLean thoughtfully. 

"If we can? When the girl is French? When she's been lied to anddeceived?"

"She seems to have been taken jolly well care of. Brought up as hisown and all that. Keep your shirt on, Jack, " McLean advised drylywith a shrewd glance from his gray eyes at the other's unguardedheat. 

Then his eyes dropped to the miniature again. A lovely face. Alovely unfortunate creature. .. . And if the daughter looked likethat, small wonder that Jack was touched. .. . Beauty in distress. 

Some men had all the luck, McLean reflected. He had never taken Jackfor the gallivanting kind, either, yet here he was going tomasquerades with one girl and coming home with another. .. . 

Jack was too good looking, that was the trouble with the youngster. Good looking and gay humored. The kind that attracted women. .. . Women and romance were never fluttering about lank, light-eyed, uninteresting old Scotchmen of twenty-nine!

A mild and wistful pang, which McLean refused to name, made itselfknown. 

"I'll see the legation, " he began. 

"At once. I'll wait, " urged Ryder. 

And at once McLean went. 

 * * * * *

The result was what he had foreseen. The legation was appreciativeof his interest. That special agent had returned to France but hisaddress was left, and undoubtedly the family of Delcassé would begrateful for any information which Monsieur McLean could send. 

"Send!" repudiated Ryder hotly. "Write to France and back--wait forsomebody to come over! Can't the legation do something now?"

"The legation has no authority. They can't take the girl away fromthe man who is, at any rate, her step-father. "

"They can put the fear of God into him about this marriage. Theycan deny his right to hand her over to one of his pals. They canthreaten him with an inquiry into the circumstances of her mother'smarriage. "

"And why should they? They may regard it as a very natural marriage. And remember, my dear Jack, that the legation has no desire toalienate the affections of influential Turks, or criticizefifteen-years-ago romances. You have a totally wrong impression ofthe responsibilities of foreign representatives. "

"But to let him dispose of a French girl--"

"He is disposing of her, as his daughter, in honorable marriage to awealthy and aristocratic general. There can be no question of hismotives--"

"Of course, if you think that sort of thing is all right--"

Carefully McLean ignored the other's wrath. 

Patiently he explained. "It's not what I think, my dear fellow, it'swhat the legation thinks. There's not a chance in the world ofgetting the marriage stopped. "

"Then I'll do it myself, " declared Ryder. "I'll see this TewfickPasha and talk to him. Tell him the money is to come to the girlonly when she is single. Tell him the French law gives the father'srepresentatives full charge. Tell him that he kidnapped the motherand the government will prosecute unless the girl is given herliberty. Tell him anything. A man with a guilty conscience canalways be bluffed. "

In silence McLean gazed upon him, perplexed and clouded, hisquizzical twinkle gone. Jack was taking this thing infernally toheart. .. . And it was a bad business. 

"You will let me do the telling, " he stated at last, grimly. "Whatcan be said, I'll say. Like a fool, I will meddle. "

And so it happened that within another hour two very stiff andconstrained young men were ringing the bell at the entrance door ofTewfick Pasha. 

CHAPTER VIII

TEWFICK RECEIVES

A huge Soudanese admitted them. They found themselves in a tiledvestibule, looking through open arches into the green of agarden--that garden, Ryder hardly needed to remind himself, withwhose back door he had made such unconventional acquaintance. 

Now he had a glimpse of a sunny fountain and fluttering pigeons, and, on either side of the garden, of the two wings of the building, gay white walls with green shutters more suggestive of a Frenchvilla than an Egyptian palace, before the Soudanese marshaled themtoward the stairs upon the right. 

The left, then, was the way to the haremlik. And somewhere in thosesecluded rooms, to which no man but the owner of the palace evergained admission, was Aimée. 

The Soudanese mounted the stairs before them and held open a doorinto a long drawing-room from which the pasha's modernity hadstripped every charm except the color of some worn old rugs; thewindows were draped in European style, the walls exhibited paperinstead of paneling; in one corner was a Victrola and in another, beside a lounge chair, stood a table littered with cigarette traysand French novels with explicit titles. 

The only Egyptian touch to the place was four enormous oil portraitsof pompous turbaned gentlemen, in one of whom Ryder recognized thefamiliar rotundity of Mahomet Ali in his grand robes. 

As a pasha's palace it was a blow, and Ryder's vague, romanticnotions of high halls and gilded arches, suffered a collapse. 

Tewfick Pasha came in with haste. He had been going out when thesecallers were announced and he was dressed for parade, in a verylight, very tight suit, gardenia in his button-hole, cane in hisgloved hands, fez upon his head. For all their smiling welcome, hisfull, dark eyes were uneasy. 

He had grown distrustful of surprises. 

It was McLean's affair to reassure him. Far from fulminating anyaccusations the canny Scot announced himself as the bearer of gladtidings. A fortune, he announced, was coming to the pasha--or to thepasha's family. A very rich old woman in France had decided tochange her will. 

There he paused and the pasha continued to smile non-committally, but the word fortune was operating. In the back of his mind he washastily trying to think of rich old women in France who might changetheir wills. 

"I am afraid that it is my stupidity which has kept you from theknowledge of this for some weeks, " McLean went on. "I had so manyother matters to look up that I did not at once consult my records. And it has been so many years since you married Madame Delcassé thatthe name had slipped general recollection. .. . It was twelve yearsago, I believe, that she died?"

Casually he waited and Jack Ryder held his breath. He felt the fullsuspense of a pause long enough for the pasha's thoughts to dartdown several avenues and back. If the man should deny it! But whyshould he? What harm in the admission, after all these years, withMadame Delcassé dead and buried? And with a fortune involved in theadmission. 

The Turk bowed and Ryder breathed again. 

"Ten years, " said Tewfick softly. 

"Ah--ten. But there has been no communication with France for twelveyears or even longer?"

"Possibly not, monsieur. "

"This old aunt, " pursued McLean, "was a person of prejudice as wellas fortune--hence it has taken a little time for her to adjustherself. " He paused and looked understandingly at the Turk, whonodded amiably as one whose comprehension met him more than halfway. 

"My own aunt was of a similar obstinacy, " he murmured. He added, "This fortune you speak of--it comes through my wife?"

"For her inheritors. Madame Delcassé--the former Madame Delcassé Ishould say--left but one daughter?"

Again the pasha bowed and again Ryder felt the throb of triumph. Helooked upon his friend with admiration. How marvelously McLean hadworked the miracle. No accusations, no threats, no obstacles, noblank walls of denial! Not a ruffle of discord in the establishmentof these salient facts--the marriage of Madame Delcassé to the pashaand the existence of the daughter. 

Wonderful man--McLean. He had never half appreciated him. 

But the pasha was not wholly the simple assenter. 

"Do I understand, " he inquired, "that there is a fortune coming fromFrance for my daughter?" And at McLean's confirmation, "And when yousay fortune, " he continued, "you intend to say--?" and his glancenow took in the silent American, considering that some cue must behis. 

But McLean responded. "The figures are not to be divulged--not untilthe aunt is in communication with her niece. But they will be large, monsieur, for this aunt is a person of great wealth. "

"And yet alive to enjoy it, " said Tewfick with smiling eyes. 

"An aged and dying woman, " thrust in Ryder in haste. "Her only carenow is to see her niece before she dies. "

"Ah!. .. But that could be arranged, " said Tewfick amiably. 

"We have at once communicated with France, " McLean told him, "but wecame instantly to you, to, inform you--"

"A thousand thanks and a thousand! The bearers of good tidings, "smiled their host. 

"Because we understand that there is a question of the young lady'smarriage, " pursued McLean, "and you would, of course, wish to deferthis until these new circumstances are complied with. "

The pasha stared. "Not at all. A fortune is as pleasant to a wife asto a maid. "

"There are so many questions of law, " offered McLean with purposefulvagueness. "French wardship and trusteeship and all that. It wouldbe advisable, I think, to wait. "

"Absurd, " said the pasha easily. 

"You would want no doubts cast upon the legality of the marriage, "McLean persisted thoughtfully, "and since mademoiselle is under ageand the French law has certain restrictions--"

"Pff! We are not under the French law--at least I have not heardthat England has relinquished her power, " retorted Tewfick notwithout malice. 

"But Mademoiselle Delcassé is French, " thrust in Ryder. He knew thatMcLean had ventured as far as he, an official and responsibleperson, could go, and that the burden of intimation must rest uponhimself. "And under her father's will his family there isconsidered in trusteeship. So there would be certain technicalitiesthat must be considered before any marriage can be arranged, thesignature of the French guardian, the settlement of the dot--thisinheritance, for instance--all mere formalities but involving alittle delay. "

Tewfick Pasha turned in his chair and cocked his eyes at thisstrange young man who had dropped from the blue with this extensiveadvice. He looked puzzled. This American fitted into no type of hisacquaintance. He was so very young and slim and boyish . .. With notat all the air of a legal representative. .. . But McLean's positionvouched for him. 

"You speak for the French family, monsieur?"

Unhesitatingly Ryder declared that he did. 

"Then you may inform the family, " announced Tewfick, bristling, "that my daughter has been very well cared for all these yearswithout advice from France. "

"I haven't a doubt of it, " said Ryder quickly, "but the French lawmight begin to entertain doubts of it, if mademoiselle were marriedoff now without consultation with the authorities. .. . Already, " headded a little meaningly, as the other shrugged the suggestion away, "there have been questions raised concerning the mother's marriageand the separation of the little Mademoiselle Delcassé from herrelatives in France, and now if she were to be married without anylegal settlement of her estate--"

Steadily he sustained the other's gaze, while his unfinished thoughtseemed to float significantly in the air about them. 

"Have a cigarette, " said the pasha hospitably, extending a gold casemonogrammed with diamonds and emeralds. "Ah, coffee!" he announced, welcomingly, as a little black boy entered with a brass tray ofsteaming cups. 

"I hope, gentlemen, that you like my coffee. It is not the usualTurkish brew. No, this comes from Aden, the finest coffee in theworld. A ship captain brings it to me, especially. "

Beamingly he sipped the scalding stuff, then darted back to thatsuspended sentence. "But you were saying--something of atrusteeship?. .. Do I understand that it is an aunt of MadameDelcassé--the former Madame Delcassé--who is leaving this money?"

"Not of Madame but of Monsieur Delcassé, " McLean informed him. 

"Ah!. .. That accounts . .. But in that case, then, there need be noconcern in France over my daughter's marriage. .. . " He turned hisround eyes from one to the other a moment. 

"There is no Mademoiselle Delcassé. "

"Sir?" said Ryder sharply. 

"There is no Mademoiselle Delcassé, " repeated the pasha, his eyesfrankly enlivened. 

"But--we have just been speaking--you cannot mean to say--"

"We have been speaking of my daughter--the daughter of the formerMadame Delcassé. "

Smilingly he looked upon them. "A pity that we did not understandeach other. But you appear to know so much--and I supposed that youknew that, too, that the daughter of Monsieur Delcassé was dead. "

Neither of the young men spoke. McLean looked politely attentive;Ryder's face maintained that look of concentration which guarded thefluctuations of his feelings. 

"It was many years ago, " the pasha murmured, putting down his coffeecup and selecting another cigarette. "Not long after her mother'smarriage to me. .. . A very charming little girl--I was positivelyattached to her, " Tewfick added reminiscently. 

"Well, well, well, what a pity now, " said McLean very slowly. "This will be a great disappointment. .. . And so the presentmademoiselle--"

"Is my daughter. "

McLean was silent. Ryder could hardly trust himself to speak. 

"What did she die of?" he asked at last, in a voice whose edgedquality brought the pasha's glance to him with a flash of hostilitybehind its veil. 

But he answered calmly enough. "Of the fever, monsieur. .. . She wasnever strong. "

"And her grave. .. I should like to make a report. "

"It was in the south . .. Desert burial, I am afraid. You must knowthat the little one was hardly a true believer for our cemetery. "

"And you would say that she was only five or six years old?" Ryderpersisted. 

The pasha nodded. 

"I should like to get as near as possible to the date if it is nottoo much trouble. .. . The father died about fifteen years ago and themother was married to you soon after?"

"Really, monsieur, you--"

Tewfick was frankly restive. 

"I know nothing of the father, " he said sullenly. "And as to thechild's death--how can one recall after these years? In one, twoyears after she came to me--one does not grave these things upon theeyeballs. "

"But you do remember that it was long ago--when your own daughterwas very little?"

"Exactly. That is my recollection, monsieur. .. . And I recall, " saidthe pasha, suddenly obliging and sentimental, "that even my littleone cried for the child. It was afflicting. .. . Assure the family inFrance of my sympathy in their disappointment. "

"I am sorry that my news is after all of no interest to you, "observed McLean, setting the example for rising. "You will pardon myerror of information--and accept my appreciation of your courtesy. "

"It is I who am indebted for your trouble, " their host assuredthem, all smiles again. 

But Ryder was not to be led away without a parting shot. 

"The name of the Delcassé child--was Aimée?"

Imperceptibly Tewfick hesitated. Then bowed in assent. 

"Odd, " said young Ryder thoughtfully. "And your own daughter's name, also, is Aimée. .. . Two little ones with the same name. "

With a slight, vexed laugh, as one despairing of understanding, thepasha turned to McLean. "Your young friend, monsieur, is uninformedthat Turkish children have many names. .. . After the loss of theelder we called the little one by the same name. .. . I trust I havemade everything perfectly clear to you?"

"As crystal, " said McLean politely. 

 * * * * *

"As lightning, " said Jack Ryder hotly, striding down the street. "Itwas a flash of invention, that yarn. When I spoke about thequestions raised by his marriage the old fox sniffed the wind andwas afraid of trouble--he decided on the instant that no futurefortune was worth interference with his plans, and he cut the groundfrom under our feet. .. . Lord, what a lie!"

"Masterly, you must admit. "

"Oh, I admired the beggar, even while I choked on it. Butfever--desert burial--two Aimées! And the sentimental face hepulled--he ought to have had a spot-light and wailing woodwinds. "

McLean chuckled. 

"I'll believe anything of him now, " Ryder rushed on. "I'll bet hemurdered Delcassé and kidnapped the mother--and now he is sellingtheir daughter--"

"I fancy murder's a bit beyond our Tewfick. That's too thick. He'sprobably telling the truth there--he may never have known Delcassé. And as for the widow--she must have been in no end of trouble with adead man and a wrecked expedition and a baby on her hands, andTewfick may have offered himself as a grateful solution to her. You'd be surprised at the things I've heard. And if she looked likeher picture Tewfick probably laid himself out to be lovely toher. .. . I rather like the chap, myself. "

"I love him, " Ryder snorted. "The infernal liar--"

"Steady now--suppose it's all the truth? Nothing impossible to it. Fact is, I rather believe it, " said McLean imperturbably. "It hangstogether. If this girl you met thinks she's his daughter, that'sconclusive. She'd have some idea--servants' gossip or familywhisperings. .. . And why should he have brought her up as his own?"

"No other children. And he'd grown fond of her, of course. If youcould see her!" retorted Ryder. 

"Just as well, I can't. .. . And I think he could hardly have kept herin the dark. .. . We'd better call it a wild goose chase and say theman's telling the truth. "

"If this girl were his daughter she couldn't be more than fourteenyears old. And I've seen the girl and she's eighteen if she's aday--you might take her for twenty. _Fourteen_!" said Ryder inrepudiating scorn. 

Hesitating McLean murmured something about the early maturity of thenatives. 

"Natives?" Ryder flung angrily back. "This girl's French!"

"As far as we are concerned, Jack, this girl is Turkish--andfourteen. .. . We can't get around that, and you had better not forgetit, " his friend quietly advised. "We've done everything that we canand there is no use working yourself up. .. . If anybody's to blame inthis business, I don't think it's Tewfick--he's done the handsomething by her--but the fool Frenchman who took his baby and his wifeinto the desert, and it's too late to rag him. Cheer up, old top, and forget it. There's nothing more to be done. "

It was sound advice, Jack Ryder knew it. They had done all that theycould. McLean had been a brick. There remained nothing now but tonotify the Delcassé aunt that Tewfick Pasha claimed the child. 

"And I've a notion, Jack, " said McLean thoughtfully, "that he mightnot have done that if you hadn't rushed him so, trying to break offthe marriage. That was what frightened him. "

"I thought you said she was his own daughter, " Ryder respondedindignantly, and to that McLean merely murmured, "She will be now, to all time. "

It was a haunting thought. It left Ryder with the bitter taste ofblame in his mouth, the gall and wormwood of blame and a baffleddefeat. 

But for that sense of blame he might have taken McLean's advice. Hemight--but for that--have gone the way of wisdom, and accepted theinevitable. 

As it was, he did none of these things. 

 * * * * *

He said to himself that all that he could do now--and the least thathe could do--was to let the girl know as much of the story as heknew and draw her own conclusions. Then, if she wanted to go on andsacrifice herself for Tewfick, very well. That was none of hisaffair. 

But she had a right to the truth and to the chance of choice. 

He did not know what he could do, but secretly and defiantly hepromised himself that he would do something, and in the back of hismind an idea was already taking shape. It was manifest in thetenacity with which he refused to send the locket to the Delcassés. He had the case and the miniature photographed very carefully by theman who did the reproductions for museum illustrations, and he sentthat, conscious of McLean's silent thought that he was cherishingthe portrait for a sentimental memory. 

But he had other plans for it. 

He did not return to his diggings. He sent a message to the desertedThatcher, faking errands in Cairo, and he took a room at the hotelwhere Jinny Jeffries--now up the Nile--had stayed. He spent a greatdeal of time evenings in the hotel garden, staring over the brickwalls to the tops of distant palms beyond, and not infrequently heslipped out the garden's back door and wandered up and down the darkcanyon of a lane. 

He might as well have walked up and down the veranda of Shepheard'sHotel. 

And yet the girl had her key. She could get away if she wanted toand she might want to if she knew the truth. 

But how to get that truth to her? That was his problem. A dozenplans he considered and rejected. There were the mails--simple andobvious channel--but he had a strong idea that maidens in Mohammedanseclusion do not receive their letters directly. And now, especially, Tewfick would be on his guard. 

Then there was the chance of a message through some native's hands. The house servants--? There were hours, one day, when Rydersauntered about the streets, covertly eyeing the baggy-trousered_sais_ who stood holding a horse in the sun or the tattered baker'sboy, approaching the entrance with his long loaves upon his head, but Ryder's Arabic was not of a power or subtlety to corrupt anycreature, and he stayed his tongue. 

Bitterly he regretted his wasted years. If he had not misspent themin godly living he would now be upon such terms of intimacy withsome official's pretty wife who had the entrée to a pasha's daughterthat she could be induced to make use of it for him. 

Desperately he thought of remedying this defect. There were severalcharming young matrons not averse to devoted young men, but the timewas short for establishing those confidential relations which werewhat he required now. 

Jinny Jeffries would do it for him if she could, but Jinny would notreturn for another week. And if she changed her mind and took theboat back--as he, alack! had advised--instead of the express, thenshe would be longer. 

And meanwhile the days were passing, four of them now since he andMcLean had heard the Soudanese locking the door behind them. 

There seemed nothing for it but to trust to that idea which had beenslowly shaping in his mind. 

CHAPTER IX

A WEDDING PRESENT

In a room high in the palace a young girl was trying on a frock. Before a tall pier glass she stood indifferently, one hip sagging tothe despair of the kneeling seamstress, her face turned listlesslyfrom the image in the glass. 

Through the open window, banded with three bars, she looked into therustling tops of palms, from which the yellow date fruit hung, andbeyond the palms the hot, bright, blue sky and the far towers of aminaret. 

"A bit more to the left, h'if you please, miss, " the woman entreatedthrough a mouthful of pins, and apathetically the young figuremoved. 

"A bit of h'all right, now, that drape, " the woman chirped, sittingback on her heels to survey her work. 

She was an odd gnome-like figure, with a sharp nose on one side ofher head and an outstanding knob of hair on the other. Into thatknob the thin locks were so tightly strained that her pointedfeatures had an effect of popping out of bondage. 

She was London born, brought out by an English official's wife asdressmaker to the children, remaining in Cairo as wife of a Britishcorporal. Since no children had resulted to require her care andthe corporal maintained his distaste for thrift, Mrs. Hendricks hadresumed her old trade, and had become a familiar figure to manyfashionable Turkish harems, slipping in and out morning and evening, sewing busily away behind the bars upon frocks that would havegraced a court ball, and lunching in familiar sociability with thefamily, sometimes having a bey or a captain or a pasha for avis-à-vis when the men in the family dropped in for luncheon. 

As the girl did not turn her head she looked for approbation to thethird person in the room, a tall, severely handsome Frenchwoman inblack, whose face had the beauty of chiseled marble and the samequality of cold perfection. This was Madame de Coulevain, teacher ofFrench and literature to the _jeunes filles_ of Cairo, formergoverness of Aimée, returned now to her old room in the palace forthe wedding preparations. 

There was history behind madame's sculptured face. In an incrediblyimpulsive youth she had fled from France with a handsome captain ofAlgerian dragoons; after a certain matter at cards he had ceased tobe a captain and became petty official in a Cairo importing house;later yet, he became an invalid. 

Life, for the Frenchwoman, was a matter of paying for her husband'sillness, then for his funeral expenses, and then of continuing topay for the little one which the climate had required them to sendto a convent in France. 

There was, at first, the hope of reunion, extinguished by eachadded year. What could madame, unknown, unfriended, unaccredited, accomplish in France? The mere getting there was impossible--thelittle one required so much. Her daughter was no dependent uponcharity. And in Cairo madame had a clientèle, she commanded a price. And so for the child's sake she taught and saved, concentrating nowupon a dot, and feeding her heart with the dutifully phrased lettersarriving each week of the years, and the occasional photographs ofan ever-growing, unknown young creature. 

It was to madame's care that Aimée had been given when themotherless girl had grown beyond old Miriam's ministrations, and fornearly nine years in the palace madame had maintained her courteousand tactful supervision. Indeed, it was only this last year thatmadame had undertaken new relations with the world outside, perceiving that Aimée would not longer require her. 

"Excellent, " she said now in her careful, unfamiliar English to Mrs. Hendricks, and in French to Aimée she added, with a hint ofasperity, "Do give her a word. She is trying to please you. "

"It is very nice, Mrs. Hendricks, " said the girl dutifully, bringingher glance back from that far sky. 

The little seamstress was instantly all vivacity. "H'and now for thesash--shall we 'ave it so--or so?" she demanded, attaching the wispof tulle experimentally. 

"As you wish it. .. . It is very nice, " Aimée repeated vaguely. Shepicked up a bit of the shimmering stuff and spread it curiouslyacross her fingers. A dinner gown. .. . When she wore this she wouldbe a wife. .. . The wife of Hamdi Bey. .. . A shiver went through herand she dropped the tulle swiftly. 

In ten days more. .. . 

Gone was her first rush of sustaining compassion. Gone was herfear for her father and her tenderness to him. Only this numbcoldness, this dumb, helpless certainty of a destiny about to beaccomplished. .. . Only this hopeless, useless brooding upon thatstrange brief past. 

There was a stir at the door and on her shuffling, slippered feetold Miriam entered, handing some packages to Madame de Coulevain. Then she turned to revolve about the bright figure of her youngmistress, her eyes glistening fondly, her dark fingers touching asoft fold of silver ribbon, while under her breath she chanted in acroon like a lullaby, "Beautiful as the dawn . .. She will walk uponthe heart of her husband with foot of rose petals . .. She willdazzle him with the beams of her eyes and with the locks of herhair, she will bind him to her . .. Beautiful as the dawn. .. . "

It was the marriage chant of Miriam's native village, an old lovesong that had come down the wind of centuries. 

Mrs. Hendricks, thrusting in the final pins, paid not the slightestattention and Madame de Coulevain displayed interest only in thepackages. If she saw the stiffening of the girl's face and the rigidaversion of her eyes from the old nurse's adulation she gave nosign. 

Towards Aimée's moods madame preserved a calm and sensibledetachment. Never had she invited confidence, and for all the younggirl's charm she had never taken her to her heart in the place ofthat absent daughter. As if jealously she had held herself alooffrom such devotion. 

Perhaps in Aimée's indulged and petted childhood, with a fond pashaextolling her small triumphs, her dances, her score at tennis at thelegation, madame found a bitter contrast to the lot of that lonelychild in France. Certainly there was nothing in Aimée's life then toinvite compassion, and later, during those hard, mutinous months ofthe girl's first veiling and seclusion, she had not tried to softenthe inevitable for her with a useless compassion. 

So now, perceiving this marriage as one more step in theirresistible march of destiny for her charge, she overlooked theyouthful fretting and offered the example of her own unmovedacceptance. 

"What diamonds!" she said now admiringly, holding up a pin, and, examining the card. "From Seniha Hanum--the cousin of Hamdi Bey. "

A moment more she held up the pin but the girl would not give it alook. 

"And this, from the same jeweler's, " continued madame, while thedressmaker was unfastening the frock, aided by Miriam, anxious thatno scratch should mar that milk-white skin. 

"How droll--the box is wrapped in cloth, a cloth of plaid. "

Aimée spun about. The dress fell, a glistening circle at her feet, and with regardless haste she tripped over it to madame. 

"How--strange!" she said breathlessly. 

A plaid . .. A Scotch plaid. Memories of an erect, tartan-drapedyoung figure, of a thin, bronzed face and dark hair where a tiltedcap sat rakishly . .. Memories of smiling, boyish eyes, darkeningwith sudden emotion . .. Memories of eager lips. .. . 

She took the box from madame. Within the cloth lay a jeweler's caseand within the case a locket of heavily ornamented gold. 

Her heart beating, she opened it. For a moment she did notunderstand. Her own face--her own face smiling back. Yet unfamiliar, that oddly piled hair, that black velvet ribbon about the throat. .. . 

Murmuring, madame shared her wonder. 

It was Miriam's cry of recognition that told them. 

"Thy mother--the grace of Allah upon her!--It is thy mother! Eh, those bright eyes, that long, dark hair that I brushed the many hotnights upon the roof!"

"But you are her image, Aimée, " murmured the Frenchwoman, but halfunderstanding the nurse's rapid gutturals, and then, "Your father'sgift?"

With the box in her hands the girl turned from them, fearful of thetell-tale color in her cheeks. "But whose else--his thought, ofcourse, " she stammered. 

That plaid was warning her of mystery. 

The dressmaker was creating a diversion. Leaving, she wished toconsult about the purchases for to-morrow's work, and madame movedtowards the hall with her, talking in her careful English, whileMiriam bent towards the dropped finery. 

Aimée slipped through another door, into the twilight of herbedroom, whose windows upon the street were darkened by thosefine-wrought screens of wood. Swiftly she thrust the box from sight, into the hollow in the mashrubiyeh made in old days to hold a waterbottle where it could be cooled by breezes from the street. 

Leaning against the woodwork, her fingers curving through the tinyopenings, she stared toward the west. The sky was flushing. Brokenby the circles, the squares, the minute interstices of themashrubiyeh, she saw the city taking on the hues of sunset. 

Suddenly the cry of a muezzin from a nearby minaret came rising andfalling through the streets. 

"_La illahé illallah Mohammedun Ressoulallah_--"

The call swelled and died away and rose again . .. There is no Godbut _the_ God and Mahomet is the Prophet of God . .. From farthertowers it sounded, echoing and re-echoing, vibrant, insistent, falling upon crowded streets, penetrating muffling walls. 

"_La illahé illallah_--"

In the avenue beneath her two Arabs, leading their camels to market, were removing their shoes and going through the gestures ofceremonial washing with the dust of the street. 

"_La illahé_--"

The city was ringing with it. 

The seamstress and the Frenchwoman, still talking, had passed downthe hall. In the next room Miriam's lips were moving in pioustestimony. 

"_Ech hedu en la illahé_--! I testify that there is no God but _the_God. "

In the street the Arabs were bowing towards the east, their headstouching the earth. 

And in the window above them a girl was reading a note. 

 * * * * *

The last call of the muezzin, falling from the tardy towers of KaitBey drifted faintly through the colored air. With resounding whacksthe Arabs were urging on their beast; Miriam, her prayers concluded, was shaking out silks and tulle with a sidelong glance for thatstill figure in the next room, pressing so close against theguarding screens. 

She could not see the pallor in the young face. She could not seethe tumult in the dark eyes. She could not see the note, crushedconvulsively against the beating breast, in the fingers which so fewmoments ago had drawn it from the hiding place in the box. 

Ryder had not dared a personal letter. But clearly, and distinctly, he stated the story of the Delcassés. He gave the facts which thepasha admitted and the ingenious explanation of the two Aimées. Andfor reference he gave the address of the Delcassé aunt and agent inFrance and of Ryder and McLean at the Agricultural Bank. 

 * * * * *

The pasha did not dine with his daughter that night. He had beenavoiding her of late, a natural reaction from the strain oftoo-excessive gratitude. A man cannot be continually humble beforethe young! And it was no pleasure to be reminded by her candid eyesof his late misfortunes and of her absurd reluctance towardsmatrimony. 

As if this marriage were not the best thing for her! As if it were ahardship! To make sad eyes and draw a mouth because one is to be thewife of a rich general. .. . Irrational . .. The little sweetmeat wasirritating. 

To this point Tewfick's buoyancy had brought him, and all the morehastily because of his eagerness to escape the pangs of thatuncomfortable self-reproach. To Aimée, in her new clear-sightednessof misery, it was bitterly apparent that he was reconciled with herlot and careless of it. 

So blinded had been her young affection that it was a hardawakening, and she was too young, too cruelly involved, to feel forhis easy humors that amused tolerance of larger acquaintance withhuman nature. She had grown swiftly bitter and resentful, and deeplycold. 

And now this letter. It dazed her, like a flame of lightning beforeher eyes, and then, like lightning, it lit up the world withterrifying luridity. Fiery colored, unfamiliar, her life trembledabout her. 

Truth or lies? Custom and habit stirred incredulously to reject thesupposition. The romance, the adventure of youth, dared its swiftacceptance. How could she know? Intuitively she shrank from anyquestion to the pasha, realizing the folly and futility of exposingher suspicion. If he needed to lie, lie he would--and in herunderstanding of that, she read her own acceptance of thepossibility of his needing to lie. 

Madame de Coulevain? Madame had never known her mother. Only oldMiriam had known her mother and Miriam was the pasha's slave. Butthe old woman was unsuspecting now, and full of disarming comfort inthis marriage of her wild darling. 

Through dinner she planned the careless-seeming questions. And thenin her negligée, as the old nurse brushed out her hair for thenight, "Dadi, " said the girl, in a faint voice, "am I truly like mymother?" and when Miriam had finished her fond protestation thatthey were as like as two roses, as two white roses, bloom and bud, she launched that little cunning phrase on which she had spent sucheager hoping. 

"And was I like her when I was little--when first she came to myfather?"

"Eh--yes. Always thou wast the tiny image which Allah--Glory to hisName!--had made of her, " came the nurse's assurance. 

"I am glad, " said Aimée, in a trembling voice. 

She dared not press that more. Confronted with her unconsciousadmission the old woman would destroy it, feigning some evasion. Butthere it was, for as much as it was worth. .. . 

Presently then, she found another question to slip into the oldwoman's narrative of the pasha's grief. 

"Eh, to hear a man weep, " Miriam was murmuring. "Her beauty had setits spell upon him, and--"

"And he lost her so soon. Three or four years only, was it not, "ventured Aimée, "that they had of life together?"

It seemed that Miriam's brush missed a stroke. 

"Years I forget, " the nurse muttered, "but tears I remember, " andshe began to talk of other things. 

But it seemed to Aimée that she had answered. As for that othermatter, of the dead Delcassé child, she dared not refer to it, lestMiriam tell the pasha. But how many times, she remembered, had shebeen told that she was her mother's only one!

Yet, oh, to know, to hear all the story, to learn Ryder's discoveryof it! It was all as strange and startling as a tale of Djinns. Andthe life that it held out to her, the enchanted hope of freedom, ofaid--Oh, not again would she refuse his aid!

She had no plans, no purposes. But that night over herhastily-donned frock she slipped the black street mantle and when atlast, after endless waiting, the murmuring old palace was safelystill and dark, she stole down the spiral stair and gained thegarden. And then, a phantom among its shadows, she fled to the rosebushes by the gate. 

Breathlessly she knelt and dug into the hiding place of that gate'skey. To the furthest corner her fingers explored the hole, pushingfuriously against the earth. And then she drew back her hand andcrushed it against her face to check the nervous sobs. 

The hole was empty. The key was gone. 

CHAPTER X

THE RECEPTION

In Tewfick Pasha's harem everything was astir. 

It was the morning of the marriage, almost the very hour when thewedding cortège would bear the bride from her father's home to thehouse of her husband. 

The invited guests were already arrived and streaming through thereception rooms, a bright, feminine tide in evening toilettes, surrounding the exhibited gifts or pausing about tables of coolsyrups, and their soft, low voices, the delicious musical tones ofhighbred Turkish women, rose like a murmuring of somnolent bees tothe tenser regions about, tightening the excitement of haste. 

The bride was not yet ready. Still and white, she was the only imageof calm in that fluttering, confusing room. Her nearer friends werehovering about her, and her maids of honor, two charming littleTurks in rose robes, were draping her veil while old Miriam, resplendent in green and silver, endeavored jealously to outmaneuverthem. 

On her knees, the gnome-like Mrs. Hendricks was adding an orangeblossom to the laces on the train. Then she sat back on her heels, her head a-tilt like a curious bird's, her eyes beamingsentimentally upon the bride. 

"The prettiest h'I h'ever did see, " she pronounced withsatisfaction, "H'as pretty as a wax figger now--h'only a thought_too_ waxy. "

And like a wax figure indeed, immobile, rigid, the bride wasstanding before them, arrayed at last in the shimmering white of thesweeping satin, overrich of lace and orange flowers, and shrouded inthe clouding waves of her veil. White as her robes, pale as deathand as still, the girl looked out at them, and only that sick pallorof her face and the glitter of her dark eyes betrayed the tumultwithin. 

"Your diadem, my dear--you are keeping us attending, " came Madame deCoulevain's voice from the door. 

The diadem, that heavy circlet of brilliants which crowned theEastern bride in place of the orange wreath of Western convention, must not be touched by the bride's fingers but placed by one of herfriends, married and married but once, and exceptionally happy inthat marriage. 

Ghul-al-Din, Aimée's selection from her friends, stepped hastilyforward now, a soft, dimpled, slow-smiling girl, her eyes drowsywith domesticity. No question of Ghul-al-Din's happiness! Sheextolled her husband, a young captain of cavalry, and she adored herinfant son, a prodigy among children. Life for her was a rosy, unquestioning absorption. 

A shaft of irony sped through Aimée, as she bent her head for itscrowning at this young wife's hands, and received the ceremonialwishes for her crowning of happiness, a crowning occurring but oncein her lifetime. Irony was the only salvation for the hour; withoutthat outlet for her tortured spirit she felt she would grow suddenlymad, hysterical and babbling or passionate and wild. 

So many moods had stormed through her since that night when she hadfound all hope of rescue gone with her lost key! So many impulsesseethed frantically now beneath her quiet, as she faced for the lasttime that white-misted image in the glass. She had a furious longingto tear off that diadem and veil and heavy robe, to scatter theornaments and drive out all those maddening spectators, all thoseinterested, eager, unknowing, uncaring spectators of herhumiliation. 

Arranging her veil, draping her satins, as if gauze and silk wereall that mattered to this hour! Wishing her happiness--as ifhappiness could ever be hers now for the wishing! Smiling, fluttering, complimenting, lending to the ghastly sacrifice thefamiliar acceptances of every day. .. . 

If only she could wake from this nightmare and find that it was alla dream. If only she could brush this confusion from her senses andfrom her heart its dumb terrors. .. . If only she had the courage forsome desperate revolt, some outburst of strength--

"I am ready, " she said faintly, turning from the glass, and movedtowards the door, while a young eunuch bent for her train, thattrain of three yards length, which stretched so regally behind herin her slow descent of the stairs. 

In the French drawing-room below her father was waiting for theceremonial farewell, in which the father received the daughter'sthanks for all his care of her. 

Mechanically Aimée advanced. She stood before him, she lifted hereyes--and there passed from them a look of such strange, breathless, questioning intensity that it was like something palpable. .. . Shehad not foreseen this, sudden crisping of her nerves, this defiantpassion of her spirit. .. . 

Her father? Was he her father? Was it a father who had sold her so, careless, callous--or was it only a father's semblance, and didthere lie in the background of those petted, childish years somedarker shadow, of a tragedy that had wrecked her mother's life andbroken her heart--?

Like flashing light that look passed between them. It penetratedTewfick's nonchalant guard and brought the unaccustomed color to hisolive cheeks. His handsome eyes turned uneasily aside. A girl'spique perhaps, at the situation, her last defiance of hispower, --but for all his reassurance there was something deeper inthat look, something tenable, accusing, which went into his soul. 

It was a moment in which the last cord of their relationship wassevered forever. 

She did not speak a word. She bent, not to kiss his hand as customdictated, but to sweep a long, slow courtesy, that salutation of amaid of spirit to a conqueror, a bending of the pliant back, butwith the head held high and the spirit unsurrendered. 

And yet there was wretchedness in those proud eyes and a blind fearand supplication. 

Useless to beg now. She knew it, and yet the eyes implored. 

And then she smiled. And before that smile Tewfick faltered in hispaternal benediction and hastened the phrases. 

Little murmurs flew back and forth as she turned away, and then ahasty chatter sprang up as the guests hurried into their tcharchafsfor the journey to the bridegroom's house. 

That day Aimée did not put on her veil. On either side of her, asshe went out her father's gate, huge negroes held up silken walls ofdamask, and between those walls she walked into the carriage thatawaited her, followed by Madame de Coulevain and the two littlemaids of honor. 

It was when the carriage began to move that the panic inside of hergrew to whirlwind. The horse' hoofs, trotting, trotting, the motionof the wheels, seemed to be the onbearing rush of fate itself. Ifshe could only stop it! If she could only cry out, tear open thewindows, scream to the passers by. She knew these were only theimpotent visions of hysteria, but she indulged them pitifully. 

She saw herself, in those moments, helpless, and hopeless, passingon into the slavery of this marriage--Aimée, no longer the daughterof Tewfick Pasha, but Aimée Delcassé, child of a dead Frenchman, inheritor of freedom, sold like any dancing girl. .. . 

And her own lips had assented. In the supreme, silly uselessness ofsacrifice she had given herself for the safety of that man who hadspent such careless indulgence upon her . .. That man whom perhapsher mother had loved and perhaps had hated. .. . 

Faster and faster the horses were trotting, leading the long file ofcarriages and impatient motors that bore the relatives and guestsand trousseau, rolling on under the lebbeks and sycamores of thewide Shubra Avenue, once the delight of fashionables before theGezireh Drive had drained it of its throngs and its prestige. 

Now some bright-eyed urchins ran out from their games in the dust tocurious attention, and through a half open gate Aimée caught once aglimpse of a young, unveiled girl watching eagerly from the tangledgreens and ruined statuary of an old garden. Farther on cameglimpses of farm lands, the wheat rising in bright spears, and ofwell-wooded heights and in the distance the white houses ofDemerdache against the Gibel Achmar beyond. 

But where were they bearing her? Aimée had a despairing sense ofdistance and desolation as the carriage turned again--Abdullah, thecoachman, having traversed unnecessary miles to gratify his pridebefore the house of his parents--and made a zigzag way towards theriver, where old palaces rose from the backwaters, their faceshidden by high walls or covered with heavy vines and moss. 

Deeper and deeper grew the girl's dismay. It was a different worldfrom that bright, modern Cairo that she knew; this was as remotefrom her daily life as the old streets of Al Raschid. Her thoughtsflew forward to that unknown lord, that Hamdi Bey, whose image shehad refused to assemble to her consciousness. Now she comforted herterror with a sudden assumption of age and dignity and kindness, ofa courtesy that would protect her and a deference that would assuagethe horror of a life together, when unknown, fearful familiaritieswould alone vibrate in the empty monotonies. 

Before a high wall the carriage had stopped. A huge, repellentEthiopian was standing before an opened doorway, through which arich carpet was spread. 

"Ah, but he looks like an ogre, that new eunuch of yours, Aimée, "murmured one of the little Turks. The other, more touched withthought, gave her a disturbed glance, and laughed in nervousness. 

Madame, alone serene, ignored the dismaying impression. 

"The palace is of a fine, ancient beauty, I am told, " she mentionedcheerfully. 

For one wild instant Aimée thought to plead with her, to implore herto tell Abdullah to drive on, to give her the freedom of flight, ifonly flight down those deserted streets. And then a mad vision ofherself in her bridal robes in flight, brought the hystericallaughter to her throat. The time for flight had gone by . .. And asfor madame's pity on her--this was not the first time that Aimée hadthought of invoking her aid, but she had always known, too well, that thought's supreme futility. 

Sympathetic as Madame de Coulevain might be in her inmost heart--andAimée divined in her an understanding pity for the necessities ofexistence--never would that sympathy betray her to rashness. Shenever would believe that in serving Aimée she would not be ruiningher; and even if assured of Aimée's safety, she could never bebrought to betray her own reputation for truthworthiness among theharems of Cairo. .. . As well appeal to the rocks of the Mokattamhills. 

The carriage stopped. The negroes extended the damask walls, and onesprang to open the carriage door and bear the bride's train. In onemoment's parting of the silken walls the girl saw a sun-floodedcluster of staring faces, thronging for her arrival, and then thedamask intervened and through its lane, followed by her duenna andher maids of honor, she entered the arched doorway. 

She was in a garden, a great gloomy place, over-spread with ancient, moss-encrusted trees. A broken, marble fountain flung up waters intowhich no sunlight flashed, and the heavy stepping stones, leading toit, were buried in untrodden grass. A garden in which no onelingered. 

The Ethiopian was marshaling them to the left, to an entrance in thedark palace walls before them. Behind them the oncoming guests werestreaming out in veiled procession. 

He opened a door. Ancient, beautiful arches framed a long vestibuleand against a background of profuse cut flowers a man's figurestepped forward in the glittering uniform of the Sultan's guard. Aimée had a confused impression of a thin, meager, dandified figurewith a waspish waist . .. Of a blond mustache with upstanding ends. .. Of sallow cheek-bones and small, light eyes smiling at her in astrained, eager curiosity. .. . 

Through all her sinking dismay she had a flash of clear, enlightening irony at that look's suspense. If she were not asrepresented! If his cousin's fervor had misled his hope--!

But in that instant's encounter his eyes cleared to triumph andgayety, and he smiled--a smile curiously feline, ironic, for all itsintended ingratiation--a conqueror's smile, winged to reassure andmelt. 

He stepped forward. There were formal words of welcome to which shereturned a speechless bow, and then he offered his arm and conductedher slowly up the stairs, his sword rattling in its scabbard, to theapartment which was to be her home, and the prison for the spiritand the body. 

She knew in a moment that she hated this man and that he inspiredher with fear and horror. 

Across a long expanse of drawing-room he conducted her to theancient marriage throne upon its platform, surmounted by a pompouscrown from which old, embroidered silks hung heavily. 

Then with an unheard phrase, and another bow, he left her to theday-long ordeal of the reception while he withdrew to his ownentertainment at her father's house. She would not see him againuntil night, when he would pay her a call of ceremony. 

She saw his figure hesitating a moment, as he faced the oncomingguests, such a flood of femininity, unmantled now and unveiled, sparkling in rainbow hues of silks and tulle and gauze that he hadnever before faced and never would again. Like a bright wave thethrong closed about him and then surged on towards the bride uponthe throne. 

How often, in the last years, Aimée had pitied that poor puppet of abride, stuck there like some impaled, winged creature, helpless forflight, to the exhibition of the long stream of passersby! How oftenshe had promised herself that never would this be her fate, neverwould she be given to an unknown! And now--

She was smiling as she faced them, that light, fixed smile she hadseen so often on others' lips, the smile of pride trying desperatelyto hide its wounds from the penetrating glances of the curious. Satiric, cynical, or sympathetic, that light smile defied them all, but beneath its guard she felt she was slowly bleeding to death ofsome mortal hurt. 

The sympathy unconsciously betrayed, was hardest. The whispers ofher young maids of honor, "Really, Aimée, he looks so young! Onewould never surmise, " were more galling in their intendedconsolation, more revealing in their betrayal of her friends' ownshrinking from that arrogant, dandified old man than the barbed dartof the uncaring, inquisitive, "How do you find him, my dear? He hasthe reputation for conquest!"

They were all there, her friends, young, slim, modish Turkish girlswhose time had not yet come, glancing quizzically about the ancientdrawing room, with its solid side of mashrubiyeh, its old wallpanelings of carvings and rare inlay, and then pointing theirglances back at her, as if to ask, "And is this our revoltée? Isthis her end, in this dim, old palace among the ghosts of the past?"

Some, the frankest, murmured, "But why did you not refuse?" andothers attempted consolation with a light, "As well the first as thelast--since we must all come to it. "

Of the married women there were those who raised blank, bitter eyesto her, and others, more mild, romantic, affectionate, tried toinfuse encouragement into their smiles as if they said, "Come--courage--it's not so bad. And what would you? We are women, after all; we do not need so much for happiness. 

"Those dreams of yours for love, for a spirit to delight in yourspirit in place of a master delighting in your beauty alone, whatare they, those dreams, but the childish stuff of fancies? For otherraces, perhaps--but for you, take hold of life. There are realitiesyet in it to bring you joy. "

It was all in their eyes, their voices, their intonations, theirpressure of her hands. 

And she stood there among them all, smiling always that smiledemanded of the bride, looking unseeingly into their eyes, listeningunhearingly to the sea of voices breaking on her ears, responding invague monosyllables and a wider smile, while all the time her eyessaw only that face, that smirking, cynical old face, and the tide ofterror rose higher and higher in her soul. 

Never had she given way to her fear, never since the black nightwhen she found the key was gone. 

Then, after frenzied searching in impossible places she had stolenback to her room and buried her face in her pillow to stifle thebreaking sobs of rebellion and despair--and of a longing so deep andso terrible that it seemed to rend her with a physical anguish, apain so fiery that her heart would forever bear the scar. 

Never again would she see him now. .. . Never would she know--neverwould she know all. She had refused his aid. And he might believeher still aloof, incredulous. .. . It was finished--forever and ever. 

She had told herself that before. But always there had been the key. And now there was no key and no escape and her heart broke itselfagainst the iron of necessity. 

She had cried the night through. Morning had brought her exhaustion, not peace but a despairing submission. Why struggle when the prisongate is shut? And if there was never to be freedom for her . .. Neveragain the sight of that too-remembered face and the sound of thatvoice--why, then, as well one fate as another. And it was too latenow to recede. 

So she had called upon her pride and summoned her spirit to play itspart to protect her from whispers, and surmise and half-contemptuouspity. She would surrender to this man because she must, and shewould win his respect by her dignity and worth, but her soul shewould keep its own, in its unsullied dreams . .. And in itsmemories. .. . Life would be nothing but a hardship, nobly borne. 

But now she had seen the man. Now this wild dislike, this sickeningterror. 

To be alone with him, to have only the few days grace of courtshipwhich the Mohammadan custom imposes upon the bridegroom, to beforever at his mercy in this solitary palace, with its echoingcorridors, its blackened walla, its damp breath of age. .. . 

She thought wildly of death. 

And all the time she was smiling, bending her cheek to the kiss of afriend, feeling the fingers of some well-wisher press upon her, listening to praises of her beauty. .. . 

For she was beautiful. No image of wax now. The scarlet of herfrightened blood was staining her cheeks, her eyes were bright asthe jewels in her diadem, and beneath the thrown-back veil her darkhair revealed its lovely wealth. 

"Is she not a rose--will he not adore her, our Hamdi?" she heardthat stout cousin of Hamdi's say to a companion, and the two staredon appraisingly at the young girl, in her freshness and virginalyouth, as if at some toy to invite the jaded appetite of a satiatedmaster. 

And still the throng filed by, a strange throng beneath theflickering light and shadow of the mashrubiyeh, slender young Turksor blonde Circassians in their Paris frocks, their eyes tormented ormalicious, and here and there, like a green island of calm, somerotund matron grave and serene, her head encircled with an oldfashioned turban of gauze, her stout flesh encased in heavy silks, bought at Damask so as not to enrich the Unbelievers at Lyons. 

 * * * * *

And then the spectacle changed, the black street mantles appeared, yashmaks and tcharchafs, for now the doors were opened to all thefeminine world, and there came strange, unknown women, slipping outfrom their grills for this pleasuring in a palace, old-timers often, draped and turbaned in the fashion of some far province of theiryouth; women, incredibly fat, in rich stuffs of Asia, their bright, deep-sunken eyes spying delightedly upon the scene, or furtive, poorwomen, keeping courage in twos and threes. 

Now, too, at four, came the women from the Embassies, a Russian girlwith whom Aimée had played tennis in ages past, rosy now withyesterday's sun and sleepy with last night's dance, who touched thebride's hand as if it were the hand of one half-dead, alreadyconsigned to the tomb; other girls she did not know, who stared ather with the avid eyes of their young curiosities; older women, experienced, unstirred, drinking their tea and smoking cigarettesand gossiping of their own affairs, and occasionally among them atourist agog with wonder and exultation, storing away details for alifetime of talk, asking amiably the most incredible questions. .. . 

"And is it true you have never met your husband? Listen, Jane--shesays she has never met him--"

A girl in a creamy white silk came forward a little uncertainly. Shewas a pretty girl, with a curve of ruddy hair visible under hersmart straw, and very bright eyes, where shyness was at variancewith a friendly smile. 

Indeed Jinny Jeffries was extraordinarily intimidated by theoccasion. She had a distinct sense of intrusion mingling with herdelight at having intruded, and she murmured her good wishes in analmost inaudible tone. 

"It is very good of you to let us come . .. I wish you everyhappiness, " she said. 

Beside her a tall slender figure, in black tcharchaf and yashmak, made its appearance. 

Aimée's eyes slipped past the pretty American; the mechanical smilewas frozen on her lips. Over the black veil she saw the hazel eyes, bright with excitement, vivid as speech; the eyes of the masqueraderin the Scotch costume, the eyes of the man at the garden gate--JackRyder's eyes . .. The eyes of her dreams. 

CHAPTER XI

THE FORTY DOORS

When Ryder had despatched from the jeweler's who had polished thelocket for him, that package with its secret note, and its warningplaid, he had no real assurance that the message would fall intoAimée's hands. But he could think of nothing better, and he arguedvery favorably for his stratagem. 

That miniature should have some effect, and given the miniature, andthe bit of plaid cloth, Aimée's quick wit ought to divine a message. 

She had always the key, he remembered, and the power of egress fromher prison. And surely it ought not to be difficult for her todevise some way of getting a letter into the post. 

So his hope fluctuated between the garden gate and the daily mail atthe Bank, and he rather surprised McLean by the frequency andbrevity of his visits, and by the duration of his stay in Cairo. 

For that he had an excuse, both to McLean and to the desertedThatcher, at the excavation camp, two excuses in fact--some belatedidentification work to be done at the Museum and a cracked wisdomtooth. 

Chiefly he spoke of the necessity for dentistry and accounted forhis moods with his molar. 

Of moods he had many. Moods when he contemplated his behaviorlightly and brightly or darkly, in unrelieved disgust, moods when herefused to contemplate it at all. But he stayed. That was theconspicuous and enduring thing. He stayed. 

Jinny Jeffries returned from the Nile by express to find himensconced at her hotel, and her bright confidence suffered nodiminution of its self respect. And it was through Jinny that chanceset another straw of circumstance dancing his way. 

Jinny had a frock she wished repaired. Mrs. Heath-Brown, whom shehad met upon the Nile, recommended to her a Mrs. Hendricks, wife ofa British soldier and a most clever little needle woman. Jinnylooked up Mrs. Hendricks and found it impossible to secure her forsome days as she was busy refitting for a fashionable wedding in theMohammedan world. 

A night later, and two nights before the wedding, Jinny made anarrative of the circumstances for Jack Ryder's benefit. 

"Such frocks h'as h'I 'ave to do--and the young lady no morecaring!" had been a saying of the Hendricks that Jinny passedinterestedly on to Jack. She had no memory of the young lady's name, but distinctly she recalled that she was young and beautiful and tomarry a general. 

It was enough to launch Jinny's eager interest in Mohammedanmarriages and foster the wish that she might attend one. Sheregretted Mrs. Heath-Brown's absence and her lack of acquaintance, and suggested that Jack ought to know some one--

"Better than that, _I'll_ take you, " said Jack with a promptnessthat brought a light to Miss Jeffries' eyes. 

There was also a light in Jack Ryder's eyes, a swift burning ofexcitement and adventure. 

Why not? The thing was possible. Muffled in a tcharchaf and veiledwith a heavy yashmak, armed with enough Arabic for the briefest ofencounters, he might dare the danger. Who in the world woulddiscover him? Who would ever know?

The thing was unthinkable. It was a desperate desecration, comparable only, in his vague analogies, to the Mecca pilgrimage andprofanation of a Holy Tomb. But its very improbability would preventdetection. 

Only Jinny had to keep her mouth extremely shut--before andafterwards. 

He impressed this upon her so thoroughly, as they did their shoppingfor the costume together the next morning, that she had compunctiousmoments of solicitude when she said he really ought not to. .. . Shewould feel responsible. .. . 

Thereupon he laughed, and dared her to be game, and she grew allmirthful confidence again. 

But that night, sitting alone in a native café over his Turkishcoffee, Ryder was grimly serious. 

He knew that it was a mad thing to do. He felt, not so much thedanger he ran from discovery, but the danger to his alreadyshattered peace of mind from another glimpse of that strange girl. .. That young unknown, on whom he had spent such time and thought, of late, that she seemed a very part of his existence. 

What was the good of going to her wedding reception? Feebly he toldhimself that it was his only chance to inform her upon the historyof the Delcassés. There might have been reasons for hernon-appearance at the gate, for her not writing. .. . He could have noglimmering of what went on behind those barred windows. This was hisonly chance--he meant to say, to tell her--but his eager sensesmurmured, to see her again. 

That was it--to see her again. He owned the lure, at last, with abitter ruefulness. But--he brightened up at that--it was partly hisduty to himself. Now he had all sorts of fool imaginings about thisgirl. He was remembering her as something lovelier than a Houri, more enchanting than fairy magic, more sweet than spring. He owed itto himself to rout these imbecile prepossessions and prove clearlyand dispassionately that the girl was just a very nice little girl, a pretty bride, marrying into a very distinct life from his own--anda girl with whom he would not have an idea in common. A girl, infact, far inferior to any American. A girl not to be compared toJinny Jeffries. 

Besides, there was fun in the thing. It tempted him tremendously. It was adventurous, romantic forbidden. 

He heard the word echoed in Turkish behind him. 

So engrossed in his thoughts had he been that he had beeninattentive to the rhythm of old Khazib, the tale teller's voice, ashe held forth, from the divan, beside his long-stemmed pipe, to hisnightly audience, of men and boys, camel drivers, small merchants, desert men from the long caravans who were the frequenters of thiscafé. 

To-night there were few about the old man, and Ryder had smalldifficulty in drawing nearer the circle. A green-turbaned Arab, withthe profile of a Washington and the naïve eyes of youth, whisperedto him courteously that it was the tale of the Third Kaland, and thePrince Azib was in the palace of the forty damsels who werefarewelling him, as they were to depart, according to custom, forforty days. 

Khazib, with a faint salutation of his turban towards the newcomer, went slowly, sonorously on with his tale. 

"We fear, " said the damsel unto Azib, "lest thou contraire ourcharge and disobey our injunctions. Here now we commit to thee thekeys of the palace which containeth forty chambers and thou mayestopen of these thirty and nine, but beware (and we conjure thee byAllah and by the lives of us!) lest thou open the fortieth door, fortherein is that which shall separate us forever. "

For a moment the café faded from Ryder's eyes. He was in the gloomof a garden, a shadowy darkness just touched by a crescent moon, andbeside him in the shrubbery a dark-shrouded form, shaking itsshawled head at him in denial, and whispering, lightly buttremblingly. "It is a forbidden door . .. Forbidden as thatfortieth. .. . There are thirty and nine doors in your life, monsieur, that you may open, but this is the forbidden. .. . "

He had meant to look up that tale. And now chance was reminding himof it again. A superstitious man--Ryder's great grandfather, perhaps, would have felt it an omen of warning, and a devoutman--Ryder's grandfather, perhaps--would have taken it for a signfrom Heaven to divert his steps. Ryder reflected upon coincidence. 

"When I saw her weeping, " Khazib was intoning, and now Ryderattended, his scanty knowledge of the vernacular straining andoverleaping the blanks, "Prince Azib said to himself, 'By Allah, Iwill never open that fortieth door, never, and in no wise!'"

"A wise bird, " thought Ryder to himself, drawing on his cigarette. 

"And I bade her farewell, " continued the voice slipping into thefirst person. "Thereupon all departed, flying like birds, leaving mealone in the palace. When evening drew near, I opened the door ofthe first chamber and found myself in a place like one of thepleasances of Paradise. It was a garden with trees of freshestgreen and ripe fruits of yellow sheen. And I walked among the treesand I smelt the breath of the flowers and heard the birds sing theirpraise to Allah, the One, the Almighty. "

"_Allhamdollillah_, " murmured Ryder's neighbors reverently. 

"And I looked upon the apple, whose hue is parcel red and parcelyellow . .. And I looked upon the quince whose fragrance putteth toshame musk and ambergris . .. And upon the pear whose tastesurpasseth sherbet and sugar, and the apricot, whose beauty strikeththe eye as she were a polished ruby. .. . 

"On the morrow I opened the second door and found myself in aspacious plain set with tall date palms and watered by a runningstream whose banks were shrubbed with rose and jasmine, while privetand eglantine, oxe-eye, violet and lily, narcissus, origane and thewinter gilliflower carpeted the borders; and the breath of thebreeze swept over those sweet-smelling growths. .. . "

How inadequate, Ryder realized, had been the description given bythe Book of Genesis to the Garden of Eden. 

"And the third door, " droned on the rhythmic voice, "into an openhall, hung with cages of sandal-wood and eagle-wood; full of birdswhich made sweet music, such as the mocking bird, and the cusha, themerle, the turtle dove--and the Nubian ring-dove. "

A trifle restively Ryder stirred. He liked birds but he wanted tobe getting on to that fortieth door and this was slow progress. Nota sign of impatience marred the bright, absorbed content of theother listeners, intent now upon the wonders behind that the fourthchamber revealed, stores of "pearls and jacinths and beryls, andemeralds and corals and carbuncles and all manner of precious gemsand jewels such as the tongue of man could not describe. "

The story teller proceeded, "Then, quoth Prince Azib, now verily amI the monarch of the age, since by Allah's grace this enormouswealth is mine; and I have forty damsels under my hand nor is thereany to claim them save myself. "

The handsome Arab beside Ryder inhaled his pipe luxuriously. "By thegrace of Allah!" he said reverently. 

"Then I gave not over opening place after place until nine andthirty days were passed and in that time I had entered every chamberexcept that one whose door I was charged not to open. But mythoughts ever ran upon that forbidden fortieth and Satan urged me toopen it for my own undoing. .. . "

"I see his finish, " said Ryder interestedly to himself--and hethought of the analogy. 

"So I stood before the chamber, and after a few moments' hesitation, opened the door which was plated with red gold and entered. I wasmet by a perfume whose like I had never before smelt; and so sharpand subtle was the odor that it made my senses drunken as withstrong wine, and I fell to the ground in a fainting fit which lasteda full hour. When I came to myself I strengthened my heart, andentering found myself in a chamber bespread with saffron and blazingwith light. .. . Presently, I spied a noble steed, black as the murksof night when murkiest, standing ready saddled and bridled (and hissaddle was of red gold) before two mangers one of clear crystalwherein was husked sesame, and the other, also of crystal containingwater of the rose scented with musk. When I saw this I marveled andsaid to myself, 'Doubtless in this animal must be some wondrousmystery, and Satan--'"

"Satan the Stoned!" murmured Ryder's neighbor religiously. 

"Satan cozened me, so I led him without and mounted him . .. Andstruck him withal. When he felt the blow he neighed a neigh with asound like deafening thunder and opening a pair of wings flew upwith me in the firmament of heaven far beyond the eyesight of man. After a full hour of flight he descended and shaking me off his backlashed me on the face with his tail, and gouged out my left eye, causing it to roll along my cheek. Then he flew away. "

On rolled the voice, narrating the prince's descent to the table ofthe other one-eyed youths, but Ryder was unheeding. And at the closehe inclined his head with the other listeners, murmuring "May Allahincrease thy prosperity, " as he felt in his pockets for the silverwhich the others were drawing from turban and sleeves and sash tolay in the patriarch's lap, and then raised his head to questiondiffidently, "Would you interpret, O Khazib, the meaning of thatdoor? For I hear that it hath now become a saying of a forbiddenthing. "

The sage hesitated, sucking at his pipe. Then he said slowly, "Toevery man, O Youth, is there a forbidden door, beyond which waitsthe steed of high adventure . .. With wings beyond man's riding. Andso the rider is lost and his vision is gone. "

"But for him who could ride?" Ryder suggested. 

"Inshallah! Who can say till he has tried his destiny--and betterare the nine and thirty chambers of safe pleasance than the lonelysightlessness of the outcast one. .. . It is a tale which if it werewritten upon the eye-corners with needle-gravers, were a warning tothose who would be warned. "

For a moment their eyes held each other, smiling but grave. Ryder'sthoughts were of the morrow, of that forbidden entry he was planningto make, of the risks, the wild uncertainties. .. . 

Wisdom and counsel looked significantly out at him out of thosepatriarchal eyes. Prudence and sanity clamored within him for ahearing. 

And then he smiled, the whimsical, boyish smile of youngadventuring. 

"But whoever, O, my father, had opened that forbidden doorthe veriest crack, and breathed its scent and glimpsed itsdazzlement--then for him there is no turning back, " he confided. 

He rose and Khazib's eyes followed him. 

"Luck go with you, my son, " he said clearly, "in Allah's name, " andsmiling in faint ruefulness, "May Allah heed thee!" Ryder murmuredpiously. 

CHAPTER XII

THE UNINVITED GUEST

Now as he stood before Aimée, and saw her eyes widen withrecognition, he knew that he would have need of all his luck and allhis wit. He stepped hastily forward. 

"_Alhamdolillah_--Glory to God that he has permitted me to beholdyou this day, " he murmured, in the studiously sing-song Arabic thatmight be expected from a humble Turkish woman in plain mantle andyashmak. "May Allah continue to spread before thee the carpet ofenjoyment--" and then lower, almost muffled by the thick veil, "Canyou give me a moment--?"

Eagerly, significantly, his eyes met hers. 

Half fearfully, Aimée flashed an excited look around her. The spacebefore the marriage throne had thinned, for there were no morearrivals waiting to offer their congratulations and the guests wereclustering now about the tables for refreshment or drifting into thenext salon where behind firmly stretched silken walls a stringedorchestra was playing. 

Miss Jeffries alone was lingering near, but she moved off now--at asecret look from Ryder--with an appearance of unconcern. 

"I am going to try my vernacular on the bride, " Ryder had told her. "Don't linger or look alarmed. I won't give the show away. "

So there was no one to overhear a low-toned colloquy between thebride and the veiled woman, no one to note or wonder that the veiledwoman was speaking, strangely enough, in rapid English. 

"When I didn't hear from you I had to come, to know if you receivedthe package and letter I sent--"

With a swift gesture of her little ringed hand Aimée drew from thelaces on her bosom that heavy gold locket. 

"Indeed I have it--and the note, too, I found. But I could not writeyou. There was no way--no one to trust to mail it. And they hadstolen my key, " she whispered, and the confessing words with theirquiver of forlornness told Ryder something of the story of thosehelpless days and nights. 

He murmured, "I didn't dare write you more personally for fear theywould find the note. "

"I understood. That plaid about the box--that was so clever awarning. I kept the box and hunted in it. "

"I wanted to tell you more about that locket. I dug it up myselffrom the tomb I was excavating--do you remember how you wished thatI would dig from the sands whatever secret I most desired? And Ifound that. .. . And it happened that at McLean's I had met the Frenchagent who was searching for any trace of the Delcassés, of the wifeand child of the explorer who had disappeared fifteen years before. That miniature was your image, and I guessed at once. McLean and Iwent to the pasha--Oh, I didn't tell him I'd met you!" he flung in, his eyes twinkling, "and we pretended we knew all about his marriageto Madame Delcassé and he owned up without a quiver. But when wetried to claim you for the French family, he doubled like a hare. Hesaid the Delcassé child was dead, died when his own child was ababy, and that you were his own. But I was sure that you were morethan fourteen, and that he was simply putting it over on us so as tohave this marriage go on without interference--and so I tried to getthe story to you. Even now I thought you ought to know, " he added, as if in palliation of his invasion here. 

For he realized now how tremendous an invasion it was. 

All the guests about him had not given him that feeling, all thatsea of femininity, those grave matrons whose serenely unveiled faceswould burn with shame to be beheld by this stranger, those bright, slim girls in their extravagant frocks, their tulle, their lace, their pearls, their diamonds, all the hidden charms that no man hadyet seen stirred in him no more than an excited and adventurouscuriosity. 

But the vision of Aimée--that delicate beauty in its tragic ironyof throne and diadem! It touched him to tenderness and to an actualsense of sacrilege at the freedom of his gaze. No moonlight visionthis, ethereal and dream-like, but a vivid, disquieting radiance ofdark, shining eyes and rose-flushed cheeks. He had never seen herhair before, midnight hair, escaping little curls from the veil andthe diadem. And he had never really seen her mouth--wistful and gay, like the mouth of the miniature . .. Nor her chin, so tender andwillful . .. Nor her skin, satin-soft, in its veiling from thedaylight. .. . 

She was more than young and sweet and fair. She was beauty, beautywith its elusive, ineluctable spell, entangled with the appeal ofher helplessness. 

A bright blush flooded her now and her eyes fell in confusion, before the prolonging of his look. 

"But it is dangerous--your being here, " she murmured. 

"The fortieth door, " he reminded her. 

Under her breath, "Ah, you remember?"

"I remember. And but last night I heard Khazib, the story teller, tell the tale, and I thought of you and your warning--of the doorthat hid you, that it was forbidden for me to open. "

"And so you opened it, monsieur. " Faintly she smiled, with downcastlashes. 

"And I came as you first came to me--in mantle and veil. "

For a moment their thoughts fled back to that masquerade, whichseemed so long ago. 

"But it is too late, " she said tremulously. 

"_Is_ it too late--for me to help you?"

At that her eyes rose to his again in a swift flash of hunted fear. 

"Oh, take me away from him!" she breathed suddenly, unpremeditately. "Somehow--somewhere--"

Another figure came towards them. Madame De Coulevain in all hersevere elegance of black. 

"Come and join your friends at the supper, my dear; there is no needfor you to be pilloried here any longer, " she observed with anindifferent scrutiny of the persistent veiled woman, and Ryder movedslowly away while Aimée came dutifully down from the throne, a hugeblack bending to hold her train. 

"I thought you were _never_ coming! What _were_ you talking about?"demanded a voice in Ryder's ear, and he found Jinny Jeffries at hisside, her bright gray eyes pouncing upon him with curiosity. 

"Oh, I wished her joy--native phrases--that sort of thing, " heanswered mechanically as they drew back into an embrasure of themashrubiyeh that formed one side of the great room. 

"But you were talking forever. I saw you holding forth at atremendous rate. Why wouldn't you let me stay and listen--?"

"You'd have put me off my shot, I had to feel unobserved to playup. "

"You must be fearfully good at Arabic, " said Jinny guilelessly. "And what did she say?"

"Why--she didn't say anything in particular--"

"But what was that she was showing you? I saw her bend forward witha locket or something--?"

A plague upon Jinny's bright eyes! "Oh, yes, the locket, " said Ryderwith an effort. "She--ah--she showed it to me. "

"But _why_? Wasn't that awfully funny--"

"Oh, I believe it's a custom, courtesy stunt you know, to show apoor guest some of the presents, " he explained, manufacturing underpressure. 

"I wish she'd show _me_ her rings. Did you ever see so many? It wasthe only thing about her you'd call really Eastern--all thoseglittering diamonds on her fingers. And did you notice her hands?"Jinny went on enthusiastically. "Jack, I never knew there wasanything so lovely as that girl in the world. She's simply_exquisite_. .. . I suppose it's her whole life, " Miss Jeffriesreflected, "keeping herself beautiful. " Her eyes rested curiously onthe feminine groups before them. "They haven't anything else to door think about, have they?"

"I understand some of them are remarkably educated young women. "

"What's the use of it?" said the practical daughter of an Americancollege. "They can't ever meet any men, but just a husband--"

"They can read for themselves, can't they? And talk to each other. And--well, what do you girls do with your education anyway? Youdon't lug anything very heavy about the golf course and the ballroom. "

"Who wants us to? But we do bring something to committees and clubsand--and welfare work, " Miss Jeffries maintained stoutly. "And weare always into arguments at dinners. While these girls, they can'tdine out, they haven't anybody but themselves to argue with, and itdoesn't matter a straw politically what they think--they can't evenchange the customs that their great, great, great grandfathersimposed. 

"If I were one of these girls, " she declared positively, "I wouldn'tbother about Kant and chemistry and history--I'd stuff myself fullof sweetmeats and loll around on a divan and not care what happenedoutside. Or else I'd be miserable. "

"Perhaps they are miserable. "

"They ought to fight. Think, _think_, " said Jinny dramatically, "ofmarrying some man you've never seen--the way that lovely girl isdoing. Suppose she doesn't like him? Suppose he's dull and crankyand mean and greedy? Suppose he bores her? Suppose she actuallyhates him? Why, Jack, it's horrible! And yet she submits--she_submits_ to it--"

"Suppose she has to submit, that she hasn't a soul on earth to helpher? How would you fight, I wonder--"

"Well, you don't need to shout about it! That woman's lookingnow--that one with the green turban and the stuffed-date eyes. "

Nervously Jinny glanced around. 

"It's a fearful lark, " she murmured, "but I don't believe I'd everhave had the nerve if I'd realized. .. . What do you suppose theywould _do_, Jack, if they found you out?. .. Those big blacks lookso--so uncivilized. "

Her eyes rested upon the huge eunuch at the far entrance of thesalon, a huge hideous fellow, with red fez, baggy blouse andtrousers, and a knife handle sticking piratically from a sash. 

"He has on English oxfords, " said Ryder lightly. "That's a savingsomething. But they aren't going to find out. .. .. I have an idea weought to make our getaway now, and that we had better not gotogether. You go first and then I'll stroll along, and whisk offthese duds in some quiet corner. .. . I have to meet a man to-night, but I'll probably see you to-morrow. And _don't_, " he entreated, "don't as you love your life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, breathe a word of my being here like this to any one--anytime--anywhere. I was an unmitigated ass to link you up with it. Sobe wary. "

"Oh, I shall!" Jinny Jeffries promised vividly and with a last lookabout the old palace, the empty marriage throne and the dissolvingknots of guests, she gave a little nod to her veiled companion, sauntered without visible trepidation past the staring eunuch atthe door, went down the long stairs where other departing guestswere drawing on mantles and veils, and so made her way across ashadowy garden and out the gate that another black opened. 

And then she drew a sudden breath of relief and glanced up at a skyof sunset fires and felt the free airs play with her hair and faceand so shook off, lightly and gratefully, that darkening impressionof shuttered rooms and guarding blacks. 

Little rivers of wine and fire were bubbling in Aimée's veins. Shewas gay at supper, as a bride should be gay. It was enough, forthose first few moments, that she had seen him again, that he haddared to come and try to help her--that he cared enough to come!

Her heart sang little pæans of joy and triumph. She sketchedimpossible scenes of escape--she saw herself, in a shrouding mantle, slipping with him past the guests at the door, she saw them speedingaway in a motor, she saw France, the unknown Delcassés--a bright, gay world of freedom and romance. 

Or, perhaps, if not to-night, then to-morrow. .. . They would plan . .. She would obtain permission to take a drive and there would be asignal, a waiting car. .. . 

But, better now. She could not endure even the call of ceremony fromthat man who called himself her husband. The very memory of his eyeson her. .. . 

Decidedly, it must be to-night. And Ryder would think of a way. Shemust get back to him . .. He would be lingering. She must get awayfrom this hateful table, these guests and companions. .. . 

A wild impatience tore at her. She grew uneasy, anxious, fretted atthe frightening way that time was slipping past. .. . 

Her radiance vanished, her smile was nervous, forced, as she sat ather table of honor, amid the circle of her friends, with a linkedwreath of candelabra sending its sparkle of lights over the youngfaces and jewel-clasped throats, over the glittering silver on thewhite satin cloth among the drift of pink and white rose petals. 

She began to bite her lips nervously. .. She did not hear what herbridesmaids were chattering about . .. Her eyes went often, with thatstealth that invites regard, to the tiny platinum and diamond watchupon her wrist. 

Would they never finish? Would they never be free? She wondered ifshe dared feign an illness to rise and leave them; but no, thatwould mean solicitude, companions. .. . 

And now the slaves were bringing still another round of trays. .. . 

Oh, hurry, hurry, her tightening nerves besought. 

At last! The older women were going. Not even for a wedding wouldthey deeply infringe upon that rule which keeps the Moslem womenindoors after the sun has set. Ceremoniously each made to the brideher adieux and good wishes, and ceremoniously a franticallyimpatient Aimée returned the formal thanks due for "assistance atthe humble fête. "

She did not see that black mantle anywhere. 

Her heart sank. Stupid, she told herself with quivering lips, todream that he could dare to linger, that he had any way to get herout. By help he meant no more than getting letters to France forher. .. . And yet his eyes when they had met hers. .. . Surely he hadmeant--but when she had disappeared from the reception room toattend the supper, when there seemed no way of speaking again toher, and all the outsiders, all but the invited guests weredeparted, he had been, obliged to go, too. 

Perhaps some one had begun to notice him. .. . She wondered if he hadbeen careful about his shoes, his hands. .. . How had he managed aboutthe dress anyway?

And then she remembered that girl, that pretty American with theruddy hair to whom she had seen him talking, and she conjecturedthat there was feminine aid and confidence. .. . 

A wave of bitterness swept over her. He had told that girl abouther--he knew that girl well enough to tell her! And perhaps he wasonly sorry for the poor little French girl in the Turkish harem, perhaps they were _both_ sorry. .. . 

Had he told that girl, she thought with bitter mutiny, that he hadkissed her?

That girl must have been very sure of him not to be jealous of hisinterest in herself!

And now they could be somewhere together, perhaps talking her over, while she was here . .. Here forever. .. . 

She was so white now, so silent, so distrait, that all the chatterof the younger girls who were lingering around her could not dispelthe feeling of depression. They cast covert glances of discomfort ateach other, begged for more music from the orchestra, tallied withan effort of the size and spaciousness of the palace and themagnificence of the feast. 

She had told herself that she had ceased to hope. She did not knowhow false it was until the eunuch brought his message. Then hopereally died. 

The general was below and begged to be announced to madame. 

"We fly!" whispered a lingerer with nervous laughter, and hastilythe young people hurried into their tcharchafs and veils, murmuringamong themselves, with sidelong glances at that white figure whosecold hand and cheek they had just touched, hastily they sped, likelight-footed nymphs in some witches' robes, down the long room, while Madame de Coulevain drew back a strand of the girl's dark hairand murmured, "But smile, my dear, " to the still figure and escapedwith the guests. 

And then Aimée was alone in the great room, deserted of its throngs, a darkening room, full of burned-down candles and fallen flowerpetals, with here and there the traces of the revelers, a scentedhandkerchief . .. A fan . .. A buckle from some French slipper . .. Ora feather from some ancient turban clasp. .. . 

Like the ghost of some deserted queen, with her regal satins andglittering circlet, she waited. There was a moment of grace in whichshe tried, to turn a gallant face toward the next moment. 

Then he came, advancing. .. . It may have been her distorted fancy, but down the long perspective, that figure looked more mincing, morewaspish, more unreal than ever. And she was conscious of that swiftrising of dislike, of antagonism touched with reasonless fear. 

CHAPTER XIII

THE BEY RETURNS

He kissed her hands. She caught the murmur of compliments and themingled scent of musk and wine. He had been dining at his receptionfor the men, but he called now for a table and more refreshment. 

A small table was brought to the end of the room near the marriagethrone where all the day she had paraded; a richly embroidered clothof satin was flung over it, and from crowding candelabra freshlights shed down a little circle of brilliance. 

Faintly Aimée protested that eat she could not, and then she made afeint of eating, lingering over her sherbets, because eating was, after all, so safe and uncomplicated a thing. 

The black brought champagne in its jacket of ice and filled theirglasses. 

The general rose. "_À notre bonheur_--to our happiness, " hedeclared, holding out his glass, and she clinked her own to it andbrought her lips to touch the brim, but not to that toast could sheswallow a single one of the bubbles that went winking up and downthe hollow stem. 

The glass trembled suddenly in her hand as she set it down. Anoverpowering sense of fatigue was upon her. With the death of herpoor hope, with the collapse of all those flighty, childish dreams, the leaden weight of realities seemed to descend crushingly uponher. She felt stricken, inert, apathetic. 

It was all so unreal, so bizarre. This could not possibly be takingplace in her life, this fantastic scene, this table set with lightsand food at the end of a dark, deserted old room opposite thisgrimacing, foppish stranger. .. . 

She could barely master strength for her replies. How had it allgone? Excellently? She was satisfied with her new home? With theservice? The appointments?

He plied her with questions and she tried to summon her spirit: sheachieved a few perfunctory phrases, the words of a frightened childstruggling for its manners. She tried to smile, unconscious of thebetrayal of her eyes. 

He told her, sketchily, of his day. A bore, those affairs, thosespeeches, he told her, gazing at her, his wine glass in his hand, aflush of wine and excitement in his face. She found it unpleasant tolook at him. Her glance evaded his. 

She stammered a word of praise for the palace. It must be veryancient, she told him. Very--interesting. 

He waved a hand on which an enormous ruby glittered. He could tellher stories of it, he promised. It had been built by one of theMamelukes, his ancestor. Its old banqueting hall was stilluntouched--the collectors would give much to rifle that, but theywould never get their sharks' noses in. Nothing had been changed, but something added. Once the Mad Khedive had borrowed it for someyears and begun his eternal additions. 

"Forty girls, they say, he kept here, " smiled Hamdi Bey. "Theygulped their pleasure, in those days. It is better to sip, is itnot?"

He smiled. "But these are no stories for a bride! I only trust thatyou will not find your palace dull. It is very quiet now, very muchof the old school. You may miss your pianos, your electricity, allyour pretty Parisian modernity. "

She glanced at the glittering table. 

"But I do not find this so--so much of the old school. Here one doesnot eat rice with the fingers!"

"And I?" said the bey, leaning suddenly towards her on his outspreadarm. "Do you find me too much of the old school? Eh? eh?"

"But you, monsieur, " she stammered, still looking down, "you--I donot know you--not yet. "

"Not--yet. Excellent! There will be time. "

"I confess that now I am weary--"

"Ah, --and that diadem is heavy. Your head must ache with it, " hesaid solicitously. 

Perhaps it was the diadem that gave her that leaden, constrictedsense of a band tightening about her forehead. She put up her handsto it. 

"Permit me, " he said quickly, springing to his feet. "Permit me toaid you. "

He stepped behind her and bent over her. She held her head verystill, stiff with distaste, and felt the weight lifted. He surveyedthe circlet a moment then placed it upon the marriage throne behindher. She had an ironic memory of the false omen of her crowning, ofsoft, satisfied little Ghul-al-Din's bestowal of her ownhappiness. .. . Happiness, indeed. .. . 

"And that veil--surely that is incommoding?" suggested the suavevoice, and she felt the touch of his hands on her hair where themisty veil was secured. 

She stammered that it was quite light--she would not trouble him--

Then she held herself rigid, for suddenly he had swept the veilaside and bent to press his lips to that most hidden of all veiledsanctities, for a Moslem, the back of her neck. 

She did not stir. She sat fixed and tense. Then slowly the bloodcame back to her heart, for he was moving away from her again to hisplace at the table. 

Laughing a little, pulling at his blond mustache in a gesture ofconquest, his kindling eyes glinting down at her, "You must forgivethe precipitateness--of a lover, " he murmured. "You do not know yourown beauty. You are like a crystal in which the world has thrown noreflections. All is pure and transparent--"

If she did not find words to answer him, to divert his admiration, she felt that she was lost. 

"You are not complimentary--a bit of glass, monsieur, instead of adiamond! But I am too weary to be exacting. .. . If now, you willpermit me to bid you good evening and withdraw--"

"Little trembler, " said the general facetiously, and reached out ahand to touch her cheek, the light, reassuring caress that one mightgive a petted child, but it almost brought a cry of nervous terrorfrom her lips. 

She thought that if he touched her again she would scream. Heinspired her with a horrible fear. There was something so false, sosmiling in him. .. He was like an ogre sitting down to a delicatedish of her young innocence, her childish terrors, her frankfears. .. . 

She could not have told why she found him so horrible, buteverything in her shrank convulsively from him. 

And the need of courtesy to him, of propititation--!

The cup was bitterer than her darkest dreams. .. . She wondered howmany other women had drained such deadly brews. .. Had sat in suchghastly despair, before some other bridegroom, affable, confident, masterful. .. . 

She told herself that she was overwrought, hysterical. The man wascourteous. He was trying to be agreeable, to make a little expectedlove. He had drank a little too much--another time she might findhim different. He was probably no worse than any other man of herworld. 

It was not in her world, each young Turkish girl said in those days, that one could find love. 

But it was _not_ her world! It was an alien world, enforced, imprisoning. .. . That was the bitterest gall of all the deadly cup. 

"There is no need for haste, " he was assuring her. "In a moment Iwill call your woman. Fatima, her name is, an old slave of ourhouse. "

"I could wish, " said Aimée, "that I had been permitted to bring myold nurse, Miriam, without whom I feel strange--"

"No old nurses--I know their wiles, " laughed the bey, setting downhis drained cup with a wavering hand. "They are never for thehusbands, those old nurses--we will have no old trot's tricks here!"

He laughed again. "This Fatima is a watch dog, I warn you, my littleone . .. But if she does not please you, we can find another. And asfor the rooms--I have assigned this suite to you, the suite ofhonor. This is the salon, and there, " he pointed to a curtained doorbehind them, opening into a small room that Aimée had already seen, "there is your boudoir and beyond that, your sleeping apartment. Ihave had them done over for you, but you shall choose your ownfurnishings--everything shall be to your taste, I promise you. Youare too sweet to deny. You have but to ask--"

Certainly, she thought, he was drunk. He moved his head so jerkilyand his whole body swayed so queerly. Desperately she fought againsther horror. Perhaps it was better for him to be drunk. 

Drunken men grow sleepy. Perhaps he would fall down and sleep. Perhaps she ought to urge him to drink. Long ago the black had leftthe bottle at his elbow and gone out of his room. 

But she did not move. She sat back in her chair, withdrawn andshrinking, watching him out of those dark, terrified eyes. 

"You are beautiful as dreams, " he told her, leaning towards her withsuch abruptness that his sword struck clankingly against the table. "Beyond even the words of my babbling cousin--eh, Allah rewardher!--but she did me a good turn with her talk of you!"

Fixedly he stared at her, out of those intent, inflamed eyes. 

"I did not know that there was anything like you in the harems ofCairo. You are like a vision of the old poets--but I suppose thatyou do not know the ancient poetry. You little moderns are broughtup upon French and English and music and know little of the Arabicand the Persian. .. . I daresay that you have never heard of the poetUtayyah. "

Still leaning towards her he began to intone the stanzas in a veryfair tenor voice, and if his movements were at all unsteady, hisspeech was most precise and accurate. 

 "From her radiance the sun taketh increase when She unveileth and shameth the moonlight bright. "

He chuckled. .. . "Ah, I shall put the triple veil upon you, my littlemoon. .. . How Is this one?

 "'On Sun and Moon of Palace cast thy sight, Enjoy her flower-like face, her fragrant light, Thine eyes shall never see in hair so black Beauty encase a brow so purely white. '"

He got up and drew his chair closer to her. "That is the song foryou, little white rose of beauty. "

Back went her own chair, and she rose to her feet. 

"I thank you for the compliment, monsieur. But now have I yourpermission to retire? For it has been a long day and I am indeedfatigued--"

To her vexation her voice was trembling, but she steadied itproudly. 

"I bid you good evening. "

"Nonsense, my little white rose. This is not so fatiguing--a fewwords more. But you are like the flower that flies before thewind. .. . But your room, yes, to be sure. Shall I show you the way?"

"I can discover it, monsieur. "

"Monsieur--fie on you, my little dove. .. . Hamdi, I tell you, yourlover Hamdi. "

He laughed unsteadily, and put a hand on her arm. "You are runningaway, I know that. And I have so much to tell you . .. Oh, it wastedious in that villa of your father's! 'Yes, ' I thought to myself, 'that is a fine story, a funny story, but I have heard them allbefore. And you are in no haste, you revelers--you have no littlebride waiting for you at home. '. .. That one glance at you--I tell youit was the glance of which the poet sings--the glance that cost hima thousand sighs. I was on fire with impatience. .. . For I ambeauty's slave, little dove. .. . You may have heard--but no matter. Awife must be a pearl unspotted. .. . I am not as the English who taketheir wives from the highways, where all men's glances have restedupon them. Have I not been at their balls? Their women dance inother men's arms. They marry wives whose hands other men havepressed. Sometimes--who knows?--their lips have been kissed. .. . Andthen a husband takes her. .. . Oh, many thanks!"

He laughed sardonically and waved his hands a little wildly. "Oh, Iknow English--all the Europeans. I have seen their women. I haveseen them selling their wares--stripping themselves half bare in theevenings, the shameless--For me, never! My wife is a hiddentreasure. You know what the poet says:

 "'An' there be one who shares with me her love I'd strangle Love tho' Life by Love were slain, Saying, O Soul, Death were the nobler choice, For ill is Love when shared twixt partners twain. '"

"You are fond of your poets, " said Aimée with stiff lips. 

"You--you kindle poetic fires, my little one. You--I--" He stammereda moment, then forgot his fierce speech against foreign ways. "Youhave the raven hair--"

His hand went out to it. He smoothed it back out of her eyes, thentried to draw her to him. 

Desperately she resisted. "Monsieur, one does not expect agentleman--"

"Expect! Ho--what should one expect when a man has such a littlesweetmeat, such a little syrup drop, such a rose petal--Come, come, you would not struggle--"

But it was not the struggling hand of the frightened girl that sentthe general back. 

It was a brown, sinewy hand on his shoulder, a hand protruding froma well tailored gray sleeve and lilac striped cuff, that caughtHamdi Bey by the epauleted shoulder and sent him spinning about. 

Another hand was holding a revolver very directly at him. 

"Silence!" said Jack Ryder in his best Turkish and repeated it, withamplification, in English. "Not a sound--or I'll blow your headoff. "

Aimée gave a strangled gasp. 

He had not gone, then! He had hidden there, in some nook of thatboudoir behind those shadowy curtains, waiting to protect her, torescue. .. . 

Over one arm he had the black mantle and veil, "Better put theseon, " he suggested, without taking his eyes from the rigid bey, "andthen run for it. "

"But you--you--?"

"I'll take care of myself. After you are out of the way. Dare youtry that? Or what do you suggest?"

"Oh, not alone. Together--"

"So--so--" said Hamdi Bey inarticulately, his head nodded, hestaggered, his knees gave way and he crumpled very completely uponthe floor, and lay like a felled log. 

After a quick look down at him Ryder turned to Aimée. "Quick, then. We'll make a run for it--"

He did not finish. Hamdi Bey, upon the floor, fallen half under thefolds of the white cloth, made a swift and very expert roll anddarted to his feet beside Aimée, whirling her about, with pinionedelbows, for his shield. 

And so screened, he gave a shrill whistle. 

CHAPTER XIV

WITHIN THE WALLS

Ryder sprang forward, trying to reach the bey, but he dodgedskillfully; his holding Aimée blocked Ryder in his attack. 

He knew that high, peculiar whistle had been a signal, a call foraid, and he flung a lightning glance down that long room, tighteninghis hold on the revolver--but he did not see the small door thatopened in the shadowy paneling behind him, nor the shadow that grewinto the gorilla-like shape of the black as it launched itselfthrough the air upon his back. 

He only heard Aimée's scream, and then before the crashing weightupon his shoulders he staggered and went down. 

The bey flung Aimée aside and rushed upon the prostrate figure, kicking the revolver from the outspread hand. The black kneltswiftly down, unfastening his silken sash. 

Giddily the room whirled about Aimée. .. . In the candle light, leaping in the rush of conflict, she saw the bey and the black, andtheir distorted shadows in a goblin blur. .. . And beneath them shesaw Ryder, helpless, his hands and feet pinioned. .. . With themadness of despair she rushed forward, but the general interceptedher. 

"He is quite helpless. .. . You need not be alarmed for my safety, madame!"

The cold, biting fury of his voice steadied her. She saw his facewas distorted, livid with anger. His breathing was stertorous. 

She stood helplessly by the table; the general turned and lookeddown upon the face of the man who had dared to violate the sanctityof his harem and attempt to steal his bride; beyond the man's headYussuf, the black, was squatting with a grinning, dog-likewatchfulness. 

But Ryder did not require watching. That sash had been tied stronglyabout his hands and feet. He was as helpless as a baby. 

But the peculiar flavor of his helplessness was not so much fearbefore the fanatic fury of this man he had outraged, although he hada clear notion that his position was not enviably secure, but abitter, black chagrin. 

To have had the game in his hands and have bungled it! To have beensurprised by that simple strategy, taken off his guard by a feignedcollapse! The wily old Turk for all his champagne had the clearer, quicker brain. .. . 

To have let him get to Aimée and call in his black! To have beenthrown, disarmed. .. . It was crass stupidity. It was outrageousmismanagement, abominable, maddening. .. . 

And Aimée must pay for it. He tried to think very quickly what couldbest clear her. 

He fixed his eyes on those glittering eyes, staring down upon him. 

"I realize I owe you an explanation, " he said grimly. "If you willlet me tell you--"

The bey turned to Aimée with a smile that was the lifting of a lipand the distention of his nostrils. 

"This fool thinks he has the time to talk--his English. "

Desperately Ryder grasped for his vernacular. "I want to tellyou--why I came. This--this young lady doesn't know me. "

Past the general he shot a look of warning at the girl. 

"I was trying to get hold of her for her family in France--She isreally a French girl. Tewfick Pasha is not her father but her--"he could not find the word and dropped into English. "Herstep-father--do you understand? And he had no business to marry heroff, so I tried to steal her for the French family. It was a madattempt which has failed--but for which the young lady should not beblamed. She had never seen me before. She had no idea I was here. "

After a pause, "A remarkable story, " said the general distinctly. Heturned about to the table and drank off the last of a glass ofchampagne, then wiped his mouth with the back of a hand thattrembled. 

He turned back to stand over his prostrate invader. "Now, you--youdog of Satan, " he snarled in a sudden snapping of restraint, "howdid you get here? Who admitted you?"

And at that, for all his trussed and helpless plight, Jack Rydergrinned. He moved his head slightly. "That blackbird of yours here. "

"Yussuf--never!"

"The very one. But he didn't know it--I was in that blackmantle--and veil. "

"Oh, the mantle, I had forgot. So you stole in, disguised, toviolate my hospitality, to outrage my harem, to gaze upon theforbidden faces of women and to steal the bride--"

"I tell you I was trying to rescue the girl for her French family. She _is_ French and Tewfick Pasha is only--"

"And what is that to me? Do I--" the bey broke off and then turnedto the silent girl who stood leaning towards them, a trembling ghostin white. 

"And you, my little one, " he murmured sardonically with a savageirony of restraint, "you, the little dove secluded from the world, who trembled at a kiss, the crystal vase who had never reflected theblush of love, whose virginal praises I was chanting when I was sooddly assaulted, do you support this idiot's story?"

Mechanically her head moved in assent, her eyes, dilated with fear, were like the dark, fascinated eyes of some helpless bird. 

"You never saw this young man?" the bey pursued. "And yet you wereready to run off with him--a pretty character you give yourself, mysnowdrop!--and you liked his eyes and hastened to obey?"

Aimée was silent. From his ignominy upon the floor Ryder hastened tointerpose. 

"It is true she had never seen me, but I had already written to herand acquainted her with the story. I tried to reach her firstthrough her father but that was useless so I resorted to thesedesperate means. "

"Oh you wrote! And you told her you would be here, and murder herhusband--"

"I told her nothing of the kind. She didn't know that I was cominguntil I spoke to her here, and then she had no idea that I was goingto wait and carry her off--"

"In the name of Allah! Do you take me for a dolt, an ass? You, withyour writing and your masquerade and your secrets! Do any familiestry to recover their relatives with such means? Daughter orstep-daughter, it is nothing to me--"

"But it is true, " Aimée insisted, in a trembling voice. "My fatherwas Paul Delcassé--"

"_Yahrak Kiddisak man rabbabk_--curse the man who brought thee up!Delcassé or devil, it is Tewfick Pasha who is your step-father, yourguardian, who gave you to me for wife--what has your genealogy todo with this affront upon my honor?"

"But he did not intend to affront your honor--only to aid the familyin France--"

"I ask you again, do I resemble an ass that you should put such aburden of lies upon me? As if I did not know why young men riskedtheir lives, in the dead of night, in other men's rooms! If I didnot know what turns their brains to mush and their hearts to leadingstrings! And you--you--you little white rose of seclusion--!"

His venom leaped out at her in his voice. It was a terrible voice, the cold, grating menace of a madman. 

"You, who had never seen this man but who fluttered to him like awhite moth to a fire, you who cowered from your husband's hand butwho turned to follow this strange dog into the streets--there willbe care taken of you later. But now--you complained of fatigue. Surely this scene is overtaxing for your delicacy. If you will cometo your rooms--"

She drew back from the hand he laid upon her. "Do not injure him!By Allah's truth! He is rash, mad, but a stranger. He did notknow--"

"He needs enlightenment. He needs to learn that a nobleman's haremis not a café of dancing girls, where all may enter and stare andfondle. _Bismallah_--he shall learn!. .. And now come--"

"I shall not go, " she said breathlessly. 

"What--struggle? But your father has been strangely remiss with hisdiscipline. .. . Permit me. "

His hand tightened in a grasp of iron. 

"My train is caught, " she said in a tone of sudden pettishness; shestooped to lift it with her hand that was free. 

"My train--!" he mimicked her in a quivering falsetto. "Have a careof my frock--do not crush my chiffons. .. . And these are the womenfor whom men break their heads and hearts!"

"I tell you, sir, " came urgently from Ryder, "that the girl isinnocent of all--"

"Keep your tongue from her name--and your eyes from her face!. .. Come, madame. "

With his iron grasp on her elbow he thrust her towards the boudoirat the end of the drawing-room, behind whose curtains Ryder had solong been hiding. 

The chamber was in darkness, lighted only by a pale gleam from theother room. Aimée stumbled across the rug and found herself upon ahuge divan against a window screen. 

"Fatima is in the next room to come at a call. But perhaps you wouldprefer to wait for me alone? I shall not be long. "

Desperately she caught at his arm, imploring, "I beg you, monsieur. He has done no real harm. Let him go. He is a stranger--hedid not know. And he will never trouble you again. I will doanything--everything you desire--if only you will not injure him--"

"You trouble yourself strangely for a stranger. "

"He is a stranger in danger for my sake. For it was in his duty tomy--my family--" her trembling lips stumbled over the ridiculouslies, "that he has blundered into this. He has no idea how shockinga thing he has--"

"And you had no idea, either, I suppose. You had never heard ofhonor or treachery or--"

"I was wrong, oh, I was wrong! I did want to go to France--I own it. And I was not ready for marriage. And I had heard that you--I wasafraid. But now--if you will let him go for my sake, if you will notvisit my sins upon him, oh, I should be so grateful--so gratefulthat anything I can ever do--"

"But you will be grateful, anyway, my little blossom. I promise youthat you will learn to be very grateful--"

"It is easier to die than to learn to love a hated one, " shereminded him softly, leaning towards him. "I can die very willingly, monsieur. .. . And you would not want a wife before whom there wasalways an object of terror--"

Through the dusk her great eyes sought his. 

"Be generous--and harm him not, " she breathed. "I beg of you, Iimplore--"

"And if I am--lenient--you will always be grateful?"

Mutely she nodded, her eyes trying pitifully to read that shadowymask of mockery he turned towards her. 

"And how grateful could you be, little dove?"

Pitifully she smiled. 

"Could you, " he murmured, "could you learn to kiss?"

He leaned nearer and involuntarily she shrank back. Faintly, "Atthis moment--I beg of you, monsieur--"

"Oh, if it is to be an affair of moments! We shall never find theright one. But you were so full of promises--"

"I will do anything, " said Aimée, convulsively, "if you will promiseme--"

"Come, then a kiss. A peck from my little dove. "

She looked at him out of wretched eyes. 

"And you promise to free him, not to hurt him--"

"I promise not to hurt a hair of his head. Come, that is generous, isn't it? As to freeing him--h'm--that is for later. Perhaps, if youare very good. A kiss then. .. And later. .. . "

He bent over her. She shut her eyes and heard the taunt of hislaugh. She kissed him, and he laughed again. 

"What is it the Afghan poets say? 'Kissed lips lose no sweetness, but renew their freshness with the moon. ' Certainly if you have everbeen kissed, little bud, you have lost no dew. .. . Delicious. .. . Ishall hurry back. "

He cast a hard look down at her as she sat there, her arms droopingat her sides. He looked about the room as if consideringly, thennodded at an unseen door at the right. 

"Fatima is there if you want lights or assistance. .. . And Alsamit, Yussuf's brother, is at the other door beyond. Do not stir, littlebird. I shall be back very soon. "

"And he--you promised--"

"I shall not hurt a hair of his head. "

But he was smiling evilly in the darkness as he drew shut the doorand returned to the bound figure by the guarding black. 

For a moment he stood silent, considering, while Yussuf looked upwith glistening-eyed intentness like an eager dog ready for the wordof attack. 

Then in hasty Turkish the general gave his directions and the blacknodded and strode to a portière, jerking it down, which he wrappedabout Ryder's helpless form. 

Then he hoisted his burden over his huge shoulder and bore it onafter the general. 

Across the great room they went and down the long stairs up whichthat day a most complacent Hamdi Bey had escorted his just-glimpsedbride. 

Now at the bottom of the stairs a shadowy figure of a sleepingeunuch was stretched. 

Hamdi Bey spoke sharply, giving a quick order. The black scrambledto his feet, yawned, nodded, and strode away into the main vestibuleand out into the garden to investigate a shadow which the generalhad just reported, and when he was out of sight the general andYussuf, with his unwieldy burden, came quietly down the stairs andturned back into a long, dark hall. 

For a moment they paused outside a wide, many-columned banquetingroom, and there Hamdi Bey stood listening, straining attentive earsfor the faint sounds from the service quarters on the other side ofthe room. He caught the guttural of a half inaudible voice, and thewash of water and clink of a dish, showing that the belated work ofthe reception was going draggingly on, but it was all far away andinvisible. 

Satisfied he went on a few steps to a pointed door set in the heavystone. From a nail he took down a lantern of heavy, fretted brassand lighted it, not without some difficulty, for his hands werestill trembling. Then he took from the black a cumbersome key whichhe fitted into the lock and turned heavily. 

Drawing back the door he motioned Yussuf ahead, and followed, drawing the door shut. Down a steep, stone spiral stair they went, and at the bottom, at the general's order, the black set Ryder downfrom his shoulder and flung aside the portière. 

From its muffling folds Ryder looked out bewilderedly into thedarkness about him, illumined only by the yellow flare of theancient lantern. The general cautioned him to silence while Yussufknelt and untied the strip that bound his feet, then, his arms stillbound, he was ordered to march on before them. 

This, he said to himself, as he silently obeyed that order, thisreally was the time to pinch himself and wake up! Of all the dark, eerie nightmares! This slow procession through these undergroundhalls, the giant black on his heels, the general's lantern throwingits flickering rays over the huge, seamed blocks of granitefoundations. 

It made him think of the Catacombs. It made him think of theSerapeum. It made him think of those damp, tortuous underground waysof the Villa Bordoni. .. . 

They seemed to be in the wine cellars. He saw bins and barrels andbarred vaults that would have done credit to an English squire, andhe reflected fleetly that wine bibbing was forbidden to Mohammedansand that Hamdi Bey was a fanatic Moslem. .. . Then he saw open spacesof ancient stuffs, broken tables and dismantled caiques and a brokenoar. His earlier observation of the palace had told him that it hada water gate and he thought now that they might be near someopening. 

He wondered if they were going to throw him, pinioned, into theriver. He wouldn't put it past this livid, silent, shaking man--andyet the thing appeared so impossible, so theatric, so utterlyunrelated to any of the ways that he, Jack Ryder, might be expectedto end his days, that it couldn't possibly send more than a shiverof speculation down his spine. 

And yet men _had_ been thrown into rivers--this very river. And menhad disappeared from just such palaces as this. There was the storyabout young Monkton. He knew it perfectly; he had reminded himselfof it the last evening while he reflected upon this escapade, but hehad never actually appreciated the peculiar poignancy of the thinguntil now. 

Monkton had met--so rumor reported--a Turkish lady of position, flirted with her, it was said, while on horseback outside her motorwhen caught in the crush at Kasr-el-Nil bridge. There had been ameeting or two in the back of shops, and then he had boasted, lightheartedly, of a design to take tea in her harem. 

He had never boasted about the tea. No one had ever seen Monktonagain and he was generally reported, after a stifled inquiry, tohave been thrown from his horse in the desert, or spilled out of hissailing canoe. 

The government, English or Egyptian, assumed no interest in thematter of gentlemen found in other gentlemen's harems. 

There were other stories, too. There was one of a little Vienneseactress who after a dramatic escape reported a whole winter ofcaptivity in one of these old palaces, and there was a vaguer rumorof a rash young American girl, detained for days. .. . 

Ryder had always known these stories. They were part of the gossipand thrill of Cairo. But he had never till now realized howexquisitely possible was their occurrence. 

Anything, everything might happen in these hidden, secret chambers. These Turks were as much masters here as their old predecessors whohad reared these stones. This black upon his heels might have beenthe grinning, faithful executioner of some Khedive or Caliph--hemight have been the very Masrur, the Sworder of Vengeance of AlRaschid. 

He told himself that it was no time to think of the past. Hisbusiness--acutely--was the present. If only he could get his handsuntied! If only he could get those untied hands upon that demoniacTurk!

But, strain as he could upon the knots, they held. 

It seemed to him that they had been walking for an interminabledistance, in odd, roundabout ways. Once they had stopped and he hadinvoluntarily glanced back over his shoulder, but at a word from thegeneral he had kept his head forward again, while he heard the blackbehind him gathering something that clinked. Later, a stolen glancehad revealed the eunuch with some tools in one hand and bag slungover his shoulder. 

The bag disquieted him. Bags filled a foreboding place in theEastern literature of vengeance. He wondered if he were to go intothe river in that bag, with the tools for weight. 

He decided, feeling now a very odd and definite disturbance in theregion of his stomach, that he would tell that general that he was acousin of the late Lord Cromer and a nephew of Lord Kitchener. Something insistent would have to be done about this. 

They were passing now through a strange, open space, between oldarches that for an instant arrested his excavator's interest. He sawin the shadows about them, a crumpled, crumbling dome and brokenshafts, with half a wall of masonry pierced with Arabesques. Tracesof old ruins, fragments of some old, forgotten mosque over which thepalace had spread its foundations in bygone days. .. . Buriedtreasure, looted, some of it, for the palace overhead, but stillrare and lovely. .. . That was a gleam of lapis lazuli that winked athim from the crumbling mortar under his feet. 

Then they were between other walls, not crumbling ones, but thesolid, pillared blocks of the palace masonry with here and therebroad arches of old brick. 

They stopped. Between two arches the general held his lantern high, flashing it over the surface while Yussuf swung down his sack andknocked with the handle of his tool. 

Suddenly he stopped and looked at his master, nodding cheerfully. The general lowered his light and stepped back and Yussuf reared thepickaxe in his powerful arms and sent it dexterously at the wall, between two broken bits of brick. 

It caught, and sent the mortar spraying; another blow and anotherloosened a hole in which the black inserted a short iron and begannervously grinding and prying. 

Ryder, watching with oppressed and helpless fury, saw the bricks atlast break and tumble faster and faster in a cloud of dust, and sawa pocket in the wall become revealed, a long, upright niche, thesize, perhaps, of a man's coffin, on end. 

He tried, very suddenly, to talk. His tongue felt thick and swollenand there seemed no words in all the world to fit his need ofovercoming this fanatic madman, --and after all, he had no chance forthem, for Yussuf, with a huge palm upon his mouth, urged himsuddenly backwards towards that horrible niche. 

"Gently, Yussuf, gently, " said the general, suavely and with a slowdistinctness that was for Ryder's ears. "I gave my word that I wouldnot hurt a hair of his head--"

Grinning, the black lifted him over the remaining wall, and set himdown into the niche, leaving him standing in there like a helplessstatue, tasting to the full fury of his heart the bitterness of hishelplessness and the ludicrous impotence of all struggle. 

"Good God, sir, you must be mad, " he said in a strained sharpvoice that his ears would not have known as his own. "Do yourealize--there will be an inquiry--there is such a thing as law--"

It seemed to him that he talked, in English and stammering Arabic, for a long time. The black was kneeling, out of sight, stooping overa basin of water and his abominable sack, and Ryder was facing thatsilent, sardonic face, with its fantastic mustache, its evil, gloating eyes. .. . 

He stopped for very shame. The man was mad. Mad and drunk--and therewas no appeal from Philip drunk to Philip sober. .. . Mad or drunk, hehad devised his vengeance shrewdly. 

Upon Ryder's helpless body a cold sweat of incredulous horror brokesoftly out. 

At his feet he heard the black beginning to fit his bricks andsmooth his mortar. 

"You do well to save your breath, " said Hamdi Bey at last, as Ryderstill stood silent. "You will need it in this chamber I amproviding. .. . But it may be, " he said thoughtfully, "that yourbreath will last your need. Thirst may be the more impatient for hervictim; they tell me thirst is an obtrusive visitor. As you were, this evening. .. . Still, why do you not cry out a little? It willamuse my black. "

Yes, this was real, Ryder reminded himself. And these things couldhappen--had happened. He remembered suddenly the hideous scene, outside the dungeons, in "Francesca da Rimini, " when that bestialbrother goes in to the helpless prisoners. He remembered the sickhorror of those groans. .. . 

He remembered also various excursions of his in the Tower of Londonand the Seigniory of Florence, and the sight of old rings and stakesand racks and the feeling of their total unrelatedness to everyactuality. 

And yet they had happened. And this thing, for all its fantasticmedieval horror, was happening. Brick by brick the imprisoning wallwas rising. Brick by brick it intervened between him and sane, sensible, happy, normal life. 

Eye for eye he gave the general back his look. He had alwayswondered about the poor devils in underground torture chambers. Hadwondered how they had the stuff to hold out, against such odds, forsome belief, some information. .. . Now he knew the stiffening stuffof a personal hate, upholding to the very grave. .. . 

That sardonic, devil's face. .. . That face which was going backupstairs to Aimée. .. . But he must not think of that or he shouldgive way and begin to babble, to plead. .. . He must simply stand andmeet that glance. .. . 

And there came the incredible, insane moment when Ryder looked outon that face through one last breathing space, and then saw thefitted brick, settled into place, blot the world to darkness beforehis eyes. 

CHAPTER XV

UNDERGROUND

Alone in the gloom of that strange room, Aimée sat rigid. Listening. Not a sound, beyond the closed door, from the long drawing room. Nota sound, beyond the other door, from the room where the slave, Fatima, waited to assist in her disrobing. 

Silence everywhere--save for a low lapping of water against themasonry beneath her windows. 

The palace was on the river, then, or on some old backwater. Sheremembered glimpses of dark canals on her drive that morning--had itonly been that morning? The sound of that soft, hidden water addedto her feeling of isolation and remoteness from everything that hadbeen her life before--she thought fleetingly, almost indifferentlyof her friends, Azima, who to-day had crowned her for happiness, andfond, foolish old Miriam and Madame de Coulevain and Tewfick Pasha, weakly cruel, but amiable; she thought of them all, as unrealfigures from whom she had long taken leave. 

The old life was over. It had died for her when she passed throughthe dark doorway and met that arrogant, sardonic, fatuous man, themaster of this palace. .. . 

Or more truly that old life had died for her when she had flung ablack mantle about her chiffon frock and a street veil across hersparkling face and had stolen, daring and breathless, into thelights and revelry of that hotel masquerade. There, when she hadshrunk back from the Harlequin and had looked up to meet thekindling glance of that mask in tartans--yes, there, the old lifehad died for her forever if only she had known it. 

And now--she would only like to die, too, she thought miserably, after she had been assured of Ryder's safety. She was tense withfear for him, distrusting in every fiber the assurance of thatfanatic, outraged Turk. 

She was not utterly resourceless. When Ryder's revolver had droppedto the floor she had maneuvered, unseen by Hamdi Bey, to get hertrain over it, and when she had stooped for her train her one freehand had closed over the revolver handle beneath the satin and lace. 

Now the revolver lay on the divan, and very eagerly she drew it out, feeling it in the darkness, curling her finger about the trigger. Never in her life had she fired a shot, for her most formidableweapon had been the bows and arrows of the Children's ArcheryContest of the English Club, but she felt in herself now thathighstrung tensity which at all cost would carry her on. 

Carefully she bestowed the small, steel thing in the bosom of herdress, then she stared questioningly at the dress itself, hastilyunpinning the veil, and tying the long train up to her girdle. Then, with a wary glance for the closed door behind which waited thatFatima she dreaded, she stole to the door the general had shut andpressed it softly ajar, peering out into the deserted throne room. 

Like a great cave of darkness the room stretched before her, peopledwith goblin shadows from the dying candles upon the disordered, abandoned table; she saw the chair pushed back where she had risento struggle with the bey, the long folds of white cloth, sweepingthe floor, behind which Hamdi had rolled so agilely; a stain wasstill spreading about an upset glass, and from the overturned coolerthe ice water was dripping, dripping with a steady, sinisterimplication. 

She thought of flight. .. . There was another black, the general hadwarned her, beyond the door, and there would be bars and bolts onany egress from the harem, but with the revolver in her possessionsome desperate escape might be achieved. 

But Ryder. .. . No, the gun was for another purpose. .. . She would notsquander it yet upon herself. .. . 

From the boudoir she moved slowly, carrying one of the giltcandelabra from the table to light the room. She would need lightfor her plan. .. . 

For ages, long, unending ages, she sat there, waiting. .. . A hundredtimes it seemed to her that she could stand no more, that she mustmake her way out at all costs, must discover what fate they weredealing to Ryder, but still she forced herself to sit there, herpulses racing, her heart sick with suspense, but desperatelywaiting. .. . 

She felt a sudden wave of weakness go through her at an advancingstep from the next room. But her chin was up, her eyes fixed anddesperate as the figure of the general appeared in her opening door. 

"Ah, light! This is more cheerful, little one. "

She had risen, half moved towards him. "Is he safe?"

"The stranger? Safe as treasure--buried treasure, little one. "

The bey laughed, and that laughter and the glittering satisfactionof his eyes, filled her with foreboding although his next words camewith smiling reassurance. 

"Not a hair of his head is hurt, I give you my word. "

"But where is he--what have you done?"

"Shut him up, to be sure. Kept him as hostage for your sweethumility--a novel way to win a bride, oh, essence of shyness!"

Malevolently he smiled down at her and in the back of her frightenedmind she realized that this man did well to be angry, that theaffront to him had been immeasurable, and that many a Turk wouldhave simply driven his dagger through the intruder's heart--and herown, too. 

But though she tried to tell herself that there was forbearance inhim, she felt, instinctively, that there was deeper kindness indirect, thrusting fury than in this man's sinister mockery. 

She had sunk back upon the divan on the bey's approach; now as hestood before her with that mask of a smile upon his face, drawing asilk handkerchief across a forehead she saw glistening in thecandlelight, she leaned towards him again, her hands involuntarilyclasping. 

"Monsieur, I seem to have done you a great wrong, " she saidtremblingly, "but it is not so great as you suppose. Will you listento me? I--"

"Useless, useless. " He waved the handkerchief negligently at her. "Ihave had words enough. You are not the daughter of TewfickPasha--you are his step-daughter--your French family desires tocapture you--I know the rigmarole by heart, you observe. And ofcourse when a French family desires to obtain possession of acharming step-daughter, on the eve of her marriage, that familyalways employs a handsome young man to break into the bride'schamber--and point a gun at the husband--"

His mustache lifted in a grimacing sneer. 

"But it _is_ true, and I _am_ French, " she interposed swiftly. 

"Excellent--I do not object in the least. " He shot his handkerchiefup his cuff, and turned to her with eyes that lightly mockedthe agonized appeal of the young face. "French blood isdelightful--quicksilver and champagne. You will enliven me, Ipromise you. "

"But the marriage--it is not legal, monsieur, " she said desperately, summoning all her courage. "Tewfick Pasha has no right to give me toyou--"

Indulgently he smiled down at her, then his narrowed eyes traveledslowly about the room. 

"But this is a strange time--and place!--to talk of legalities. Donot distress yourself--your step-father is your guardian and yourmarriage will be as binding as the oaths of the prophet. Have noqualms. .. . And now, if your French blood will smile a little--"

He started to seat himself beside her, but in that instant she wason her feet. With all the courage in her beating heart she whippedout that revolver and pointed it at him. 

"If you call--I shoot, " she said breathlessly. 

The round mouth of the gun shook ever so slightly in the excitedhand gripping it, but in the blazing look she turned on him was theunshaken, imperious passion of a woman swept absolutely beyond allfear. 

Meeting that look Hamdi Bey stood extremely still and made no sound. 

"There are plenty of shots--for you, at the first noise, and forthe servants, if they come, " she went on in that fierce undertone, and then, passionately, "What did you do to him? Take me to him--atonce!"

Irresolutely the man stood and looked up at her under hishalf-lowered lids. He was near enough for a spring--and yet if thatexcited finger should press. .. . The girl was capable of anything. She was possessed. .. . And men had died of such accidents beforethat. .. . 

"May I speak?" he murmured, in a tone scarcely audible, yetpreserving somehow its flavor of sardonic amusement. 

"Under your breath. One sound, remember--and I am a very good shot. "

"But what a wife, " he sighed. "All the talents--"

"I tell you that I will see him for myself. Take me to him, thismoment--"

"Shall I give orders and have him brought here? He is quite safe, Iassure you. "

"Orders? If you summon a servant I will shoot. No, lead the way, andI will follow you. And if you make one sound--one false move--"

Decidedly the girl was possessed. She stood there like a white imageof war, her hand on that infernal automatic. .. . He hesitated, gnawedhis mustache, then swung sullenly upon his heel. 

Like some fantastic sculpture from an Amazonian triumph, theycrossed the long drawing-room, the erect, gilt-braided generalpreceding, very slowly, the white-clad feminine creature, who heldone hand extended, with something boring almost into his shoulderblades. 

He did not lead her down the long stairs, past the guarding eunuch. He took, instead, an inner way through the late supper room whichled down into the pillared hall of banquets. That way was safe ofservants now; crossing the pillared hall there were no more soundsof late work from the service quarters beyond. Oblivious of the wilddevelopments of that wedding reception, the tired servants, stuffedwith the last pasty, warmed with the last surreptitious drop ofwine, were asleep at last. 

Outside the door in the stone wall the bey took down the lanternwhich so short a time before he had replaced upon its nail andlighted its still smoking wick. He had not restored the key toYussuf, and he drew it now from his pocket and fitted it into thelock, drawing back the door. 

"These stairs are steep, " he murmured. "I hardly like you to descendthem unaided, but if you insist--"

"Go on, " she said imperiously. 

Down he went, and after him she came, following the way he led herdown the long stone underground ways. 

"We have, of course, very pleasant stairs down to our water gate, "he murmured apologetically, "but since you prefer this way--reallynot the way that I would have chosen to have you first explore yourpalace, madame! These, you perceive, are the cellars and oldstorerooms--"

"I do not want you to talk, " she said urgently. 

"But you would not shoot me for it? Only for raising an alarm? Andsurely you cannot be unreasonable about a few words--you must bevery careful, here, this doorway is low--"

It was not past the old ruined mosque, included in the palace'sunderground world, that he was leading her, but down a narrowbranching way, between walls so low that the general's head wasbowed in caution. 

"This part of the palace is very old, " he murmured, over hisshoulder. "An ancestor of mine, Sharyar the Wazir, raised thesewalls during the wars--for the dispensing of that sacred duty ofhospitality which Allah enjoins upon the faithful. It is reportedthat he was host here to fifty of the enemy during their remaininglifetime--although they had the delicacy not to cumber him withoverlong living. It is not, as I said, a pleasant place, but thewalls are strong and so I selected a spot here--"

Here, somewhere, then, in these grim ruins, Ryder was penned, helpless and questioning the to-morrow. The girl trembled withexcitement when she thought of his joy, his deliverance--and at herhands. For their escape she had no plans, only the decision tothrust the gun into his hands and follow him unquestioningly . .. Perhaps they could leave the general in his place and he could wearthe general's uniform for disguise. .. . 

Everything was possible now that she was nearing him and his safetywas at hand. She thrilled with a reanimating excitement that flewits scarlet banners in her cheeks . .. Only a few steps now. .. . 

"Go on, " she said breathlessly. 

The bey had stopped and now flashed his lantern over a low, timbereddoor, studded with ancient nail heads in a design whose artistry didnot arrest her. From a peg beside it he took down a key of brass, fitted it to the lock and turned it with a deliberation maddening toher tense nerves. 

Her heart was beating as if it would burst its bounds. Only a momentor two--

He had trouble with that door. It took his shoulder; at last he setit swinging inward slowly on its creaking hinges. Then he steppedback and with a wave of his hand invited her to enter. 

"Not a chamber of luxury, you understand, but substantial, as youwill see--"

"Go first, " she ordered. 

He laughed. "Ever distrustful, little thorn-of-the-rose! Follow, then, " and he stepped within, into the darkness, which his failinglantern but little illumined, calling out in a louder tone in hishalting English, "A visitor, my friend. A tourist of thesubterranean. "

She had followed him to the threshold, seeing nothing in theblackness but the seamed blocks of stone within the lantern's rays, afraid always to turn her eyes from him or her hand from itsoutstretched pointing. 

He said very quickly to her in Turkish, "If you will wait by thedoor. The floor is bad and there is another lantern, here on thewall--"

At her left he fumbled along the stone wall. She heard him mutter. .. And then reach. .. . And then--she did not know what washappening. For the very ground on which she stood, the solid blockof stone began to slip swiftly beneath her feet--she staggered--andfelt herself falling, falling, into some precipitately openedabyss. .. . 

She gave a wild scream, flinging out her arms in terror, and thencold waters closed above her, and the scream ended in a gurglingcry. 

It was no great distance that she fell. What the dropped stone hadrevealed, answering the signal of the old lever in the wall that thegeneral had pressed, was a stone well, narrow, deep, implanted thereby some ingenious lord of the palace in by-gone days, for the subtleelimination of friend or foe or rival. 

But it was not part of Hamdi's plan to leave the young girl thereand close the obliterating stone. Scarcely had the waters met aboveher head than he was flinging down a rope ladder whose upper endswere fastened to rings in the floor and descending this with swiftagility until the waters reached his waist. 

Then he leaned out and clutched the floating satin bubbling andballooning yet unsubmerged above the stagnant depths and drew ittowards him. As the struggling girl came gasping within his reach, he carried her panting up the ladder again, and laid her down in thedarkness, while he drew up the ladder and closed the stone bypressing that hidden lever. 

But the stone which had dropped so swiftly, was slow and heavy inslipping back in place, and when he turned again to Aimée, she hadceased her choking cough and was sitting up, thrusting back thedripping hair from her black eyes, staring bewilderedly about thegloom as murky as any genie's cave. 

The lantern light was almost out. In its expiring gleams she saw nomore inky water, but only the damp, moss-grown stones, on which apool was widening from her wet garments, and the half-defined figureof the general stooping over to squeeze the streams from his own wetclothes. 

The nightmarish horror of it overwhelmed her. For a moment she couldhave screamed with horror, and then she felt a cold and terribledespair lay its paralyzing hand upon her heart. 

Somewhere, she felt, beneath those secret stones lay Ryder, drowned. .. And she was living, in her helplessness . .. No revolver now. That was gone . .. In the water, perhaps. .. . 

There was no resource, now, no refuge. .. . Strength went out of her, and passive in a dream of evil darkness she felt herself beinghurried, stumblingly, back through the secret corridors and the darkhalls. 

CHAPTER XVI

OUT OF THE DARKNESS

There was no measure of time for Ryder in that walled coffin ofdeath. The seconds seemed hours, the minutes ages. 

He drew quick, short breaths as if economizing the air that was sosoon to fail him; he tugged at his bonds till the veins rose on hisforehead, but the silk held and the confines of the prison permittedhim no room for struggle; then he leaned forward, to press with allhis might upon the bricks before him; he grunted, he sweated withthe agony of his exertions, but not a brick was stirred, not a crackwas made in the mortar that gripped them tighter every instant. 

He died a thousand deaths in the horror that invaded him then. Already he felt strangling, and the painful pumping of his heartseemed the beginning of the end. 

Cold sweat stood out all over him; it ran down his face in tricklingstreams and his body was drenched with that clammy dew of fear. 

He tried to count the minutes, the hours, to estimate how long hewould hold out. .. . 

And then he heard his own voice saying very distinctly and clearlyand dispassionately, "This thing is absurd. "

It was absurd. It was idiotic. It was utterly irrational. It was animpossible end for an able-bodied young American, an excavator of nomean attainments, a young scholar and explorer of twentieth centuryscience, a sane, modern, harmless young man, to die immured in theancient walls of a Turkish palace--because he had invaded a marriagereception and intervened between man and wife. 

Violent death in any form must always appear absurd to the young andenergetic. And the fantastic horror of his death removed itdefinitely from any realm of possibility. The thing simply could nothappen. .. . He thought of the amazement and the incredulity of hisfriends. .. . 

Dangers in plenty they had warned him against, to his youthfulamusement--sand storms and chills and raw fruit and unboiled waters, but they had not warned him against veiled women and the resentmentsof outraged lords and masters. 

He thought of his mother's consternation and dismay. He thought ofhis father's stern amazement. .. . What an awful jolt it would givethem, he reflected, with an irrational tickling of young humor. 

But no, it would not. They would never know. Not a word of this fatewould percolate into the world without. Not a comment upon his trueend would enliven the daily columns of the East Middleton_Monitor_. Never would it regret the tragic and romantic intermentof a young native son of talent, buried alive by a revengefulgeneral of the Sultan. .. . 

He amused himself by writing the paragraph that would never bewritten. Then he told himself that he was lightheaded and hystericaland that he had better wonder what would actually be written. Whatexplanation would be found?

A desert storm perhaps, or some accident. McLean would pokeabout--but for all McLean knew he might be on his way back to campthat very moment. And sometimes he went by sailing canoe, and arented horse, and sometimes by the accredited steamer and a camel, and sometimes by tram or train to the nearest station. Even McLean'smind and McLean's Copts wouldn't make much of all the alternativesthat his unsettled habits had afforded. 

Was there any possibility of his being traced, of any rescuereaching him? He thought hard and long upon his last free moments. Jinny Jeffries knew that he was in the palace, and Jinny had beenreiteratedly warned about the danger of betraying that knowledge. Itwould take some little time for alarm before Jinny said anything. And it would take a little time for Jinny to begin to worry. 

He had not been so instant in attendance upon Jinny of late, for alltheir residence in the same hotel, that she would suspect that hisabsence of twenty-four hours was due to actual incarceration. 

His cursed passion for freedom in which to ramble up and down thatdeserted lane without Tewfick Pasha's garden! His inane love ofsolitary mooning. .. . 

No, Jinny would not soon wonder about him. She had not expected tosee him that evening, anyway--he had muttered something to her abouta man and an engagement. 

She _would_ rather look to see him the next day and talk about theiradventure. .. . But still she would feel no more than pique at hisabsence; positive worry would not develop until later. 

Besides, all the revelations that Jinny could make would do no good. Jinny could only report that he had maintained a disguise at awedding reception, and talked a few moments, apparently undetected, to a bride. Hamdi Bey, and Hamdi's eunuchs, would be blandlyignorant of such a scandal. What his disappearance would indicatewould be some further frolic on his part, some tempting of a laterProvidence before he had abandoned his disguise. .. . If he werediscovered, for instance, in some of those native quarters, behind awoman's veil. .. . 

Decidedly the only effect of Jinny's revelations would be anunsavory cloud upon his character. 

There was no hope to be looked for. 

And yet he could not believe it. There were moments when the blackterror mastered him, but involuntarily his young strength shook itoff. He could not believe in its reality. He could not believe thathe was actually here, bricked and bound, in this infernal coffin. .. . 

But, indisputably, the evidence was in favor of belief. .. . Only tobelieve was to feel again that horror. .. . 

He tried to tell himself that it didn't matter. One had to die sometime. Everybody did. One might as well go out young and strong andstill interested in life. 

But that was remarkably cold comfort. He didn't want to go out atall. He didn't want to die, not for fifty or sixty years yet, and ofall the ways of dying, he wanted least to smother and choke andstifle like a rat walled in its hole in the wall. 

He recalled, with peculiar pain, a woodchuck that he had penned upas a boy, and he hoped with extraordinary passion that the poorbeast had made another hole. Never again, he resolved, would he penup a living creature, never again, if only again he could see thelight of day and breathe the free air. .. . 

He thought of Aimée. And when he thought of her his heart seemed toturn to water. Useless to repeat to himself now those old remindersthat he had seen her so little, known her so slightly. Useless tomeasure that strange feeling that drew him by any artifice of timeand acquaintance. 

She was Aimée. She was enchantment and delight. She was appeal andtenderness. She was blind longing and mystery. She was beauty anddesire. .. . 

Even to think of her now, in the infernal horror of this crampinggrave, was to feel his heart quicken and his blood grow hot in ahelpless passion of dread and fear. She was alone, there, helpless, with that madman. 

He tried to tell himself that she was not wholly helpless, that shehad wit and spirit and courage, and that somehow she would manage toquell the storm; she might persuade Hamdi to their story, make himremember that this was the twentieth century wherein one does not goabout immuring inconvenient trespassers as in the earlier years ofthe Mad Khedive--years which had probably formed the general'simpulses--but in telling himself this there was no comfort for thethought of the price that Aimée would have to pay. 

It was pleasanter to pretend that Hamdi was really only joking, in ashockingly exaggerated, practical way, and that presently, when thesuitable time had elapsed, he would present himself, smiling, to endthe ghastly, antiquated jest. 

For some time he continued to tell himself that. 

And then suddenly he told himself that the time for intervention hadsurely come. It was very hard to breathe. 

The next minute he was assuring himself that this was merely somedevil's trick of his apprehensive imagination. There must be agreat deal of air left. .. . But he was distressingly ignorant of thecontents of air, and his calculations were lamentably unsupported byany sound basis of fact. 

Mistake, not to have gone in for chemistry and physics. A chap who'ddone time in those subjects wouldn't now be rocking with suspense;he'd comfortably and satisfactorily know just how many hours, minutes and seconds were allotted before his finish and he couldthink his thoughts accordingly. 

Undoubtedly, so he insisted to himself, there was air enough here tolast him till morning. This gasping stuff was all imagination. Hewanted to keep cool and quiet. But for all his reassurance there_was_ something a little queer with his lungs, and his heart waslurching sickeningly in his side, like a runaway ship's engine. 

And then he heard his own voice repeating very tonelessly, "O God, OGod, " and the horror of it all came blackly over him and a feelingof profound and awful sickness. .. . 

It _was_ a sound. The faintest scraping and knocking without thatwall. It went through him like an electric current. .. . And then aroar burst from him that fairly split his ears, the reaction of hisquivered nerves and racking fears of his uncertainties, histightening terrors. 

But now--nothing. He could not hear a thing. A delusion? A tortureof his final hours?. .. No, it came again. More definitely now, alittle grinding and scraping. 

Faster and faster, a muffled, driving thud. 

A jubilant reassurance sang gayly through him. He had expectedthis--this was what he had predicted. Hamdi was no foul friend. Hewas a devilish uncomfortable customer with antiquated notions ofrevenge, but now he had shot his wad and was going to undo histricks. 

Ryder braced himself to present a carefree jauntiness--an airsomewhat difficult to assume when one is trussed like a spittedbird, in a hot coffin space, with hair falling dankly over asteaming brow, with a collar like a string, and an indescribablepallor beneath the bronze of one's face. 

Something stirred. One end of a brick was driven in against hischest. Then he felt the blind working of some tool that caught itand worried it free. 

It seemed to him that through that dark aperture a current of cold, delicious air came rushing in about him. The blows sounded againstthe adjoining bricks and he thought of the glorious joy of seeingout again, feeling that he would welcome even the sight of Hamdi'sblond mustache and the eunuch's hideous grin. 

Now the aperture admitted a pale gleam upon his chest. Staringsteadily down he caught a glimpse of the fingers curving about abrick, and his heart that had steadied, began to race again wildly. For they were not the fingers of the black nor yet the wiry jointsof the general. 

They were soft, white fingers, with a gleam of rings. 

Aimée! Somehow, somewhere, she had managed to come to him, toachieve this rescue. .. . 

"Aimée!" He breathed the name. 

"S-sh!" came a warning little whisper, and impatiently he waiteduntil that opening should be greater and permit of sight and speech. 

His helplessness was maddening. If only he could raise his hands, could get those bonds off! He twisted, he writhed, he tried to lifthis elbows and get his wrists in reach of the opening, but thecoffin was too diabolically cramped for movement until the hole wasvery much larger. Then with a convulsive pressure he swung hiswrists within reach and after a moment's wait he felt a thin bladedrawn across the silk. 

The relief was glorious. He swung his hands free, rubbing the chafedwrists, then thrust an opened hand out into the opening, and withinstant comprehension a short, pointed bit of iron was put withinit. 

Now he could do something! With furious strength he attacked thebricks edging the hole and as he pried free each brick he couldagain get a glimpse of those white delicate fingers lifting itcarefully away. 

And now the hole was large enough. He twisted about and thrust out aleg, and then, with a feeling of ecstasy which made the officialliterary raptures of saints and conquerors but pale, dim moods, hewormed his way out of that jagged hole and turned, erect and free, to the shrouded figure of his rescuer. 

She had drawn back a little against the wall, a gauzy veil acrossher face. Beside her, upon the stone floor, a solitary candle sentits flickering rays into the shadows, edging with light her slenderoutlines. 

Ryder took one quick step to her, his heart in his throat, and putout eager arms. But in the very moment that he was gathering her tohim, even when he felt her pliant body, at first resistant, thensoftly yielding, swept against his own, he felt, too, a little palmsuddenly upon his mouth. 

"Hsh!" said the soft, whispering voice, cutting into his low murmurof "Aimée!" and then, in slow emphatic caution, "Be--careful!"

He had need of that caution. For under the saffron veil was not theface of Aimée. He was clasping a young creature that he had neverseen before, a girl with flaming henna hair and kohl darkened brows, a vivid blazoning face that smiled enigmatically with a certainmockery of delight at the amazement he reflected so unguardedly. 

CHAPTER XVII

AZIZA

From the slackening grip of his astounded arms she stepped backward, still smiling faintly and holding up in admonishment the palm shehad pressed against his mouth. 

"But what--what the dev--" muttered Ryder. 

She nodded mysteriously, and beckoned. 

"Come, " she whispered, catching up her candle, and after holding ithigh for a moment, staring at him, she extinguished it suddenly, andturned to lead the cautious way across the stone spaces while Ryderclosely followed. 

Not Aimée, then. But some messenger, he could only suppose. Someconfidante, at need. A handmaid? The whisper of her silks, theremembered gleam of jewels in the henna hair flouted that thought, and not troubling his ingenuity with alternatives he was content tofollow her swift steps. 

They were now in those open rubbishy spaces where he remembered thecrumbling masonry and broken arches of old, disregarded mosques; nowthey were again enclosed in narrow stone walls, winding past cellarsand store rooms. 

The girl's advance grew more cautious. Often she stopped andlistened, peering ahead into the darkness, and now, as she tookanother turning, her care redoubled and Ryder needed no exhortationto imitate it. Obeying a gesture of her arm, he followed at agreater distance, prepared, at the warning of a sound, to flattenhimself against the wall or dart into some cranny of retreat. 

They were now in the cellars. The corridor was widening out beforethem with a pallid showing of light, crossed with many bars, at somefar end. .. . They stole towards it. It was a window, or barred gate, he saw, and he heard again that lapping of restless water againststone. 

He could see, too, in the dimness the curve of a stair near thegate. 

Abruptly his guide checked him. Wary and noiseless he waited whileshe stole forward to those stairs, peering up into the gloom, attentive for any sound from above. .. . Apparently satisfied, shewent on towards the barred gate, and bent down over a spot ofdarkness which Ryder had taken for a shadow. 

He saw now that it had some semblance to a human outline. 

Closely the girl bent and he caught the pallor of her hands, searching swiftly, and then a muffled clink. .. . Next moment, awraith with soundless steps, she was back at his side again, urginghim on with her. They passed the stairs; he felt the soft yield ofcarpet beneath his feet; they passed that recumbent figure and nowhe heard the rhythm of a sleeper's heavy breath, escaping muffledlyfrom the folds of a thick mantle which the sleeper's habits hadwrapped about his head. For all the mantle he was aware of the fumesof wine. 

"I saw that Ja'afar had his drink, " said the girl suddenly in softlywhispered Turkish, her head close to his. "He is my friend. I do notneglect him, " and under her breath she laughed, as she exhibited thegreat bunch of keys she had taken from the imbiber. 

Stooping now before the gate she fitted the key into the lock. Thenover her shoulder she looked up at the young man, and asked him aquick question. 

He did not understand. That was the trouble with his vernacular. Itwould go on very well for a time, when he had a clue to the sense, or when it was a question of every day expression, but a suddendivergence, an unexpected word, was apt to prove a hopelessobstacle. 

Now she repeated her question again, more slowly, and again he shookhis head. 

Now she stood up, frowning a little and began again in English, "You--no, I not know--This way? You do it?" A sudden smile brokeover her face as she made a swift pushing gesture with her hands, that, with her pointing to the water outside, sent Ryder a suddenenlightenment. 

"Swim? You mean--do I swim?"

She nodded. "Not go--" She made a swift downward movement of herhands and then pointed again to that water just outside the gate. 

"Not go down--not sink?" interpreted Ryder. "No, indeed, I canswim, " he assured her, and revisited with smiling satisfaction sheknelt again before the barred gate. 

Open it swung with so sharp a crack that both glanced at the figurebehind them, and then at the shadowy gloom of the stairs. But noalarm sounded. Outside the gate Ryder saw the darkness of fairlywide rippling waters, visited with floating stars, and beyond alow-lying, dun bank. 

Escape was there. Freedom. Safety. He felt an exultant longing toplunge in and strike out, but he turned, questioningly, to themysterious rescuer. 

"Aimée?" he asked, under his breath. "Where is she?" He repeated itin the vernacular, distrusting her English, and in the vernacularshe answered, "You want her? You want to take her away with you?"

She laughed softly at the quick flash in his eyes and hardly waitedfor his speech. 

"Good--what a lover! You are not afraid?"

Mendaciously he assured her that he was not. 

"Good!" she said again, with a showing of white teeth between hercarmined lips. "You take her--you take her away from him. That iswhat I want. You understand?"

Very suddenly he understood. 

CHAPTER XVIII

AZIZA IS OFFENDED

This was no emissary from Aimée. This was no philanthropicbystander. It was some girl of the palace, jealous and daring, conspiring shrewdly for the removal of her rival. 

"Take her away, " she was saying urgently. "Out of this palace. Wewant no brides here. " Lowering and sullen, she turned bitter on theword. 

"To-night, I was watching, " she went on swiftly. "I heard--thenoise--and then the whispering. .. . The darkness has ears andeyes--and a tongue. And so I waited out there. .. . "

He could not distinguish all the quick flow of her speech, but hecaught enough to understand how she had lurked in the halls, jealously spying, defying the eunuchs' authority, and how she hadcaught with passionate delight that stifled alarm of scandal. Later, hanging over some banister, she had seen the Ethiopian pass with hisburden and had stolen down afterwards, stalking like a cat, and haddiscovered the lantern gone, the door unlocked. .. . And then she hadwatched until the pair emerged without the burden. 

She had not been able to get hold of the key to the door. But shehad resolved to explore and so she had furnished the waterman withhis wine, drugged, Ryder gathered, and so stolen past him on theother route to those underground foundations to which her suspicionshad been directed by the mortar and dust upon Yussuf. 

Evidently she knew the possibilities of the place and the mind ofits master. And when she found the old niche freshly bricked and themortar at hand she had not needed more to assure her that here wasthe burial place of her rival's lover. 

Now, for the boon of his life, he was to relieve her of that rival. Or try to. 

"For once--he might not kill her, " she whispered, "but if again--"Her eyes glowed like a cat's in the dark. "Take her away. Make hername a spitting and a disgrace. .. . Her memory a shame and asting. .. . Is she beautiful?" she broke off to demand. "They say--butslaves lie--"

"Can you believe a lover?" he said whimsically for all hisimpatience. "She is a pearl--a rose--a crescent moon--"

"They say she is very pale and thin--"

"She is an Houri from Paradise, " he said distinctly. "And now, inthe name of Allah, let me get to her. Tell me the way--"

"Will she go gladly with you?" the low, insistent voice went on, andat his quick nod, "Holy Prophet, what a bride!"

She clapped her two ringed hands to smother the impish joy of herlaugh. "A warning to those who can be warned--he will not be soeager for another stripe from that same stick!--It was his cousin, Seniha Hanum--Satan devour her!--who made this marriage. Always shehated me. .. . But now I will tell you how to get to her. Look out, with me. "

Kneeling at the gate, over the dark flow of the water, she drew himdown beside her, and thrusting out her veiled head, she pointedupward and to the right to a jutting balcony of mashrubiyeh, where apale light showed through the fretwork. 

"There--you see? That is my room. And if you climb up, I can let youin. .. . There. .. Up, " she repeated in English, resolved to makecertain. 

"I see. I can get there, " he assured her, measuring with his eye thedim distance. 

"At once, " she said. "I will be there. I cannot take you with methrough the upper hall--it is dangerous even for me to be caught. But no eunuch wants my displeasure. "

He could believe it, watching the subtle, malicious daring of herface. Even in the gloom he caught the steady-lidded arrogance of herkohl-darkened eyes and the bold insolence of a high cheek bone. Shehad a hint of gypsy. .. . 

"And you can get me in? You're a wonder!" he whispered. "I can'tthank you enough--"

"Rid me of her, " said the girl swiftly. "But not--not him. You mustswear--what is it that Christians swear by?" she broke off todemand. "By the grave of your father? Yes? You will swear not tohurt him, to hurt Hamdi, by the grave of your father? Yes?"

Ryder nodded quickly. His father, to be sure, was in no grave atall. He was, allowing hastily for the difference in time, in histreasurer's cage at the bank in East Middleton, but he did not waitto explain this to the girl. 

"I swear it, " he repeated. "I won't hurt your Hamdi, since that'syour condition. But we're wasting time--"

"Up, then. And if you fall down--do like this. "

Smiling mischievously, she made the gesture of swimming. "Allah gowith thee--and with me also, " he heard her murmur, as he stepped outto the ledge of the entrance, twisted himself agilely about andclimbing up the opened gate swung himself up to the stone carvingoverhead. 

Below him, he heard the gate swing shut. He did not hear her lockit. Fervently he hoped she had not, since it was a possible exit forany one in a hurry, but at any rate, he need not worry about a wayout of the place until he had got into it again. 

And the getting in was not any too simple. It was work for amountain goat, he reflected, after a short interval devoted totentative reaches and balancing and digging in of hands and feet. The distances were far greater than the first-glimpsed, foreshortened perspective had allowed him to guess, and there wasonly the starlight to illumine the gray face of the palace. 

He had no idea of the time. Somewhere about the middle of the nightor early morning, he judged vaguely by the stars, although it seemedimpossible that so few hours had passed. 

The river was all silence and darkness. No nuggars with theirsleeping crews were moored below. He seemed the only living, breathing thing clambering across the face of time and space. 

Gingerly he kicked off the nondescript black shoes he had worn withhis disguise that afternoon and essayed a perilous toehold while hereached for the interstices of a mashrubiyeh window just overhead. 

Once gripping the rounds he pulled himself up, reflecting that itwas well it was night and that no lady was sitting within hershelter to be affrighted at this intrusion of fingers and toes. 

From the jutting top of this projection he surveyed his furtherfield of operation. The window with a light was two stories higheryet and to the right. There were two other windows with lights onthe second story, very much farther along, and he wondered painfullyif these were the rooms of Aimée. 

That boudoir in which he had hidden through the end of the longreception had been upon the water. And there had been a door into anadjoining room, for he had seen a sallow-faced attendant passing inand out. 

A wild longing seized him to crawl on and over into those windows. But it was a difficult, almost an impossible distance, and even whenthere he would be like a fly on the outside of a pane with no way ofgetting in. 

The unknown girl had promised him a way through her window and hehad confidence in her ingenuity and daring. 

So he went on, worming cautiously along old gutters and ledges andjutting balconies until at last he was clasping the lower grill ofthat mashrubiyeh from which her light gleamed. 

Instantly the light went out. 

"Wait!" he heard her voice say sharply over his head. She wasstanding by the window fumbling with the woodwork, and in a momenthe heard the click of a knob and then, just opposite his head, thescreening grill slipped aside and an aperture appeared. 

"Quick!" admonished the voice, and quickly indeed he drew himself upand in, reflecting whimsically as he did so that this girl had firsthelped him out of a hole and then into one. 

The next moment she had moved the grill into place and lifted thecover she had placed over her triplet of candles on a stand. 

Triumphant, her eyes dancing, her teeth a gleam of light betweenthose scarlet lips of hers, she looked at him for the admirationshe saw twinkling back at her in his eyes. 

"But not me--no!" she protested, her supple hands gesturing towardsthe magic casement. "I found it here. It is very old--youunderstand? Some other, long ago, found time dull and so--"

Delightedly she shared the flavor of that secret of the vagabondlady of long ago who had devised this cunning entrance for herlover. 

On some dark night like this, with the gatekeeper drowsy with oldwine, some other stripling had climbed that worn façade before himand slipped through the secret space and stood triumphantly beforesome daring, laughing girl who had cast aside for him her veil andher fear of death. 

What ingenuity, Ryder wondered fleetly, had smuggled in thecarpenter for the contrivance, what jewels had gone to the bribing, what lies had been told!. .. And what had been the end of it all?

Evidently not the discovery of the opening. .. . 

He hoped, with singular intensity, for the safety of the daringyoung lovers, that unknown youth whose feet had foreworn the pathfor his feet and that dead and gone young girl, who had daredanything rather than endure the mortal ennui of those hours behindthe veil. .. . 

These thoughts all went through him like one thought as he stoodthere, his eyes roving about the dim, shadowy room of old divans andEastern hangings, and then turning back to the glimmering figure ofits mistress. 

She was staring frankly at him, her eyes boldly curious andexamining. They were not dark eyes, he saw now; that had been theimpression given by the kohl about them and the black line of thebrows penciled into one line; they were yellow eyes, golden andglowing, scornful and lazy-lidded. 

As she looked at him, these eyes smiled slowly. She was seeing inthis lover of her rival a singularly delightful looking young man, for all his dust and disarray, a slender, bronzed, hardy-lookingyoung man, with dark, disordered hair straying across a white brow, and audacious, eager eyes in which the fear of death, so latelyglimpsed, had left no daunting reflection. 

Slowly she lifted her hand and with deliberate softness put backthat straying hair of his. 

"Poor boy, " she said slowly in English, and then, smiling ruefully, she held out her hands for his inspection. The grime of the brickshad discolored their scented delicacy and he saw bruised finger tipsand a torn nail. 

"I'm infernally sorry, " he said quickly. 

Her smile deepened at his look of concern, as he held, a littlehelplessly, the witnesses of her work of rescue which seemed somehowto stray into his keeping. 

"It is nothing--but you--poor boy, " she said again, in that Englishof which she seemed naïvely proud. 

"If you could give me some water, " he suggested, and drank deepwith delight the last drop she brought him from an earthen jar. Itseemed to wash from his throat the taste of that dust and fear. 

"I can't begin to thank you, " he murmured. "I only wish that I coulddo something for you--"

She looked up at him. They were standing close together, theirvoices cautiously low. 

"Perhaps, yes, you can--"

"It's not doing anything for you to save Aimée, " he told her. "That's what you are doing for her and for me. .. . But if ever youwant me for anything after this--my name is Ryder, Jack Ryder, andyou can reach me at the Agricultural Bank. "

He had a vague vision of some day repaying his enormous debt byassisting this girl, grown tired of her Hamdi, out of this apertureand into a waiting boat. He would do it like a shot, he told himselfgladly; he would do anything on God's green earth if only she helpedhim get Aimée away from that infernal villain. 

"Jack, " she repeated, under her breath, and then in her slowEnglish, "I like--Jack. "

"Don't forget it. I'll always come and do anything for you. And ifyou'll tell me your name--"

"Aziza. "

"Aziza. I'll never forget that. And now, if you'll tell me how I canget to her and then the best way out--"

"Why you so hurry--"

"Why?" he looked a little blank. "I can't lose a minute--he may bewith her--"

She came a little nearer to him, her head tilting back with a slow, indolent challenge. 

Gone was the silken mantle that had been about her below stairs andhe saw now that she was a vivid, exotic shimmer of gauzy greenagainst the saffron veil that fell from her henna hair. There wasbarbaric beauty in her, in the bold, painted face, the bare, gold-banded arms, the slender, sinuous lines, and there was barbaricsplendor in the heavy jewels that winked and flashed. .. . 

It struck Ryder that she was gotten up regardless. .. . In pride, perhaps, on her rival's wedding night?. .. Or had there been somedefiant, desperate design upon Hamdi--?

She did not miss that sudden prolonging of his look upon her. 

"You like me--yes?" she murmured, and then slipping back intothe vernacular, "I--I am not the stupid veiled girl of theseclusion--not forever. I come from the west, the deserts. I haveseen the world: Men--men, I know . .. I danced before them, not thedances of the Cairene cafés, " she uttered with swift scorn, "but thedance of the two swords, the dance of the serpents. .. . Men threw thegold from their turbans about my feet when I had danced to them . .. And others, English, French--"

She broke off, but her eyes told many things. "Then--Hamdi, " shesaid slowly. "Him I ruled--and his palace. .. . But I have known otherthings. "

Closer yet she came to him. Her eyes, golden fires of eyes, weresmiling up into his, her scarlet lips gathered in soft, sensualcurves . .. Her whole silken scented body seemed to slip into hisembrace. A bare arm touched his neck, resting heavily. 

"Sweet--heart, " she said slowly, in her difficult English. 

It was the deuce of a position. 

No man can rudely snatch from his neck the arm of the lady who hasjust saved him from a harrowing death. And a lady who was riskingmore than her life in sheltering him--decidedly the situation wasdelicate. 

It was not the lady's fault that her impetuosity, the impetuositywhich had been his salvation, now plunged her into amorous caprice. There were obvious handicaps, moral, social and ethical, in herupbringing. She was a child of nature, a nature undisciplined, unruly, tempestuous. 

And even queening over Hamdi and his palace must have offered littlediversion to a wild dancing girl familiar with the excitement ofmore varied conquest. 

Ryder was horribly embarrassed. He was visited with a fearfulconstraint, a chivalrous wish not to hurt her feelings, and a sharpprevision of the danger of offending her. 

He took the first turn of least resistance. 

He did not need to bend his head; their eyes were on a level. Hesimply kissed her. And she kissed him back. 

He hated himself for the leap of his blood. .. And for thePuritanical discomfort of his nature. .. . 

Her arm about his neck was pressing closer. It was the moment foraction and Ryder acted. Very firmly he put his hand upon her hand, withdrew it from its clasp about him, and raised it to his lips. 

His kiss was respectful gratitude and an abdication of the delightsof dalliance. 

"Good-bye, my dear, " he murmured. "Now, if you will show me the wayout--"

Her eyes agleam between half-closed lids, she studied him. Itoccurred to Ryder that probably never before had her hands beendetached--and kissed--and put away. He must be a phenomenon, anenigma. 

Then her lips parted in a faintly scornful smile. 

"You afraid--you? You want--run?"

"I'm horribly afraid, " he said earnestly. "I want to get out of hereas quick as I can. "

That was putting, he considered, the very wisest construction uponit. 

Negligently her gesture reminded him of the opening in the window. "Here you are safe. " she murmured in the vernacular. "And the doorsare locked--"

"Yes, but--but Aimée isn't safe, you know--and I must get her out ofhere. "

"Aimée?" In those yellow eyes he caught the flash of capriciousresentment at the reminder. Then, indifferently, she brushed thedistraction away. 

"There is time enough for Aimée. She is not lonely now. "

"Not lonely?" he shivered at the cold carelessness of her tone. "Imust get to her quickly then. "

"But that is not safe. .. . A little--later. "

Uncomfortably he tried to infuse his glance with innate innocenceand utter lack of understanding. 

"I shan't hurt him--if I have the chance, " he told her. "I've givenyou my word--"

"And I trust you--much. " Her gaze sought his in a trifle ofimpatience at such simplicity. "But it is not safe for you now. .. . Later . .. By and by. "

"You don't want him to have a chance to make love to her, do you?"said Ryder sharply. "I thought that was the very thing you_didn't_--"

Her smile was a subtle, confessing caress. "I shall have myrevenge, " she murmured, and pressed closer to him again, everysensuous, sumptuous line of her a challenge and an enticement. 

"I give you life, " she whispered, very low in her throat. "You giveme, perhaps, an hour--?"

"I _haven't_ an hour, " said Ryder very desperately and unhappily. "Not when Aimée is with that devil--"

It took every thought of Aimée to get the words out. 

He felt a brute about it, a low, ungrateful dog. She _had_ given himlife and every fiber in him clamored to save her pride and championher caprice. 

It seemed so dastardly to wrench away from her now, like someself-centered Joseph, leaving that beastly stab in her vanity. .. . And she was a stunning creature, lawless, elemental, hot and coldlike the seventh wind of the inferno. .. . 

But it was Aimée who was in his blood like a fever. .. . Aimée, thatfrail white rose of a girl, in her bonds of terror. .. . 

He saw the flame in Aziza's eyes. He saw the stiffening of herdefiance, of half-incredulous affront. Then, her form drawn up, herbared arms outflung, her vivid, painted, furious face challenginghim. "I am not beautiful--like Aimée?" she said in a voice of venom, and in the English, for double measure, "You not like me--no?"

"You _are_ beautiful and I _do_ like you, " Ryder combated, feeling abungling fool. And then went on to thrust into that half-second ofsuspended fury, a faint breath of appeasing. "But--don't yousee--it's my duty--"

"You go--?" she said clearly. 

Even in that moment he had a sharp prescience of the unwisdom of hisrejection. A cold calculator of chance and probabilities would havereckoned that a half hour of assuagement here would have been awiser investment of his mortal moments than any virtuous plunge intosingle-hearted duty. 

But Ryder did not calculate. He could not, with Aimée under thatbeast's hand. His heart and soul were possessed with her danger andhis heart and soul carried his body instinctively back from thedancing girl's advance, and he whispered, "I must go. There is notime--"

She flung back her fiery-hued head with a gesture of intolerablerage. Her eyes were lightnings. 

"Dog of a Christian!" she said chokingly and flew to the doors. 

Back she thrust the heavy hangings, turning a quick key in the lockand wrenching the door wide. And before Ryder could understand, before he could bring himself to realize that she was not simplyviolently expelling him from her room, she gave a shriek that rangwildly down the long-unseen corridors. 

At the top of her lungs, with one hand out to thrust him back orcling to him if he attempted to pass, she shrieked again and again. 

Instantly there came a running of feet. 

CHAPTER XIX

AN INTERRUPTION

When Hamdi Bey had taken Aimée back to her apartments he pulledsharply upon a bellcord. In a few moments the slave woman, Fatima, made her appearance, no kindly-eyed old crone like Miriam, but asallow, furtive-faced creature, with an old disfiguring scar acrossa cheek. 

The general pointed to the wet and fainting girl huddling weaklyupon the divan. 

"Your new mistress has met with an accident, out boating--a curseupon me for gratifying forbidden caprice!" he said crisply. "Besilent of this and array her quickly in garments of rest. I willreturn. "

Very hurriedly he took himself and his own wet condition away. Hewas furious, through and through. What a night--what a weddingnight! Scandal and frustration. .. A bride with a desperate lover. .. A bride who, herself, drew revolvers and threatened. 

It was beyond any old tale of the palace. For less, girls had hadhis father's dagger driven through their hearts--his grandfather, ata mere whisper from a eunuch, had given his favorite to the lion. The whisper was found incorrect at a later--too late--date, and theeunuch had furnished the lion another meal. 

His modern leniency in this case would have outraged his ancestors. 

But it was not in the bey's nature to deal the finishing stroke toanything so soft and lovely as Aimée. He had no intention ofdepriving himself of her. If she were red with guilt he would feignbelief in her, to save his face until his infatuation was gratified. 

But actually he did not believe in any great guilt of hers. TewfickPasha, for all his indulgent modernity, would keep too strict aharem for that. What he rather believed had happened was that theyoung American--now so happily immured in his masonry--had becomeaware of the girl through the story of her French father, and inthat connection had struck up the clandestine and romanticcorrespondence which had led to their mutual infatuation and hisdesperate venture there that afternoon. 

The young man had been dealt with--and the thought of the verysummary and competent way he had been dealt with drew the fangs fromthe bite of that night's invasion. 

His fury felt soothingly glutted. 

He had been a match for them both. He recalled his own subtlety andagility with a genuine smile as he exchanged his dripping uniformfor more informal trousers and a house coat. He had taught thatyoung man a lesson--a final and ultimate lesson. And he wasbeginning to teach one to that girl. Before he was done withher . .. 

He felt for her a mingled passion for her beauty and a lust forconquest of her resistant spirit that fed every base and cruelinstinct of his nature. 

A find--a rare find--even with her circumvented lover! He would havehis sport with her. .. . But though he promised this to himself withfeline relish, apprehension and chagrin were still working. 

The fond fatuity with which he had welcomed that starry-eyed littlecreature had been rudely overthrown. And his pride smarted at theidea of the whispers that might echo and re-echo through his palace. He was too wise an old hand to flatter himself that it wouldpreserve its bland and silent unawareness of this night. 

So far, he believed, he had been unobserved. In Yussuf's silence hehad absolute confidence. .. . But of course there were a hundred otherchances--some spying, back-stairs eye, some curious, strainingear. .. . 

And for this matter of the boating mishap--he cursed himself now, ashe combed up his fair mustaches and settled a scarlet fez upon histhinned thatch of graying hair, cursed himself roundly for hismalicious resort to that old oubliette. Anything else would havedone to frighten and overwhelm her and yet he had gratified hisdramatic itch--and now had paid for it with that idiotic story ofthe boating expedition. 

He had reason to trust Fatima--there was history behind the oldsword scar upon her cheek, and he had a hold over her through herambition for a son. But Fatima was a woman. And she--or some otherwho would see that drenched satin would be curious of that boatingstory. .. . 

And of course they could find out from the boatman. 

It occurred to him to go and see the boatman and order him away sothat afterward the man could say he had been sent off duty, and thestory of a nocturnal river trip would not appear too incredible. Itwas a small concession to stop gossip's mouth. 

So drawing on a swinging military cloak, the general stole downthrough the stair of the water entrance into the lower hall, wherethe pale light gleamed through the cross-barred iron of the gate andthe gatekeeper slept like a log in his muffling cloak. 

The soundness of that slumber--loudly attested by the fumes ofwine--afforded the general a profound pleasure. He took the man'skeys softly, and went to the gate; it afforded him less pleasure toobserve that the gate was unlocked, but he put this down to thekeeper's muddleheadedness. 

Carefully he turned the lock and pocketed the keys--for a lesson tothe man's overdeep sleep in the morning and to attest his ownpresence there that night; then he went back and brought out an oar, which he placed conspicuously beside the smallest boat, drawn upjust within the gates. 

He was afraid to alter the boat's position lest the noise shouldprove too wakening, but he considered he had laid an artisticfoundation for his story and with a gratifying sense of triumph hemounted the stairs. 

He was not conscious of fatigue. He had always been a wiry, indefatigable person, and the alarms and emotions of this night hadcleared his head of its wines and drowsiness. He felt the sense oftense, highstrung power which came to him in war, in fighting, inany element of danger. 

Youth! He snapped his fingers at it. Youth was buried inhis masonry--and helpless in its shuttered room. Power wasmaster--power, craft, subtlety. 

But his elation ebbed as he crossed again that long drawing roomwith its faded flowers about the marriage throne, and its abandonedtable with its cloth askew, its crystal disarrayed, its candlesgutted and spent. 

The memory of that insolent moment when a man's hand had grippedhim, had whirled him from Aimée--when a man's voice and gun hadthreatened him--that memory was too overpowering for even histriumph over the invader to lay wholly its smart of outrage. 

He felt again the tightening of his nerves, like quivering wires, ashe crossed the violated reception room and entered the boudoir. Itwas empty, but on the divan the flickering candle light revealed thedamp, spreading stain where Aimée's drenched satins had been. 

He thrust aside a hanging and pushed open the door into the roombeyond. 

It was a small bedroom evidently very recently furnished in new andwhite shining lacquer of French design, elaborately inlaid withpainted porcelains and draped with a profusion of rosy taffeta. Among this elegance, surprisingly unrelated to the ancient paneledwalls, stood the hastily opened trunk and bags of the bride, theirraised lids and disarranged trays heaped with the confusion ofunaccustomed, swiftly searching hands. 

Aimée herself, in a gay little French boudoir robe of jade andcitron, sat huddled in a chair, like a mute, terrified child, in thehand of her dresser, who was shaking out the long, damp hair andfanning it with a peacock fan. 

At the bey's entrance Fatima suspended the fanning, but with easyfamiliarity exhibited the long ringlets. 

Curtly the bey nodded, and gestured in dismissal; the woman laiddown her fan, and with a last slant-eyed look at that strangelystill new mistress she went noiselessly out a small service door. 

With an air of negligent assurance Hamdi Bey gazed about the roomand yawned. "Truly a fatiguing evening, " he remarked in his dry, sardonic voice. "But you look so untouched! What a thing is radiantyouth. "

He sauntered over to her, who drew a little closer together at hisapproach, and lifted one of the long dark curls that the servingwoman had exhibited. 

"The ringlets of loveliness, " he murmured. "You know the old sayingof the Sadi? 'The ringlets of the lovely are a chain on the feet ofreason and a snare for the bird of wisdom. '. .. How long ago he saidit--and how true to-day . .. Yet such a charming chain! Suppose, then, I forgive you, little one, since sages have forgiven beautybefore?"

She was silent, her eyes fixed on him with the silent terror withwhich a trapped bird sees its captor, in their bright darkness thesame mute apprehension, the same filming of helpless despair. 

Ryder was dead, she thought. This cruel, incensed old madman hadkilled him, for all his oaths. Somewhere beneath those ancientstones he was lying drowned and dead, a strange, pitiable additionto the dark secrets of those grim walls. 

He had died for her sake, and all that she asked now of life, shethought in the utter agony of her youth, was death. And veryquickly. 

"I am so soft hearted, " he sighed, still with that ringlet in hislifted hand, his hand which wanted palpably to settle upon her andyet was withheld by some strange inhibition of those fixed, helplesseyes. "Who knows--perhaps I may forgive you yet? You might persuademe--"

"He is dead, " she said shiveringly. 

"Dead? He?. .. Ah, the invader, the intruder, the young man whowanted you for a family in France!" The bey laughed gratingly. "No, I assure you he is not dead--I have not harmed a hair of his head. He is alive--only not with quite the widest range of liberty--"

He broke off to laugh again. "Ah, you disbelieve?" he said politely. "Shall I send, then, for some proof--an ear, perhaps, or a littlefinger, still very warm and bleeding, to convince you?. .. In fiveminutes it will be here. "

Then terror stirred again in her frozen heart. If Ryder were aliveand still in this man's power--

"You are horrible, " she said to him in a voice that was suddenlyclear and unshaken. "What is it you want of me--fear and hate--andutter loathing?"

Her unexpected spirit was briefly disconcerting. The Turk lookeddown upon her in arrested irony and then he smiled beneath hismustaches and bent nearer with kindling gaze. 

"Not at all--nothing at all like that, little dove with talons. Iwant sweetness and repentance--and submission. And--"

"You have a strange way to win them, " she said desperately. 

"You have taken a strange way with me, my love! Little did Iforesee, when I escorted you up the stairs this morning--" He brokeoff. "There are men, " he reminded her, "who would not consider acold bath as a complete recompense for your bridal plans. "

She was silent. 

"But I, " he murmured, "I am soft hearted. " He dropped on one kneebefore her and tried to smile into her averted face. "I can neverresist a charming penitent. .. . I assure you I am pliability itselfin delicate fingers--although iron and steel to a threateninghand. .. . If you should woo me very sweetly, little one--"

She could not overcome and she could not hide from his mocking eyesthe sick shrinking that drew her back from his least touch. But shedid fight down the wild hysteria of her repugnance so that her voicewas not the trembling gasp it wanted to be. 

"How can I know what you are?" she told him. "You mock me--youthreaten to torture that man--it would be folly not to think thatyou are deceiving me. If you would only prove to me so that I couldbelieve--"

"If you would but prove to _me_ so that _I_ could believe--! Provethat you are mine--and not that infidel's. Prove that you bring me awife's devotion--not a wanton's indifference. " He caught her coldhands, trying to draw her forward to him. "Prove that you only pityhim, " he whispered, "but that your love will be mine--"

She felt as if a serpent clasped her. And yet, if that were the onlyway to win Ryder's safety--if it were possible for her sickenedsenses to allay this madman's suspicions and undermine his revenge--

Quiveringly she thought that to save Ryder she would go throughfire. 

But the hideous, mocking uncertainties! Her utter helplessness--herlost deference. .. . 

It was not a sudden sound that broke in upon them but rather theperception of many sounds, muffled, half heard, but gaining upontheir consciousness. Running feet--a stifled voice--something faintand shrill--

Aimée sprang to her feet; the general rose with her and turned hishead inquiringly in the direction. Then he jerked open the doorthrough which Fatima had disappeared; it led to a dark servicecorridor and small anteroom, from whose bed the attendant wasabsent. An outer door was ajar. 

No need to question the sounds now. Faint, but piercingly shrillshrieks were sounding from above, while the footsteps were racing, some down, some up--

The bey flung shut the door behind him and hurried towards theconfusion. 

CHAPTER XX

BEYOND THE DOOR

Ryder had stood stock still with amazement when the girl began toscream. She had gone mad, he thought for an instant, in masculinebewilderment, and then her madness revealed its treacherous cunning, for she began crying wildly for help against an invader, an infidel, a dog of a Christian who had stolen into her rooms. 

She had chucked him to the lions, Ryder perceived; one furious flashof lightning jealousy and Oriental anger had overthrown, in thatwild and lawless head, every other design for him for which she hadrisked so much. 

He had scorned her. .. . He had flouted her caprice. .. . He had daredto refuse the languors of those dangerous eyes. .. . 

The hurrying footsteps appeared to him the tread of a legion inaction, and he had no desire to rush out upon the oncomers; he had, indeed, distinct doubts of his ruthless ability to pass that supple, clawing, incensed creature at the door. 

He whirled and made a bolt for the window, striking at the fastenedgrill. He heard the snapping of wooden bolts and the splintering ofwood and out through the hole he climbed to a precipitous, head-longflight that fairly felt the clutching hands upon his ankle. 

He had meant to make a jump for it. A three-story plunge into theNile appeared a gentle exercise compared to the alternative withinthe palace, but in the very act of releasing his hold he changed hismind. 

Quicker than he had ever moved before, in any vicissitude of hislithe and agile youth, he clambered up, not down, and crouching backfrom sight upon the jutting top of the window, he sent his coatsailing violently through space. 

He dared not look over for its descent upon the water, for otherheads were peering from below and he could hear an excited outburstof speech, that broke sharply off. 

Evidently they were hurrying down to the water gate. Swiftly heutilized this misdirection for his own ends. 

The roofs. That was the refuge to make for. Flat, long-reachingroofs, from which one could climb off onto a wall or a palm or aside street. 

He had only a story to ascend and he made it in record time, fearfulthat the searchers whom he heard now launching a boat below wouldturn their eyes skywards. 

But he gained the top without an outcry being raised and foundhimself upon the roof where the ladies of the harem took their airunseen of any save the blind eyes of the muezzin in the Sultanmosque upon the hill. There were divans and a little taboret or twoand a framework where an awning could be raised against the sun. 

There was also a trap door. 

And here, tempestuously he changed his mind again. He abandoned thegoal of outer walls and chances of escape. He wrenched violently atthat trap door. It was bolted but the bolt was an ancient one andgave at his furious exertions, letting him down into a narrow spiralstaircase between walls. 

Down he plunged in haste, before some confused searcher should dashup. It was no place to meet an opposing force. Nor was the corridorin which he found himself much better. 

It was black and baffling as a labyrinth, with unexpected turnings, and he kept gingerly close to the wall with one hand clutching a bitof iron which he had taken into his possession and his pocket whenAziza had led him out of the underground walls--the very bit ofpointed iron, it was, with which the volatile creature had effectedhis rescue. 

He considered it an invaluable souvenir and twice, in his nervousapprehension, he almost brought it down upon shadows. 

Direction he judged vaguely by the screaming which was still goingon at a tremendous rate--evidently the girl had gone off intogenuine hysterics or else she had determined not to leave heragitation at the intrusion in any manner of question. No doubt theoutcries were a relief to her mingled emotions--remorse at herimpetuosity and chagrin that her thwarted plans might conceivably benow among those emotions--and since the vicinity of those shrieksmust be a gathering place to be avoided by him he stole on, down theupper hall, and finding a stair, he went down for two continuousflights. 

Aimée's rooms, he knew, had been upon the water, and recalling thegeneral direction of those two lighted windows that he had seen sorecently from without, his excavator's instinct led him on. Once hesaw the flitting figure of a turbaned woman in time to draw backinto a heaven-sent niche and again he flattened into a soundlessshadow against the wall as two young serving girls ran by onslippered feet, their anklets tinkling, chattering to each other indelighted excitement. 

And then the stealthy opening of a door--it was the very door bywhich Yussuf had precipitated himself upon the struggle at thesupper table some age-long hours ago--gave him a glimpse into thefar glooms of the reception room, where its long side of mashrubiyehwindows revealed now between its fretwork tiny chinks of a palingsky. 

He could make out the dark-draped marriage throne and the pallor ofthe disordered cloth upon the abandoned table below, and behind thetable the dark draperies of the remaining portières before thedoorway into the boudoir where he had hidden himself and into whichhe had last seen Aimée thrust. 

At the other end of the great room were the entrance stairs to theharem, and there, he imagined, a watchman was stationed, or elsestout bolts and bars were guarding the situation. There remained anarched doorway into other formal rooms through which he had seenAimée and the guests disappear for the wedding supper, and that wayled, he surmised, down into the service quarters. 

A sorry choice of exits! He could form no plan in advance but trustblindly to the amazing chances of adventure. And first, before herushed for escape, there was Aimée to find. 

Yet for all the mad hazard of the situation he was elated with life. He felt as if he had never fully lived until now, when every breathwas informed with the sharp prescience of danger. He was at oncecool and exultant, wary yet reckless, with the joyous recklessnessof utter desperation. 

With cat-like care he surveyed the drawing-room; it appeareddeserted but as he watched his tense nerves could see the shadowsforming, taking furtive, crouching shape--and then dissolvingharmlessly into a rug, a chair, or a stirring drapery. His eyesgrown used to the dimness he identified the mantle upon the floor inwhich he had come and which he had extended to Aimée in that briefmoment of fatuous triumph, and beyond it, across a chair, was theportière which the black had torn down from the doorway to wrapabout Ryder's helpless form as he had carried him down to livingdeath. 

That mantle, he thought, might yet be useful, and he stole forwardand recovered it, but, as he straightened, another shadow darted outfrom the boudoir door and silhouetted for an instant against thelighted, room he saw a figure in a long, swinging military cloak. 

Discovery was inevitable and Ryder made a swift plunge to take thecloaked figure by surprise, but even as one hand shot out andgripped the throat while the other held his threatening iron aloft, his clutch relaxed, his arm fell nervelessly at his side. 

For from the figure had come the broken gasp of a soft voice, andthe face upturned to his was a pale oval under dark, disorderedhair. 

"Aimée!" he breathed in exultant, still half-incredulous joy. "Aimée!. .. Did I hurt you--?"

"Oh, no, no!" came Aimée's shaken voice. "Oh, you are safe!"

He felt her trembling in his clasp and he swept her close to him. For one breathless instant they clung together, in a sharp, passionate gladness which blurred every sense of dread or danger. They were safe--they were together--and for the moment it wasenough. Every obstacle was surmounted, every terror conquered. 

They clung, obliviously, like children, her pale face against hisshoulder, her hair brushing his lips, her wild heartbeats throbbingagainst his own. 

Then the girl, remembering, lifted her head. 

"Quick--we must go, " she whispered. "For there I made a fire--"

He followed her frightened, backward glance at the boudoir door andsuddenly saw its cracks and key hole strangely radiant with light. 

"He left me, to go to those screams, " she was saying rapidly. "Itried to run that way--and found that woman coming back. And I toldher to wait--in her own room--and I slipped back in there--andsuddenly it came to me to thrust the candle about. I thought I wouldrun out and if I met any one I would call, 'Fire', and say thegeneral was burning and perhaps in the confusion--"

The terrible desperation of her both stirred and wrung him. She wasso little, so helpless, so trembling in his clasp . .. So made forlove and tenderness. .. . And to think of her in such fear and horrorthat she went thrusting reckless candles into her hangings, settinga palace on fire in the blind fury for escape. .. . 

To such work had this night brought her. .. . This night, and threemen--for he and the craven Tewfick and the fanatic bey were alllinked in this night's work. Yes, and another man--and he thoughtswiftly, in a lightning flash of wonder, how little that PaulDelcassé had known when he set his eager face toward the Old World, with his wife and baby with him, that he was setting his feet intosuch a web . .. That his wife would die, languishing in a pasha'sharem, and his little daughter would one night be flying in madterror from the cruel beast the weak pasha had sold her to!

And how little, for that matter, he had known when he had set hisown face toward those same sands what secrets he would discoverthere and what forbidden ways his heart would know. 

These thoughts all went through him like one thought, in some clear, remote background of his mind, while he was swiftly drawing on themilitary cloak she gave him and wrapping her in the black mantle. There was a veil on the mantle's hood that she could fling acrossher face when she wished, but Ryder had no fez to complete thedeceptive outline of his masquerade. He must trust to the dark andto the concealment of the high, military collar of the cloak. 

"Do you know a way?" he whispered and at her shaken head, "The watergate, " he said, thinking swiftly. 

There would be a crowd now about the gate, but if they could onlymanage to gain those cellars and hide somewhere they could steal outlater upon that waterman. 

It seemed the most feasible of all the desperate plans. The roofsmight be a trap. The harem entrance led into a garden and the gardenwas guarded by an impassable wall. But if he could only get to theriver he knew that he was a strong enough swimmer to save Aimée, orhe might even terrorize the watchman into furnishing a boat. 

She did not question but guided him swiftly through the arch thatled down into the banqueting hall. Twice that day she had gone downthose stairs. Once in her bridal state, her eyes shining, her cheeksglowing with the wild joy of Ryder's arrival and dreams of escape, and again, scarcely an hour gone by, she had descended them, tenseand desperate, her revolver at the general's head, seeking vainlyRyder's rescue. 

And now a third time, a guilty, reckless fugitive in the night, shestole down those stairs into the many-columned hall where she hadbeen fêted in state among her guests. Here her only knowledge was ofthe stone corridor and the locked door through which the bey had ledher, but Ryder knew the way that Aziza had brought him and he turnedcautiously toward those wide, curving stairs. 

Keeping Aimée a few steps behind him, he went down the soft carpetand peered out at the bottom towards the water gate. He saw no bars;the gate was open and against the pale square of the water were theblack silhouettes of the general and the gateman, both leaning outat some splashing in the river. 

He knew a boy's reckless impulse to shove them both in. It was anunholy thought his better judgment rejected--unless driven toit--yet some prankish element in his roused recklessness would nothave deplored the necessity. 

If they looked about--!

But they did not stir as, with Aimée's cold hand in his, he made thetiptoed descent and slipped softly about the corner of the steps. Then, instead of going on down the hall to some hiding place in theruins, he took a suddenly revealed, sharper turn into a narrowpassage just beyond the stairs. 

It might lead to another gate, some service entrance, perhaps, itran so straight and direct between its walls. 

Intuitively that excavator's sense of his defined the direction. They were going parallel with the river, although a little way backfrom the water wall, and in the direction of the men's part of thepalace, the selamlik. 

He recalled the selamlik vaguely as an irregular mass of buildings, and though the formal entrance was of course through the garden fromthe avenue, there was a narrow side street or lane leading back tothe water's edge between this part of the palace and the nestbuilding, and very likely there was some entrance on that lane. 

Bitterly he blamed himself for his lack of complete inspection thatmorning. To be sure he had told himself, then, as he strolled aboutthe high garden walls and peered down the narrow lane on one side ofthe Nile backwaters, that he didn't need a map of the place for hisarrival at an afternoon reception; he was simply going in and out, and clothes and speech were his only real concern. 

He had even said to himself that he might not reveal himself toAimée--if she did not discover him. He wanted merely to see heragain, and be sure that she understood her own history--he had nonotion of attempting any further relations with her, any resumptionof their forbidden and dangerous acquaintance. 

And it was true that had been the defiant and protesting surface ofhis thoughts, but deep within himself there had always been thathot, hidden spark, ready to kindle to a flame at her word--and withit the unowned, secret longing that she would speak the word. 

And when she had called on him for help, when the trembling appealhad sprung past her stricken pride, and he had seen the terror inher soft, child's eyes, then the spark had struck its conflagration. He had become nothing but a hot, headstrong fury of devotion. 

And he said to himself now that he might have known it was going tohappen, and that if he had not been so concerned that morning aboutsaving his face and preserving this fiction of indifference he wouldknow a little more about the labyrinth they were poking aboutin--the little more that tips the scale between safety anddestruction. 

But he did not know and blind Chance was his only goddess. 

The passage had brought him to a wall and a narrow stairs whileanother passage led off to the right, apparently to the forwardregions of the place. 

He took the stairs. He had had enough of underground regions whenthey did not lead to water gates and the stairs promised novelty atleast. 

He wished he knew more about Turkish palaces. He supposed they had afairly consistent ground plan, but beyond a few main features ofinner courts and halls he was culpably ignorant of their intentions. If it were an early Egyptian tomb or temple now! But then, perhapsthe Turks were more indefinite in their building and rebuilding. 

At the head of the stairs a door stood half ajar. Through the crackhe strained his eyes, but his anxious glance met only the darknessof utter night. Not a gleam of light. And not a sound--except thefar, hollow stamping of some stabled horse. 

Softly he pushed the door open and he and Aimée slipped within. Theplace, whatever it was, appeared deserted, a dark, bare, backstairsregion--for he stumbled over a bucket--from which to the right hecould just discern a hall leading into the forward part of thepalace, wanly lighted some distance on, with the pale flicker of anold ceiling lamp. 

They seemed to be at the end of the hall and the darker shadows inthe walls about them appeared to be a number of doors--closed, sohis groping hands informed him. 

Oh, for his excavator's steady light, or a pocket flash! Oh, for alight of any kind, even a temporary match! But he dared not risk thescratch, for now he caught the thud of footfalls overhead, heavyfootfalls, and there might be stairs unexpectedly close at hand. 

He turned to Aimée but the girl shook her head helplessly andhesitant and dashed, for all their young confidence, they wavered amoment hand in hand in the dark, fearful of what a rash move mightbring upon them. And in the beating stillness Ryder became consciousthat the muffled, monotonous stamping of a horse is a gloomy, disheartening thing in the night, and that footsteps overhead are ofall noises the most nervous and unsettling. 

What was behind those doors? Not a spark of light came from them, that was one comfort. The rooms, kitchen, service, store rooms orwhatever they were, appeared in the same blackness and oblivion. .. . But any door might open on a roomful of sleeping gardeners andgrooms. .. . 

Life and more than life hung on the blind goddess. 

It was only an instant that they hesitated there, yet it appeared aneternity of indecision, then nearer footsteps sounded, coming downthat hall. No more wavering of the scales!

Ryder turned to the door at his left, at the very end of the wallbeyond which came that far stamping, and wrenched it open, closingit swiftly behind him. He saw a light now, a mild, yellow raythrough an opened door ahead that vaguely illumined the strange oldvehicles of the palace, and the stables were beyond. 

Some one else was beyond, too, in the stables, for that very instanthe saw a black horse backed restively into sight, its tossing headevading the hands that were trying to bridle it. 

"The Fortieth Door!" said Ryder to himself with an involuntarythrust of humor. 

The door of the horse! The door of forbidden daring! He knew now thevague associations that had stirred in him as he had stared blindlyabout that place of doors. .. . But he had opened so many forbiddendoors of late that this last was welcome as the supreme test. 

And nothing in the world could have been more welcome than ahorse--a horse with a way out behind it!

"Stay back, " he said under his breath to Aimée, and clasping his bitof iron he moved toward the door. 

He could see the attendant now, who was finishing his bridling, andit was Yussuf, the eunuch, so busy gentling and soothing the horsethat he cast only one glance in the direction of the sounds he heardand that one glance misled him in its glimpse of the general'scloak. 

"By your favor--but an instant, " he called out, "and he is ready--"

"Stand aside, " said Ryder very clearly, emerging from the shadows atthe horse's heels. "Out of the way with you. The horse is for me. "

A moment Yussuf gaped. Then he dropped the bridle and his hand wentswiftly to the knife hilt in his belt. 

"Fool!" said Ryder contemptuously. "Would you tempt fate? Do youthink I am such that your knife could harm me? Must I prove to youagain that walls are nothings--that I but let myself be taken toprove my powers?"

Ethiopians are superstitious. And Yussuf knew that his brick andmortar had been strong. .. . Yet they have great trust in a crooked, short-bladed knife, and Yussuf did not relax his hold upon his andfor all that Ryder could See there was no hesitation in the grinningferocity of his black face. 

Yet his spring was an instant delayed and in that instant Ryderspoke again. 

"Look, now at the wall behind you, " he said quickly. 

Yussuf looked. And as he turned his bullet head Ryder jumped closeand brought his iron down upon it with a sickening force he thoughtscarcely short of murder. 

To his amazement the black did not fall, but staggered only, andRyder had need to send the knife spinning from his grasp and strikeagain before the eunuch's knees sagged and his huge bulk sank atRyder's feet. 

This time Ryder took no chance with a shammed unconsciousness. Hesnatched down bits of leather from the wall and bound the man'shands and feet in tight security and seeing that he was breathing, although heavily, he thrust a gagging handkerchief into his mouth. 

Then he dragged the heavy body towards a pile of hay he sawin a vacant stall and concealed it effectively but not toosmotheringly--although Yussuf, he felt, would be no grievous lossto society. 

Vaguely in the back of his consciousness he had been aware of theexcited plunge of the horse and then of a low, soothing murmur ofspeech, and now he turned to find Aimée holding the bridle andstroking the quivering creature with gentle, fearless hands. 

"Is he dead?" she asked quietly of the eunuch. 

"Stunned, " said Ryder, meaning reassurement and was startled by thepassion of her cry, "Oh, I could kill them all--all!"

"I will--if they try to stop us, " he promised grimly, forgetful ofthat oath to Aziza. 

Hastily he glanced about the stalls. There was no other horse there, only a pair of mild-eyed donkeys, and though there might conceivablybe other horses behind other doors there was no instant to spare insearch. 

This luck was too prodigious to risk. 

The door to the street had already been unbolted and now he threwit back with a quick look into the dark emptiness of the narrow sidestreet, and then, with a tight hold of the reins, he swung himselfinto the saddle and Aimée up into his arms, her head on hisshoulder, her arms clasping him. 

It was a huge Bedouin saddle with high-arched back and curved pummeland the slender pair no more than filled it, making apparently noweight at all for the spirited beast which tore out of the stalls atthe charging gallop beloved of Eastern horsemen. 

For a moment Ryder felt wildly that he might meet the fate of therash youth in his patron story. He had never ridden a horse likethis, which, like all high-mettled Arabs, resented the authority ofany but his master, and though a good horseman Ryder had all hecould do to keep his seat and Aimée in his arms. 

Around the corner of the lane the horse went racing, and down thedark, lebbek-lined avenue his flying feet struck back their sparksof fire. Across an open square he plunged, while irate camelsscreamed at him and a harsh voice shouted back loud curses. Itseemed to Ryder that other voices joined in--that there was apursuit, an outcry--and then they were out down an open road, wildlygalloping, like a mad highwayman under a pale morning sky. 

CHAPTER XXI

MISS JEFFRIES MAKES A CALL

That morning Miss Jeffries ate two eggs. She ate them successively, with increasing deliberation, and afterwards she lingeredinterminably over her toast and marmalade. 

Still Ryder made no appearance and since the Arab waiter hadinformed her that he had not yet breakfasted she concluded that hewas not at the hotel but had spent the night with some friend ofhis--probably that Andrew McLean to whom he was always running off. 

Nor was he in to luncheon. That was rank extravagance because he waspaying at pension rates. His extravagance, however, was no affair ofhers. Neither, she informed herself frigidly, was his appearance orhis non-appearance. It was only rather dull of Jack to lose so many, well, opportunities. 

She was not going to be in Cairo forever. Not much longer, in fact. There were adages about gathering rosebuds while ye may and makinghay while the sun shone that Jack Ryder would do well to observe. 

Other men did, reflected Jinny Jeffries with a proud lift of herruddy head. Only somehow, the other men--

Well, Jack _was_ provokingly attractive! Only of course, if he wasgoing to rely upon his attraction and not upon his attentions--

Deliberately Miss Jeffries smiled upon a stalwart tourist from NewYork and promised her society for a foursome at bridge in the hotellounge that evening. 

Later, when Jack still failed to materialize and behold herinaccessibility, the exhibition seemed hardly to have been worthwhile. .. . And there were difficulties getting rid of the New Yorkerthe next day. He had ideas about excursions. 

It was during the forenoon of the next day that the first twinge ofgenuine worry shot across the sustained resentment which she waspleased to call her complete indifference. She recalled the vigor ofRyder's warnings about mentioning his adventure and the gravedangers of disclosure, and she began to wonder. 

She wished, rather, that he had gone safely out of the house beforeshe went away. 

Of course nothing could happen. He had done nothing to give himselfaway. He was simply a veiled shadow, moving humbly as befitted alowly stranger among the high and hospitable surroundings. 

But still, it would have been better if he had gone. .. . 

Those turbaned women had looked queerly at them when they weretalking so long in the window. Perhaps it was not simply at theintimacy between a young American and a veiled Oriental. Perhapstheir voices had been unguarded or Jack's tones had awakenedsuspicion. Perhaps he had given himself away in his long talk withthe bride. She remembered a Frenchwoman who had come to interruptthat talk who had looked rather sharply at Jack. .. . And thatdreadful eunuch was always staring. .. . 

She thought of a great many things now, more and more things everyminute. 

And still she told herself that she was absurd, that Jack would bethe first to ridicule her alarm. He was probably enjoying himself, staying on with his friends, forgetting all about herself. .. . Stillhis room at the hotel had not been slept in for two nights now norhad he called at the hotel and he certainly didn't have an extensivesupply of clothes and linen upon him beneath the mantle. 

Particularly she remembered that he had exhibited some funny blacktennis shoes which he had thought would go appropriately with awoman's robes. Absurd, to think of him as spending two days intennis shoes, and absurd to say that he would go to the shops andbuy more when he had plenty of footgear in his hotel room. 

Unless he wore McLean's. 

She had always regarded the unknown McLean as a most unnecessaryabsorbent of Jack Ryder's time and attention and now that view wasdeeply reinforced. 

By noon she decided to do something. She would telephone thatAndrew McLean and see if Jack had been there. The Agricultural Bank, that was the place. An obliging hotel clerk--clerks were alwaysobliging to Miss Jeffries--gave her the number and she slipped intothe booth feeling a ridiculous amount of excitement and suspense. 

She had never telephoned in Cairo--only been telephoned to--and shewas not prepared for the fact that the telephone company was French. At the phone girl's "_Numero?--Quel numero, s'il vous plait?_" Jinnyhastily choked back the English response and clutched violently atFrench numerals. 

"_Huit cent--no, quatre vingt--un moment!_" she demanded desperatelyand hanging up the receiver, sat down to write out her number inFrench correctly. 

And then she got the Bank, and, still clinging to her French, sherequested to speak to Monsieur McLean and was informed that it wasMonsieur McLean himself. 

"_Je suis_--oh, how absurd! Of course you speak English, " sheexclaimed. "This French telephone upset me. .. . I wanted to speak toMr. Ryder if he is there--or else leave a message for him, if youknow when he will come in. "

"Ryder?" There was a faint intonation of surprise in the voice. "I've no idea really when he'll be in, " said McLean, "but you mayleave the message if you like. "

"Hasn't he--haven't you seen him for some time?" stammered Jinny, feeling that McLean must be taking her for a pursuing adventuress. 

"Well--not for some time. "

Her heart sank. 

"Not--not for two days?"

"It might be that, " said the Scotchman cautiously. 

Two days. Forty-eight hours, almost, since she had left him in thatharem! And McLean had not seen him. Of course there might be otherfriends who had and McLean might know of them. 

"I'm afraid I'll have to see you, " she said desperately. "It'srather important about Jack Ryder--and if I could just talk with youa minute--this afternoon--?"

"I have no appointment for three fifteen, " McLean told herconcisely. 

Evidently he expected her to call at the Bank. .. . He was used tobeing called on. .. . "Shall I come--?" she began. 

"I can see you at three fifteen, " McLean reassured her, and sherepeated "Three fifteen, " with an odd vibration in her voice. 

"I wonder, " she murmured, "if I came at three ten--or threetwenty--?"

 * * * * *

But she didn't. She was humorously careful to make it exactly aquarter past the hour when she left her cab before McLean'sofficial looking residence and stepped into the tiled entrance. 

She had no very clear notion of Andrew McLean except that he was, asJack had said, Scotch, single, and skeptical, that he was Jack'sintimate friend and an official sort of banker--and the word bankerhad unconsciously prepared her for stout dignity and middle age. 

She was not at all prepared for the lean, sandy-haired, ratherabrupt young man who came forward from the depths of the gratefullycool reception room, and after a nervous hand clasp waved her to achair. 

He was still holding her card, and as he glanced covertly at it sherecalled that she had given him no name over the telephone and thathe had known her only by the time of her appointment. Decidedly shemust have made an odd impression!

Well, he could see for himself now, she thought, a trifle defiantly. Certainly he was taking stock of her out of those shrewd swift grayeyes of his. He could see that she was, well--certainly a nice girl!

As a matter of fact McLean could see that she was considerably more. Rather disconcertingly more! It was not often that such white-cladapparitions, piquant of face and coppery of hair, teased the eyes inhis receiving room. 

"You wanted to see me--?" he offered mechanically. 

"Perhaps you have heard Jack Ryder speak of me--of Jinny Jeffries?"began the girl, determined to put the affair on a sound socialfooting as soon as possible. 

McLean considered and, in honesty, shook his head. "He very seldommentioned young ladies. "

"Oh--!" Jinny tried not to appear dashed. "We are very oldfriends--in America--and of course I've seen a good deal of himsince I've been in Cairo. In fact, he is stopping now at the samehotel with us--with my aunt and uncle and myself. "

McLean smiled. "He said it was a tooth, " he mentioned dryly. 

In Jinny's eyes a little flicker answered him, but her words wereingenuous. "Oh, of course he _has_ been having a time with thedentist. That's why he couldn't return to his camp. What I meantwas, that at the hotel we have been seeing him every day until--hehas just disappeared since day before yesterday and we--that is, I--am very much concerned about it. "

"Disappeared? You mean, he--"

"Just disappeared, that's all. He hasn't been at the hotel--hehasn't been anywhere that I know of, and I haven't heard a word fromhim--so I telephoned you and then when I found he hadn't beenhere--"

McLean looked off into space. "Eh, well, he'll turn up, " he saidcomfortingly. "Jack's erratic, you may say, in his comings andgoings. He means nothing by it. .. . I've known him do the same tome. .. . Any time, now; you're likely to hear--"

Miss Jeffries sat up a little straighter and her cheeks burned withbrighter warmth. 

"It isn't just that I want to see him, Mr. McLean, " she took quietlydistinct pains to explain. "It's because I am anxious--"

"Not a need, not a need in the world. Jack knows his way about. .. . He may have been called back to the diggings, you know--if they dugup a bit porcelain there or a few grains of corn the boy wouldforget the sun was shining. "

Perhaps his caller's burnished hair had shaped that thought. "Jackknows his way about, " he repeated encouragingly, as one whodemolishes the absurd fears of women and children. 

"You don't quite understand. " Jinny's tones were silken smooth. "Yousee, I left him in rather unusual circumstances. It was a placewhere he had no business in the world to be--"

At McLean's unguardedly startled gaze her humor overtook her wrath. 

"Oh, it was quite all right for _me_" she replied mischievously tothat look. "Only not for him. You see, he was masquerading--"

"Again?" thought McLean, involuntarily. Lord, what a hand for thelassies that lad was--and he had thought him such an aloof one!

"Masquerading as a woman--so he could take me to a reception. "

Jinny began to falter. Just putting that escapade into wordsportrayed its less commendable features. 

"It was a woman's reception, " she began again, "at a Turkish house. A marriage reception--"

She had certainly secured McLean's whole-hearted attention. 

"A marriage reception--a Turkish marriage reception?" he said verysharply and amazedly as his caller continued to pause. "Do you meanto say that Jack Ryder went into a Turkish house dressed as awoman--?"

There was a pronounced angularity of feature about the youngScotchman which now took on a chiseled sternness. 

Swiftly Jinny interposed. "Oh, you mustn't blame him, Mr. McLean!You see, I wanted very much to go to a Turkish reception and Ididn't have the courage to go alone or drag some other tourist asinexperienced as myself, and so Jack--why, there didn't seem anyharm in his dressing up. Just for fun, you know. He put on a Turkishmantle and a veil up to his eyes and he was sure he'd never be foundout. I ought not to have let him, I know--it was my fault--"

She looked so flushed and innocent and distressed that McLean'schivalry rose swiftly to her need. 

"Indeed you mustn't blame yourself Miss--Miss Jeffries. You don'tknow Egypt--and Jack does. He knew that if he had been discoveredthere would have been no help for him--and no questions askedafterwards. And it might have been very dangerous for you. Theblame is just his now, " he said decisively, yet not without acertain weak-kneed sympathy with the culprit. 

For if the girl had looked like this . .. He could see that she wouldbe a difficult little piece to withstand . .. Though any man with anounce of sense in his head would have behaved as a responsibleprotector and not as a reckless school boy. 

"What happened?" he said quickly. 

"Oh, nothing happened--nothing that I know of. We got along verywell, I thought, although now I remember that some people _did_stare. .. . But I wasn't worried at the time. I thought it was justbecause I was an American and he was apparently a Turkish woman, butthere was no reason why an American might not get a Turkish woman toact as a guide, was there?. .. And then Jack told me to go homefirst--he said it would be simpler that way and that he would slipover to some friend's or to some safe place and take his disguiseoff. He wore a gray suit beneath it, and the only funny thing wassome black tennis shoes. .. . So I left him. And he hasn't been backsince. "

She added as McLean was silent, "He told me that he had someengagement for that evening, so I did not begin to worry until thenext day. "

"Now just how long ago was this?"

"Two days ago. Day before yesterday afternoon. "

She looked anxiously at McLean's face and took alarm at his carefulabsence of expression. 

"Oh, Mr. McLean, do you think--"

He brushed that aside. "And where was it--this reception?"

"At an old palace, forever away on the edge of the city. I don'tremember the street--we drove and I had the cab wait. But itbelonged to a Turkish general. Hamdi Bey, " she brought outtriumphantly. "General Hamdi Bey. "

McLean did not correct her idea of the title. His expression wasmore carefully non-committal than ever, while behind its quiet guardhis thoughts were breaking out like a revolution. 

Hamdi Bey. .. . A wedding reception. .. . The daughter of TewfickPasha. .. . 

In the secret depths of his soul he uttered profane and troubledwords. That French girl, again. .. . So Ryder had not forgotten thataffair, although he had kept silent about it of late. He had bidedhis time and taken that rash means of seeing the girl again--and hehad involved this unknowing young American in a risk of scandal anddeceived her into believing herself responsible for this capricewhile all the time she had been a mere cloak and it had been his owndiabolical desire. .. . 

Miss Jeffries was surprised to see a sudden sorry softness dawn inthe young man's look upon her. And she was surprised, too, at hisnext question. 

"I wonder, now, if you were the young lady who took him to amasquerade ball--some time ago?"

Lightly she acknowledged it. "You'll think I'm always taking him tothings, " she said brightly, but McLean's troubled gaze did notquicken with a smile. 

He was experiencing a vast compassion. She was so innocent, sounconscious of the quicksands about her. .. . Probably she had neverheard a breath of that first adventure. 

And it was this fair Christian creature whom Jack Ryder hadabandoned for a veiled girl from a Turk's harem!

McLean filled with cold, antagonistic wonder. He forgot the lovelyimage of the French miniature, and remembering Tewfick's roundedeyes and olive features he thought of the veiled girl--mostillogically, for he knew that Tewfick was not her father--as somebold-eyed, warm-skinned image of base allure. 

Sorrowfully he shook his head over his friend. He determined toprotect him and to protect this girl's innocence of his behavior. Hewould help her to save him. .. . She could do it yet--if only she didnot learn the truth and turn from him. If ever she had been able tomake Jack go to a masquerade--that cursed masquerade!--she couldwork other, more beneficent, miracles. 

So now he asked, very cautiously, his mind on divided paths, "Do yousay there was nothing to draw suspicion--he did not talk to anyone, the guests or the bride--?"

"Oh, yes, he did talk to the bride, " said Miss Jeffries with suchutter unconsciousness that McLean's heart hardened against therenegade. 

"He talked quite a while to her, " she said. 

"Did you notice anything--?"

"Oh, I couldn't hear what was said. He was the last in line and hestayed for some time. He said afterward that it was all right. Shewas very nice to him, " said Jinny earnestly, producing every scrapof incident for McLean's judgment. "She showed him some of herpresents--something about her neck. "

In mid-speech McLean changed a startled "God!" to "Good!"

"She wasn't suspicious, then?" he said weakly. 

"Not as far as I could see. Oh, nothing _seemed_ to be wrong. But Idid feel uneasy until I got away and then, Jack hasn't come back--"

Again she looked at the young Scotchman for confirmation of her fearand again she saw that careful expressionless calm. 

"It's no need for alarm, " he told her slowly, "since nothing wentwrong. I see no reason why Jack couldn't have walked out of thatreception. If we only knew where he was going later--"

"Yes, something might have happened later, " Jinny took up. "Ithought of that. He might have wanted some more fun and felt morereckless--Oh, I _am_ worried, " she confessed, her gray eyes veryround and childlike. 

And if anything had happened she would always blame herself, thoughtMcLean ironically. .. . The unthinking deviltry of the youngscoundrel!. .. When he found him he'd have a few things to say!

"That's why I came to you, " Jinny went on. "I hesitated, for he hadwarned me so against telling any one, but no one else knows--"

"And no one must know, " McLean assured her crisply. "I daresay it'sa mare's nest and Jack will be found safe and sound at his diggingsor off on a lark with some friend or other, but it's well to makesure and you did quite right in coming to me. "

Jinny thought she had done quite right, too. 

There was a satisfying strength about McLean. She resented a triflehis masculine way of trying to keep the dark side from her; she wasnot greatly misled by that untroubled look of his and yet she wasunconsciously reassured by it. .. . And although he refused to bestampeded by alarm he was not incredulous of it, for his manner wasfrankly grave. 

"I'll send out at once, " he said decisively, "and see if I can pickup any gossip of that reception. I've a very clever clerk withbrothers in the bazaars who is a perfect wireless for information. He has told me the night before a man was to be murdered. "

He paused, reflecting that was not a happy suggestion. 

"Then I'll send out to Jack's diggings. That express doesn't stopto-night, but I'll find a way. And I'll let you know as soon as Ican. "

"You're very kind, " said Jinny gratefully. 

His competent manner brought her a light-hearted sensation ofdifficulties already solved. Jack was as good as found, she felt inswift reaction. If he was in any trouble this forceful young manwould settle it. 

But probably he wasn't in any trouble. Probably he was just at hisdiggings--rushing off from her in the exasperating way he seemed todo whenever they were getting on particularly well. .. . Sheremembered how he had bolted from that masquerade which had begun sohappily. He had said he was ill, but she had never completely slainthe suspicion that his illness sprang from ennui and disinclination. 

She rose. "I mustn't take any more of your time, Mr. McLean--and youprobably have a four fifteen engagement. "

But her light raillery failed of its mark. 

"Eh? No, I have not, " seriously he assured her. "You are quite thelast one I took on--the last before tea. "

He paused confused with a strange suggestion. .. . Tea. .. . His servantdid it rather well. .. . And it was time--

Usually he had it in the garden. It was a charming garden, full ofroses, with a nice view of the Citadel--and his strange suggestionexpanded with a rosy vision of Jinny among the roses, beside hiswicker table. .. . Would she possibly care to--?

He struggled with his idea--and with his shyness. And then the sensethat it wasn't quite decent, somehow, to be offering tea to thisgirl whom anxiety for Ryder's unknown lot had brought to himovercame that unwonted impulse. 

He dismissed the idea. And like all shy men he was oddly relieved atthe passing of the necessity for initiative, even while he felt hismild hope's expiring pang. 

He stepped before her to open the doors to which she was now takingherself. 

In the entrance he saw his clerk--the clever one--going out, andexcusing himself he went forward to detain the man. For a momentthere ensued a low-toned colloquy. Then the clerk, a dark-brownedkeen-featured fellow in European clothes with a red fez, began torelate something. 

When McLean turned back to Jinny Jeffries she saw that his look wassharply altered. There was a transfixed air about him and when hespoke his voice told her that he had had a shock. 

"My man tells me, " he said, "that Hamdi Bey's bride is dead. Heburied her yesterday. "

CHAPTER XXII

FROM THE BAZAARS

There was a moment's pause. 

"What? That lovely girl?" said Jinny in startled pity. She addedincredulously, "Yesterday?. .. And only the day before--why, what_could_ have happened?"

That was what McLean was asking himself very grimly. 

Aloud he told her slowly. "They say that fire happened. Someaccident--a candle overturned in her apartments. And of course thewindows were screened--"

"_Fire_--how terrible! That lovely girl, " said Jinny again. She wasgenuinely horrified and pitiful, yet she found a moment to wonder atthe evident depths of McLean's consternation. For of course he hadnever seen the girl. 

Yet he looked utterly upset. 

"It's one of the most dreadful things I ever heard of, " Jinnymurmured. "On her wedding night. .. . And she was so young, Mr. McLean, and so exquisite. She didn't look like a real girl. .. . Shewas a fairy creature. .. . I never dreamed there _really_ wererose-leaf skins before but hers was just like flower petals. Jackand I talked about it, I remember. And her face had something sobewitching about it, something so sweet and delicate--"

She broke off revisited with that vision of Aimée's sprite-likebeauty. .. . How little that poor girl had thought, as she stood therein the bright splendor of her robes and diadem, that in a few hoursmore--

"Oh, I hope that fire--that it was merciful--that she didn'tsuffer, " she said almost inaudibly. 

But speech itself was too definitive of horrors. 

"It's tragic, " she finished simply. 

It was tragic, with a complicated tragedy, thought Andrew McLean ashe stood there, his eyes narrowing, his lips compressed, his mindinvaded with a dark swarm of conjecture, surmise, suspicion, hisvision possessed by a flitting rush of pictures. 

He saw Jack talking with the girl at the reception. .. . The girlshowing him something about her neck--that accursed locket, hethought acutely. .. . Jack sending Miss Jeffries home. .. . Had hearranged that purposely? Was there some mad, improvised scheme ofescape in the air?

The pictures became mere flitting wraiths of conjecture, yet touchedwith horrifying possibility. .. . Jack lingering, hiding. .. . Jackmaking love to the girl, attempting flight. .. . Jack discovered--andthe quick saber thrust--for both. 

A fire?. .. Very likely--to screen the darker tragedy. Hamdi wascapable of it to save his pride. And it would dispose so easily ofthe--evidence. 

McLean's thoughts flinched from the grim outcome of his fear. Hetried to tell himself that he was inventing horrors, that the firemight be the simple truth, that Ryder's talk with the girl mightactually have ended in farewell--at least a temporary farewell--andthat his consequent low spirits had taken him off to mope in camp. 

That was undoubtedly the thing to believe, at least until there wasactual necessity to disbelieve it, and looking at the story in thatway, McLean's Scotch sense of Providence was capable of pointing outthe stern benefits of the sad visitation. 

Whatever mischief might have been afoot between his friend and thatunfortunate young girl the fire had prevented. And however hard Jackmight take this now, decidedly the poor girl's death was better forhim than her life. 

No more wasting himself now on sad romance and adventure. No moredesire and danger. No more lurking about barred gates and secretdoors and forbidden palaces. No more clandestine trysts. No morefury of mind, beating against the bars of fate. 

Jack was saved. 

Even if he had succeeded in rescuing the girl--what then? McLean wasskeptical of felicity from such contrasting lives. Better thefinality, the sharp pain, the utter separation. And then--

His eyes returned to the young American before him. She was theunconscious answer to that future. She would save Ryder from regretand retrospection. .. . In after years, looking back from a happy andwell-ordered domesticity, this would all become to him a fantastic, far-off adventure, sad with the remembered but unfelt sadness ofyouth, yet mercifully dim and softened with young beauty. 

Jack must never tell this girl the story. McLean had read somewhereof the mistakes of too-open revelation to women and now he was verysure of it. .. . She must never receive this hurt, never know thatwhen she had been troubling over Jack's disappearance he had beenagonizing over another girl--that the escapade she thought sointimate a lark had been a trick to see the other--that the youngcreature whose loveliness she so innocently praised had been herrival, drawing Jack from her. .. . 

McLean would speak clearly to Ryder about this and seal his lips. .. . But first he would have to be found. 

He became conscious that he had been a long time silent, followingthese thoughts, while Jinny waited. 

"I'll do everything I can to find out about that fire, " he told her. "I mean, about any discovery of Jack in the palace, " he quicklyamended as her face was touched with instant question. "And I'll seeif any one in Cairo knows where he is. Then if nothing turns up I'lljust pop out to his diggings in the morning and make sure he's allright. .. . I'll get back that night and telephone you. And untilthen, not a word about it. Much better not. "

"Not a word, " Jinny promised. "And if you should happen to find outanything to-night--"

"I'll let you know at once. Well, rather. But don't count on that. The old boy is out in his tombs, dusting off his mummies. You mayget a letter, yourself, in the morning, " he threw out withheartening inspiration, "And while you are reading it, I'll betearing along to the infernal desert--"

He had brought the smile to her eyes as well as lips. Bright andreassured and comfortably dependent upon his resourceful strength, she took her leave. 

But there was no smile remaining upon Andrew McLean's visage. 

Twenty-four hours. Two nights and a day. .. . And the girl was deadand in her grave--Moslems wasted no time before interment--and Jackwas--where?

CHAPTER XXIII

IN THE DESERT

Clinging to that plunging horse Ryder made little attempt at firstto guide the flight. It was enough to keep himself in the saddle andAimée in his arms while every galloping moment flung a fartherdistance between them and that palace of horror. 

His heart was beating in a wild, triumphant exultation. Glorious tobe out under the free sky, the wind in his face, the open worldahead! He felt one with that dashing creature beneath him. 

And Aimée was in his arms, untouched, unhurt, out from the power ofthat sinister man and the expectation of dread things. 

The moment was a supreme and glorious emotion. 

They were headed south. And to Ryder's exhilaration this seemedgood. Cairo offered no hiding place for that fugitive girl. Even theharbor that McLean could give would not be proof against the legalforces of the Turks. Law and order, power and police were all in thehands of the husband or father. Even now the alarm might be given, the telephones ringing. 

Aimée must be hidden until she could be smuggled to France--oruntil the French authorities could get out their protectivedocuments. The hiding place that occurred to Ryder was a wild anddesperate expedient. 

The American hospital at Siut. The isolation ward--the pretense ofcontagious illness. And then later travel north, in the care ofnurses--

All this, if he could win over one of the doctors. At that momentwinning over a doctor appeared a sane and simple thing to Ryder'smind. The only difficulty he recognized was getting Aimée into thathospital. 

But they would not be looking for him in the south. He could manageit, he felt jubilantly. He could smuggle her into his diggings atnight and then make his arrangements. Anything, everything waspossible, now that the nightmare of a palace was left behind them. 

South they went then, at a quieter pace, the Arab's rhythmicfootfalls ringing through the still, gray world of before dawn. Across the Nile they made their way, working out on sandbars to thenarrow depths, where Ryder swam beside the swimming horse whileAimée clung to the saddle. Then south again along the river road. 

The sky was light now. And the river was light. Only the palms andthe villages and the flat dhurra fields were dark. And in the eastbehind the Mokattam hills a thin band of gold began to brighten. 

Life was stirring. Small black boys on huge black buffaloessplashed in the river. Veiled girls with water jars on theirhigh-held heads from which the shawls trailed down to the dust filedpast from the villages like a Parthenon frieze. On the high banksthe naked fellaheen were already stooping to the incessant dippingof the shadouf, while from the fields came the plaintive creaking ofthe well sweep, as some harnessed camel or bullock began its eternalround. 

A flock of sheep came down the river road, driven by their raggedshepherds, and a string of camels, burdened beyond all semblance tothemselves, bobbed by like rhythmic haystacks, led by a black-robed, bare-footed child, carrying a live turkey in her arms while beforeher rode her father, in shining pongee robes on a white donkeystrung with beads of blue. 

And by these travelers there passed in that brightening dawn twoother travelers from the north, a pair on a powerful but tired blackhorse, a man in a military cloak and a green and gold turban abouthis bronzed head, and behind him, on a pillion, a black-mantled, black-veiled girl, with bare, dangling feet. 

It was Aimée who had evolved the disguise, constructing the turbanfrom the negligee beneath her mantle, and it was Aimée who bargainedwith the villagers for their breakfast, eggs and goats' milk andbread and rice, while her lord, as befitted his dignity, stayedaloof upon his steed, returning a courteous response of "_Allahsalimak_--God bless you" to their greetings. 

Then as the day brightened and the last soft veil of mist wasburned away before a blood-red sun, that pair of travelers left thehighroad and turned west upon a byway that led past fields of cornand yellow water and mud villages where goats and naked babies andragged women squatted idly in the dust, and on through low, red-granite hills swirled about with yellow sand drift and out intothe desert beyond. 

Here fresh vigor came to the Arab horse, and tossing his mane andstretching out his nostrils to the dry air he broke into a gallopthat sent sand and pebbles flying from his hoofs. To right and leftthe startled desert hares scattered, and from the clumps of spikyhelga the black vultures rose in heavy-winged flight. 

Then the breeze dropped, and the swift-coming heat rushed at themlike a furnace breath, and slower and slower they made their way, Ryder leading the jaded horse and Aimée nodding in the saddle, merecrawling specks across the immensity of sand. 

Then, in the shade of a huge clump of gray-green _mit minan_ besidea jutting boulder they stopped at last to rest. The horse sank onhis knees; Ryder spread out his cloak and Aimée dropped down uponits folds, lost in exhausted sleep as soon as her head touched thesands. Ryder, his back against the rock, kept watch. 

It was not the exultant Ryder of that first hour of flight. Theexcitement of the night had subsided and withdrawn its wildstimulation. It was a hot and tired and immensely sobered young manwho sat there with eyes that burned from lack of sleep and a browknit into a taut and anxious line. 

Realization flooded him with the sun. Responsibility burned in uponhim with the heat. 

Alone in the Libyan desert he sat there, and at his feet there sleptthe young girl whose life he had snapped utterly off from its roots. 

He was overwhelmingly responsible for her. If she had never met him, if he had never continued to thrust himself upon her, she would havegone on her predestined way, safe, secluded, luxurious--vaguelyunhappy and mutinous at times, perhaps, in the secret stirrings ofher blood, but still an indulged and wealthy little Moslem. 

And now--she lay there, like a sleeping child, the dark tendrils ofhair clinging to her moist, sun-flushed cheeks, her long lashesmingling their shadows with the purple underlining of the night'sterrors, homeless, exhausted, resourceless but for that anxious-eyedyoung man. 

Desperately he hoped that she would not wake to regret. Even asardonic tyrant in a palace might be preferable in the mercilessdaylight to a helpless young man in the Libyan desert. 

And she was so slight, so delicate, so made for rich and lovelyluxury. .. . Looking down at her he felt a lump in his throat . .. Alump of queer, choking tenderness. .. . 

He wanted to protect her, to save her, to spend himself for her. .. . He felt for her a reverent wonder, a stirring that was at onceprotective and possessive and denying of all self. 

He would die to save her. He tried to tell himself reassuringly thathe _had_ saved her. .. . If only he could keep her safe. .. . 

He thought of the life before her. He thought of that family inFrance in whose name he had urged his interference. That unknownDelcassé aunt who had sent out her agents for her lost heirs--wouldshe welcome and endow this lovely girl?

He could not doubt it. .. . Aimée's youth and beauty would be treasuretrove to a jaded lonely woman with money to invest in futures. Aiméewould be a belle, an heiress. .. . 

He looked down at her with a sudden darkness in his young eyes. .. . And still she slept, wrapped in the sorry mantle of his masquerade, the torn chiffons of her negligée fluttering over her slim, barefeet. 

CHAPTER XXIV

THE TOMB OF A KING

There were several approaches to the American excavations. McLean, on that morning after his visit from Jinny Jeffries, chose to borrowa friend's motor and man and break the speed laws of Upper Egypt, and then shift to an agile donkey at the little village from whichthe gulleys ran west through the red hills into the desert. 

It was a still, hot day without cloud or wind and the sun had an airof standing permanently high in the heavens, holding the day atnoon. Shimmering heat waves quivered about the base of the fartherhills and veiled the desert reaches. It was not conducive to comfortand Andrew McLean was not comfortable. He was hot and sticky andsandy and abominably harassed. 

Not a creature, as far as he could discover, had seen Jack Ryder inCairo since the afternoon of that reception at Hamdi Bey's. He hadnot been seen at the Museum nor the banks, nor at Cook's, nor theusual restaurants, nor at the clubs with his friends. And the cleverclerk--with the two brothers in the bazaar--had unearthed quite abit of disquieting news about that reception--disquieting, that is, to one with secret fears. 

There had been a fire in the apartments of the bride of Hamdi Beyand the bride had been killed instantly--that much was known to allthe world. The general had been distracted. He had sat broodingbeside his bride's coffin, allowing no one, not even her father, tolook upon the poor charred remains that he had placed within. He hadbeen a man out of his mind with grief, gnawing his nails, beatinghis slaves, --Oh, assuredly, it had been a calamity of a very highorder!

One of the brothers in the bazaar had himself talked with an oldcrone whose sister's child was employed in the general's kitchen, and the fourth-hand story had lost nothing on the route. 

The bride's youth and beauty, her jewels, her robes, the general'sinfatuation, and the general's grief, the reports of these ranthrough the city like wildfire. And from the particular channel ofthe kitchen maid and the old aunt and the brother in the bazaarscame news of the very especial means that Allah had taken topreserve the general from destruction. 

For he had been in the bride's apartments just before the fire. Butthe power of Allah, the Allseeing, had sent a thief, a prowler, bynight, upon the palace roofs, and the screams of a girl in the upperstory had called the general to that direction. 

And so his preservation had been accomplished. 

It was that rumor of the thief upon the roofs which sent the chillof apprehension down McLean's spine. For though the bazaars knewnothing of the thief's identity and it was reported he had escapedby the river yet McLean felt the sinister finger of suspicion. Ifthe thief had not been a thief--unless of brides!--and if he had_not_ escaped--?

Impatiently the young Scotchman clapped his heels against thedonkey's sides, enhancing the efforts of the runner with thegesticulating stick. 

Suppose, now, that he should not find Jack at the excavations?

It was encouraging, somehow, to hear the monotonous rise and fall ofthe labor song proceeding as usual, although McLean immediately toldhimself that the work would naturally be going on under Thatcher'sdirection whether Ryder were there or not. The camp knew nothing ofCairo. The camp would be as usual. 

And yet, after his first moment's survey, he had an indefinite butuneasy idea that the camp was not as usual. 

True, the tatterdemalion frieze of basket bearers still wove itsrhythmic way over the mounds to the siftings where Thatcher waspresiding as was his wont, but in the native part of the encampmentthere appeared a sly stir and excitement. 

The unoccupied, of all ages and sexes, that usually were squattinginterminably about some fire or sleeping like mummies inhermetically wrapped black mantles, now were gathered in littlewhispering knots whose backward glances betrayed a sense ofuneasiness, and as McLean rode past, a young Arab who had been thecenter of attention drew back with such carefulness to escapeobservation that McLean's shrewd eyes marked him closely. 

It might be that his nerves were deceiving him, but there did seemto be something surreptitious in the air. 

Over his shoulder he glimpsed the young Arab hurrying out of thecamp. 

It might be anything or nothing, he told himself. The man might begoing shopping to the village and the others giving him theircommissions, or he might be an illicit dealer in curios trying topick up some dishonest treasure. In native diggings those hangers onwere thick as flies. 

He dismounted and hurried forward to meet Thatcher's advance. The men had rarely met and Thatcher's air of hesitation andabsent-mindedness made McLean proffer his name promptly with asense of speeding through the preliminaries. Then with a mannerhe strove to make casual he put his question. 

"I say, is Ryder back?"

He knew, in the moment's pause, how tight suspense was gripping him. Then Thatcher glanced toward the black yawning mouth of a tombentrance. 

"Why, yes--he's down there. " He added. "Been a bit sick. Complainsof the sun. "

For a moment his relief was so great that McLean did not believe init. Jack here--Jack absolutely safe--

Mechanically he put, "When did he come in?"

"When?" Thatcher hesitated, trying to recall. "Oh, night beforelast--rode in after dark. " He added reassuringly, as the other swungabout towards the tomb, "He says there's nothing really wrong withhim. There's no temperature. "

McLean nodded. His relief now was acutely compounded with disgust. He felt no lightning leap of thanksgiving that his friend was safe, but rather that flash of irritated reaction which makes theprimitive parent smack a recovered child. 

Not a thing in the world the matter! A mare's nest--just as he hadprophesied to Miss Jeffries. Why in heaven's name hadn't Jack thedecency to send that over-anxious young lady a card when heabandoned town so suddenly?. .. Not that McLean blamed Miss Jeffries. Given the masquerade and Jack's disappearance and a zealous feminineinterest her concern was perfectly natural. 

But McLean had left a busy office and taken an anxious anduncomfortable excursion, and his voice had no genial ring as heshouted his friend's name down the dark entrance of the tomb shaft. 

In a moment he heard a voice shouting hollowly back, then awavering spot of light appeared upon the inclined floor and Ryder'sfigure emerged like an apparition from the gloom. 

"I say! That you, Andy?"

Evidently he had been snatched from sleep. His dark hair wasrumpled, his face flushed, and he yawned with complete frankness. 

McLean knew a sudden yearning to put an arm about him. .. . Dear oldJack. .. . Dear, irresponsible scamp. .. . His reaction of theirritation vanished. .. . It was so darned good to see the old chapagain. .. . 

He muttered something about being in the vicinity while Ryder, rousing to hostship, called directions to the cook boy to bring atray of luncheon. 

"It's cool down here, " he told McLean, leading the way back. 

It was cool indeed, in the Hall of Offerings. It was also, McLeanthought, satisfying a recovered appetite, a trifle depressing. 

They sat in a small island of light in an ocean of gloom while aboutthem shadowy columns towered to indistinguishable heights andhalf-seen carvings projected their strange suggestions. 

It seemed incongruous to be smoking cigarettes so unconcernedly atthe feet of the ancient gods. 

But McLean's feeling of depression might have been due to hisrenewed awareness of catastrophe. For though Jack was here, safe andsound enough, although a bit unlike himself in manner, yet Jack_had_ been at that confounded reception in a woman's rig and Jackhad seen the girl and talked with her--apparently on terms ofunderstanding. 

And if Jack had left Cairo that night, as he said he did--claimingdelay on the way due to a tired horse--then Jack knew nothing in theworld of the palace fire, and the girl's sudden and tragic death. 

And McLean would have to tell him. He would have to tell him thatthe girl he was probably dreaming of in some fool's paradise ofmemory and hope was now only a little mound of dust in an Orientalcemetery. That a shaft of temporary wood already marked the grave ofAimée Marie Dejane, daughter of Tewfick Pasha and wife of HamdiBey. .. . 

And however much McLean's sound senses might disapprove of the wholefantastic affair and his sober judgment commend the workings ofProvidence, he loved his friend, and he feared that his friend lovedthis lost girl. 

He had to end love and hope and romance and implant a desperategrief. .. . 

He thought very steadily of Jinny Jeffries. He cleared his throat. 

"Jack, old man--"

He started to tell him that there had been a fire in Cairo, a mostshocking fire in a haremlik. It seemed to him that Jack was notlistening, that he had a faraway, yet intent look upon his face, asof one attending to other things. And then suddenly Jack seemed togather resolution and turned to his friend with an air of narrationof his own. 

"Look here, McLean, there's something I want to tell you--"

"Wait a minute now, " said McLean quietly. "I want you to hearthis. .. . It was a fire in the palace of your friend, Hamdi Bey. "

He had Jack's attention now--he was fairly conscious of arrestedbreath. Not looking about him he went grimly on, "The night of thewedding a fire started in the haremlik. .. . It was a bad business, avery bad business, Jack. For the girl--the girl Hamdi had justmarried--"

He was conscious of Jack's look upon him but he did not turn to meetit. 

"She died, " he said heavily. "He buried her yesterday. "

He thought that Jack was never going to speak. 

Then, "Died?" said Ryder in an odd voice. 

"I expect she breathed in a bit of smoke, " said McLean, trying for amerciful suggestion. 

"And he buried her--?"

Jack was like a child, trying to fit bewildering facts together. McLean's sympathy hurt him like a physical pain. He wondered what itcould be like to realize that some loved one you had just talkedwith, in radiant life, was now gone utterly. .. . 

And then he heard Jack laugh. Mad, he thought quickly, turning nowto look at him. 

Ryder's head was tilted back; Ryder's shoulders were shaking. "Oh, my Aunt!" he gasped hysterically. "My Aunt Clarissa--is _that_ whatHamdi says!"

He sobered instantly and leaned towards McLean. "That looks as ifhe's done with her--what? Saving his face that way? You're sure itwas Aimée--the girl he had just married? Not some other girl--someco-wife or something?"

And as McLean bewilderedly muttered that he was sure, Ryder began tolaugh again. To laugh jubilantly, joyously, triumphantly. 

"He's given her up--he's got a saving explanation to thrust in theworld's face! Oh, blessed Allah, Veiler of all that should beveiled! The man's through. He's had enough. He isn't going to tryto--"

Across the bright oblong of the entrance a shadow appeared. 

"Ryder--I say, Ryder, " said a hurried voice--Thatcher's voice--andThatcher came hastily forward in perturbed urgency. 

"There's a lot of men outside--police and natives and what not. Withwarrants. They're searching the place. And they want to see you. .. . Hang it all, Ryder, " said Thatcher explosively but apologetically, "they say you've made off with some sheik's daughter. "

He paused, shocked at the monstrosity of the accusation. He was adelicate-minded man--outside of his knowledge of antiquities--and heevidently expected his young associate to fall upon him and slay himfor the slander. 

"A sheik's daughter--?" said Ryder in a mildly wondering voice. Fromhis emphasis one might have inferred he was saying, "How odd! Idon't remember any sheik's daughter--"

A queer uncomfortable flush spread fanways from Thatcher's thintemples and rayed across his high cheekbones. He did not look ateither of the men as he murmured, "It's most peculiar, but that Arabhorse--the sheik claims the horse is his, too. He says you rode offon it, with his daughter. "

"That's all right, " said Ryder absently. "I don't want the horse. .. . But you say the sheik's there? What does he look like? Thin--withblond mustaches?"

"Oh, no, no, not at all. He is quite heavy and bearded--one-eyed, ifI recollect. But there _is_ a man with a blond mustache who appearsto do the directing--"

"And you mean they are searching?" said Ryder abruptly. "You've letthem in--?"

"They have warrants, " Thatcher protested. "And there are properpolicemen conducting the search--"

"My good God! Where are they now? Not coming _here_? I don't haveany policemen trampling here and meddling with my finds--tell themto clear out, Thatcher, you know there's no sheik's daughter here!"

Ryder gave a quick laugh but the impression of his laughter was notas sharp as the impression of his alarm. 

"I did tell them it was preposterous, " Thatcher began, "but, yousee, after finding the horse--"

"Oh, the horse! I got him for a song--of course the beggar isstolen. Give him back, if they claim him. But as for any sheik'sdaughter--keep the crowd out, Thatcher, I won't have them here, notin these tombs--"

"I tell you they are policemen--they are armed--you can't resist--"

"How many are they? A lot? But they'll take your word, won't they?Look here, McLean, can't you settle this for me and keep them out?"

"The natives have been talking, " murmured Thatcher, reddening stilldeeper, "and they have said enough about your riding in at nightand--and keeping to this tomb all day to make the men verysuspicious. They are watching this one now--"

"Then keep them back--long as you can. For God's sake, " entreatedRyder with that strange passionate violence. "Andy--you dosomething--hold them back. Give me time. I--I've got to get somethings together--I won't have them at my things--hold them back--outhere--till I come. "

He was gone. Gone tearing back into the gloom and silence of histomb. And McLean and Thatcher, astounded witnesses of his outburst, turned speedily to the entrance, avoiding each other's eyes. 

Agitatedly Thatcher was murmuring that Ryder's finds were valuable, immensely valuable, and it was disturbing to contemplate anyinvasion, and with equal agitation but more mechanical calm McLeanwas murmuring back that he understood--he quite understood--

As for understanding he was stunned and dazed. A sheik's daughter!And the father himself claiming her--under the direction of ablond-mustached man. .. . And a stolen horse. .. . Jack conceding thehorse. .. . Jack utterly upset at the search party. .. . 

But he himself had seen that new-placed shaft with its inscriptionto Aimée Marie Dejane. .. . What then in the name of wonders did thismean? There couldn't be _another_ girl? McLean's imaginationfaltered then dashed on at a gallop. Some--some hand-maiden, perhaps, whom Jack had rescued in mistaken chivalry? Perhaps theFrench girl has sent a maid on ahead?

McLean's head was whirling now. One thing appeared quite as possibleas another. Pasha's daughters and sheik's daughters, stolen horsesand Djinns and Afrits and palaces and masquerades at weddingreceptions appeared upon the same plane of feasibility. 

Outwardly he was extremely calm. Calm and cold and crisp. 

At the mouth of the tomb he detained the party of native policemenwith their hangers-on of curious natives and examined, with greatshow of circumspection and authority, the perfectly regular searchwarrants which had been issued for them at the instigation of anapparently bereft parent. 

He conversed with the alleged parent, a stolid, taciturn nativedignitary whose accusations were confirmed by eagerly assentingfollowers. He lived in a small village, not far north of the camp. He had a young daughter, very beautiful. Three nights ago he hadsurprised her with this young American and they had fled upon hisnoblest horse. 

It was a simple and direct story. And Jack--by his own report--hadbeen out upon the desert that night, had appeared, upon the nextnight, with this unknown and beautiful horse, and had since kept tothe tomb, claiming illness, in a most persistent way. 

The camp boys had testified that he had been vividly critical of thefood sent in to him, and that he had required extraordinary amountsof heated water. 

"All of which, " McLean said sternly, in the vernacular, "amounts tonothing--unless you can discover the girl. "

"And that, monsieur, " said a Turk in the uniform of the Sultan'sguards, appearing beside the desert sheik, "that is exactly what weare here to do. "

McLean found himself looking into a thin, menacing face, cappedwith a red fez, a face deeply lined, marked by light, arrogant eyesand embellished with a huge, blond mustache. 

"And your interest in this, monsieur?" he questioned. 

"I am a friend of Sheik Hassan's, " said the Turk loftily. "I shallsee that my friend obtains his rights. "

And in McLean's other ear a distraught Thatcher was murmuring "Thatofficer chap is Hamdi Bey--a General of the Guards. You know, Mr. McLean, this really is--you know, it is--"

Hamdi Bey . .. Hamdi Bey, two days after his distressing loss, befriending this sheik and trying to involve Jack Ryder in disgrace. 

Mystifying. Mystifying and disquieting--yes, disquieting, in theface of Jack's alarm. But for that alarm McLean could have believedthe whole thing a farcical attempt of Hamdi's to revenge himselfupon Ryder--supposing that Hamdi had discovered Ryder in hismasquerade or else as the prowler by night--but Jack's furiousanxiety to keep the party out, and his dashing back, ostensibly topreserve his things--

Was it actually possible that he _had_ that sheik's daughterconcealed in some nook or cranny of the place?

McLean told himself that it was preposterous. It _was_preposterous--but Ryder had been doing preposterous things. .. . Andglancing at Thatcher he perceived that that perturbed andtransparent gentleman was also telling himself that _his_suspicions were preposterous. 

The search party, tiring of parley, was moving about the hall inbusinesslike inspection. 

And then Ryder reappeared, a distinctly alert but self-containedRyder, who met the interrogations of the police with scoffing andabsolute denial. 

But McLean was conscious that there was something tense and nervousin his alertness, something wary and defensive in his readiness, andhis own nerves began to tighten apprehensively. 

It did not add to his composure to see Ryder salute Hamdi Bey withan ironic and overdone politeness. 

"Ah, monsieur le general! We meet as we parted--in the depths!"

The general appeared to smile as at some amiable pleasantry, butMcLean caught the snarl of his lifted lip, and felt the currents ofanimosity. 

So those two had met! Ryder had been discovered then. .. . McLeantried, in futile bewilderment, to recall just what amazing thingRyder had been saying when this party had appeared. 

He kept very close at that young man's side as the strange partymoved on into the inner chamber. The searchers were scrupulouslycareful of the excavator's finds; they did not finger a frieze nordisturb a single small box of the tenderly packed potteries andbeads and miniature boats, but they scraped every heap of dust tosee if it concealed an entrance, they exhausted the resources ofeach corner, they circled every pillar, shook out every rug ofJack's blankets and required the opening of the large chest in whichthe wax reproductions of the friezes were placed, awaitingtransportation. 

"You will perceive, messieurs, " declared Ryder in mocking irony, "that no human being is within this last fold of wax--especially abeing, " he added thoughtfully with a glance at the stolid sheik, "ofthe proportions of her papa. .. . This daughter, was she a large younglady?" he inquired politely of the Arab. 

The sheik vouchsafed no reply, but from across his ample person thegeneral leaned forward. 

"She was small, Monsieur Ryder, " he said in silken tones, "but shecan raise a man as high as the gallows--or as low as the grave. "

"A marvel!" returned young Ryder smoothly. "And was she also ofcharm--a charm that could kindle fires--?"

It appeared to McLean that he caught the flaunting implications ofthe taunt. 

He wished to heaven that Ryder would hold his reckless tongue. 

Ryder was turning now to the official in charge of the police. 

"If you have satisfied yourselves that this place is empty--"

The man, a rather apologetic, pleasant fellow, shrugged and smiled. "We have examined all--"

There was a moment in which the searchers regarded one anotherthrough the gloom in the inquiring embarrassment of thediscountenanced and considered departure. But Hamdi Bey had moreinsistent eyes. 

He was circling the place again like a wolf for the scent, flashinghis search light over the carved walls, the dancing gleam pickingout now a relief of Osiris, now a fishing boat upon the Nile, nowthe judgment hall of Maat. Suddenly he stopped and began examining alimestone slab. 

"These stones--these have been merely piled here, " he criedexcitedly. "This is a hole--an entrance. Dig them out, men. There isa door there, I tell you. "

Hastily Ryder addressed the police. "It is simply the burial vault, "he told them. "The sarcophagi are there, ready for transportation. Mr. Thatcher will tell you--"

"I assure you it is merely the actual tomb, " said Thatchernervously. "I have myself assisted my colleague with thepreparation. "

The slabs had been displaced now, disclosing the small door, withits fine wrought stele. Hamdi flashed a look of triumph upon the manwho had obviously tried to conceal that door from them, a look whichRyder ignored as he turned to McLean. 

"That is the door which is sealed forever upon the dead, and uponthe Ka, the spiritual double, " he said in a low conversationaltone. "It has some remarkable representations of the jackalAnubis--"

It seemed to McLean a most extraordinary time for a disquisitionupon Anubis. If Ryder was attempting to prove himself at his ease hehad certainly misjudged his manner. 

"Damn Anubis, " McLean gave back under his breath. "He's not the onlyjackal--What the devil's the meaning of this?"

Ryder made no reply. The stone had been pushed back and thesearchers were stooping beneath the narrow entrance. Then asMcLean's head bent at the door he heard his friend whispering, "Isay--you haven't a gun you could slip me--?"

Mutely he shook his head. And that agitated whisper died away withthe last vestige of belief in Ryder's innocence. ApprehensivelyMcLean glanced about that inner chamber he was entering, dreading toencounter instant and damning evidence of a girl. 

He found himself in the presence of the dead. The chamber was asmall, square, walled-up affair, and at one side stood the threesarcophagi. The other halls had been in total darkness, but theblackness of this place appeared something palpable and weighty. Andthe air had the dry, acrid tang of dust which has lain waiting forcenturies. 

It was hot, whereas the other chambers had been cool--or elseMcLean's disturbed blood was pumping too furiously through hispulses. Instinctively he drew close to Jack, as the party stoodflashing their lights over the bare walls and empty corners, andthen concentrated the pale illumination upon those caskets of thedead. 

"I told you that the place was empty, " Ryder said with distinctimpatience in his voice. "And now, if you have satisfiedyourselves--"

"You are in haste, monsieur, " said Hamdi Bey's smooth voice. "If youwill permit us to see what is within--"

He approached the first sarcophagus. 

The sheik, who appeared to have committed the restoration of hisdaughter into the other's hands, remained imperturbably beside theentrance while the head of the police came forward to assist Hamdiin raising the painted lid. 

"I protest, " said Ryder very sharply. He stood upon the other sideof the case, eying them combatively. "It is useless to disturb thislid--I tell you that the Persians have been considerably beforeyou. "

And indeed the case was empty. Hamdi moved to the next and againRyder took up his post opposite. 

"Again I protest, " he insisted. "The least jar or injury--"

But the men raised the lid, and after the briefest look, moved on. 

"And now, " Ryder spoke very clearly and authoritatively, addressingthe head of the police, "I must ask you to stop. Even the dust thatyou are disturbing is precious. This thing has gone beyond allreason. "

The police official looked as if he agreed with him, but Hamdi Beyhad moved determinedly to the third sarcophagus. The officialhesitated, evidenced discomfort, but moved finally after the bey. 

"If there is nothing here, " he murmured, "surely you cannotobject--"

"There is precious dust here, " Ryder repeated. "You mustunderstand--"

"We see for ourselves, " said Hamdi Bey, and now his voice had a ringof triumphant steel through its soft smoothness. "Stand aside. Thisis in the name of the law. "

It seemed to McLean that for one mad moment Ryder was tempted toresist. In the flickering light of the torches he stood defiantlyabove the painted mummy case, his eyes steadily upon the bey, hishands pressing down upon the vivid bloom of the dead woman'spictured face. 

Then with a beaten but ironic smile he stood aside. 

Slowly the men lifted the lid. .. . In that moment McLean became awarethat his heart was pumping thickly somewhere in his throat and thatthe rest of him was a hollow, horrible void of suspense. 

Hamdi Bey turned his arrogant stare from young Ryder and lookeddown. .. . Drawing closer, fearfully McLean's eyes followed him. 

He could not believe their evidence. His heart could not stop itsidiotic pumping. 

But there he saw no terror-stricken girl, no pallid runaway of theharems, but a still, dark-shrouded form, swathed in the tightbandages of the ancient embalmer, a dry, dusty little mummy creatureblankly and inscrutably confronting this unforeseen resurrection. 

Over their dumbfounded heads he heard young Ryder's mocking laugh. 

CHAPTER XXV

IN CAIRO

"It's good news!" said Miss Jeffries with bright positives. 

It was her response to Andrew McLean's greeting that evening. Hehad made rather a tardy appearance at the hotel, for there hadbeen an important dinner with an important bank official passingthrough Cairo to escape from, but he arrived at last, lookingextraordinarily well in his very best dinner clothes. 

And Miss Jeffries, for all her harassment of suspense, was no woefulobject in a vivacious blue evening frock with silvery gleams. 

"He's safe--absolutely safe, " McLean confirmed. 

He expected radiance. Miss Jeffries' expression was arrestedjudgment. 

"Safe--_where_?"

"At his camp . .. I just returned--just in time to dine. I motoredout this morning. "

"Oh!. .. It took your whole day. I am so sorry!" For a moment thegirl appeared to concentrate her sympathetic interest upon McLean. 

"You must simply hate me, " she told him repentantly, dropping intoone of the chairs in the drawing-room corner she had long beenguarding. "Do sit down and tell me all the horrid details. .. . --Uncleand Aunt are in the Lounge, and I should like you to meet them, butthey'll be there forever and I do want to hear first. .. . Was itfearfully hot?"

"Oh, rather, " murmured the young man, confused by this change ofinterest. "I mean, that's quite the usual thing, isn't it, fordeserts? I got up a good breeze going, for I was a bit wrought up, you know--not a soul in Cairo had seen Jack since that day. "

"And he was out at his camp, " said Jinny thoughtfully. "How--howlong had he been there?"

"He says he started that night, " said McLean non-committally. 

"Oh!. .. That night. .. . That was rather sudden, wasn't it?"

"Jack's sudden, you know, " mentioned his friend uncomfortably. "Andhe had a lot of finds to pack up for transport--they are takingtheir stuff to the museum and Jack had been away so long, here inthe city--"

"No wonder I didn't hear then!" said the girl with a laugh in whichit would have taken an acuter ear than McLean's to detect the secretclamor of chagrin and humiliation. 

Of course she had _wanted_ Jack to be safe. .. . But he might havebeen ill--or away on some official summons--

Just back at his diggings. Gone off on an impulse, with no thoughtto let her know. .. . 

And she had rushed to McLean with her silly worries and her anxiousconcern which he had probably taken for a tender interest. .. . 

Heaven knows what disillusionizing thing Jack had said to him thatday!. .. Men were too hateful. 

And now McLean had come dutifully to report that the man she was soworried about was quite well and busy, thank you, only he hadoverlooked any friendship for her, and so had sent no word--

In Jinny's ears was the rush of the furies' wings. But on Jinny'slips was a proud little smile, and her bright look was a shiningshield for the wounds of the spirit. 

"That _is_ a comfort, " she said with pleasant, friendly warmth. "Youdon't know how horridly responsible I felt! Really, Jack ought tohave let me know--but that's Jack all over. He's never grown up. "

"He's not had much time, " returned McLean from the height of histwenty-nine years. 

"He never will, " said Jinny sagely, "not until--well, not untilhe meets some girl, you know, who will make him feel reallyresponsible. "

It occurred unhappily to McLean that the girl Jack had been meetingso assiduously of late had certainly not added to his claims toresponsibility!

Steadily he guarded silence. There are ice fields, on Mont Blanc, where a whisper precipitates an avalanche, and McLean had nointention of starting anything in his friend's slippery field ofaffairs. 

"I have spent more time, " Miss Jeffries was confiding brightly, forthose imperative reasons of her own so obscure to the bewilderedyoung man, "introducing Jack to nice girls--but it never takes! Notseriously. He's a perfectly dear friend, but he doesn't careanything really about girls--and he does need somebody to get himout of his antiquities and his dusty old diggings . .. But of courseyou think I am a sentimental thing!"

McLean did not tell her what he thought. He was still fascinatedlyengrossed with her revelation of the impeccable Platonic basis ofher friendship. His mood of complicated emotion lightened andbrightened and at the same time an amazed wonder unfolded itsastonishment. 

He marveled at his friend. To turn to something fantastic, somethingbizarre--for so he thought of that veiled girl of the harem--when hehad this Miss Jeffries for a friend--but probably the young ladyherself had never given him the least encouragement. Women are noteasily moved to romance for men they have always regarded asbrothers and he could see that her feeling for Jack was the warm, honest, sisterly affection of utter frankness. 

The worse for Jack. For now there seemed no ministering angel tomend his troubled future. 

It was not only Ryder's troubled future that troubled McLean--itwas also Ryder's troubled present. He was very far from easy in hismind about him. After that mystifying performance in the tomb he hadnot wanted to leave without a frank explanation, but there had beenno moment for revelation; Thatcher had hung about them and HamdiBey, of all men, had requested a place in McLean's motor for thereturn to Cairo. 

And that dinner engagement had pressed. He could have abandoned itfor any real reason, but Jack had assured him that there was none. 

"Get the old devil out of here, " had been Jack's furious appeal, referring to Hamdi. "Deny everything to him. Only get him out. "

And McLean had got him out. 

The sheik and his followers after a murmurous conference with thebey had galloped off; the police had turned towards their post andHamdi had accompanied McLean to the nearest village and his waitingmotor. 

Clearly he had wanted to talk to McLean and McLean was not sorry forthe opportunity to exchange implications. The bey had unfolded hissympathetic friendship for the sheik; McLean had unfolded a coldsurprise that anything so disgraceful should be attributed to such aprominent archaeologist. The bey had produced the evidence andMcLean had produced a skeptical wonder, and then a thoughtful wonderif the British government had not better take the matter up and siftit, for the benefit of all concerned. 

Clearly the thing could not go on. Ryder could not accept such arumor against his reputation. Yes, he thought he would advise Ryderto take the matter up. 

And there he perceived that even the suave and politic Hamdisquirmed. Doubtless to the Turk, McLean represented British prestigeand political power and all sorts of unknown influence. .. . Andnative testimony, while voluable and unscrupulous, had a way ofoffering confused discrepancies to the coldly questioninginvestigators of the law. 

And with no real evidence against Ryder--

The matter of the sheik's daughter, McLean perceived, would bedropped. Unless the girl--whatever girl they sought--could bediscovered. 

If Hamdi wished to pay off some score against the American he wouldchoose other weapons. McLean reflected upon the bey's capacity forassassination or poisoning while he bade him farewell before thedark wall of his palace entrance. 

Between them had passed no reference to the bey's recent loss. Sinceit would not have been etiquette for him to mention the bey's wife, he judged it equally inadvisable to refer to her ashes. 

The whole affair was so wrapped in darkness that he could not decideupon any creditable explanation. It would have to wait until he sawRyder in the next day or two--for Ryder had told him he would try toget in with his finds as soon as possible. 

But no matter how he tried to dismiss the matter from his mind hehad found himself asking, through the courses of that importantdinner and now in the pauses of his conversation with MissJeffries--Was there really some girl? Had he only dreamed that tenseanxiety of Jack's--had Jack led them on for his own young amusement?

But it was not long possible to maintain an inner communion withJinny Jeffries for a vis-à-vis. 

A divided mind could not companion her swift flights and suddentangents. Deriding now her silly anxieties and deploring McLean'sunnecessary trip, she had branched into the consideration of howbusy McLean must be--and McLean found himself somehow embarked insketchy descriptions of the institution of which Miss Jeffriesseemed to think he was the backbone and of its very interesting workthroughout the country. 

And as he had talked he found himself noticing things that he hadnever noticed before about girls, the wave of bright hair against aflushed cheek, the dimples in a rounded arm, the slim grace ofcrossed ankles and silver-slippered feet. 

"And you live all alone in that big house?" Jinny was murmuring. 

"Not exactly alone. " McLean smiled. "There's Mohammed and Hassan andAbdullah and Alewa and Saord-el-Tawahi--"

"What _do_ you call him when you are in a hurry?" laughed the girl. 

It was a tremendously pleasant evening. He had expected constraintand secret embarrassment and he had discovered this delightfulinterest and bright vivacity. 

And if beneath that interest and vivacity something lay foreverstilled and chilled in Miss Jeffries' breast--like a poor hiddencorpse beneath bright roses--why at two and twenty expectanciesflourish so gayly that one lone bud is not long missed. And chagrinis sometimes a salutary transient shower, and self-confidence is allthe more delicate for a dimming cloud. 

Moreover McLean's unconscious absorption was balm and blessing. 

When in startled realization of time and place he rose at last andshe murmured laughing, "And after all you never met Aunt and Uncle!"he felt a queer blush tingle his cheek bones and a daring impulseshape the thought aloud that in that case he must come again. 

"We're here five days more, " said Jinny, the explicit. 

Thoughtfully he repeated, "Five days, " and said farewell. 

"Now if he decorously waits to the next to the last day--!" murmuredJinny to herself, her opinion of the Scots race hanging in thebalance. 

He didn't. But it was not the initiative of the Scots race whichbrought him to her, late that very next afternoon, but a soiledlooking note which he held crumpled in his hand. 

He found her at tea upon the veranda with her aunt and uncle andwhile he made conversation with the Pendletons he gave Miss Jeffriesthe note. 

"From our friend Ryder, " he said with forced lightness. "It explainsitself. "

But it certainly did not. It was a hasty scrawl to McLean, sayingthat Ryder was on his way with the museum finds and sending thisahead by runner, and that McLean must positively be at the CairoMuseum to meet him at five and would he please stop on the way andcall at his hotel upon a Miss Jeffries and borrow a woman's cloakand hat and veil, or if she wasn't in, get them elsewhere. 

"What is it--another masquerade?" said Jinny blankly. 

McLean looked mutely at her and shook his head, but within himhorrific suspicion was raging like a forest fire. 

He continued his converse with the Pendletons while Jinny went forthe things; she returned with a small bag containing coat and hatand veil, and the announcement that she would go right over withhim. 

"If the things aren't right I'll know what he wants, " she declared, and then, smiling, "What _do_ you suppose he is up to now?"

McLean felt that he didn't want to know. And most positively hedidn't want her to know. But having lacked the instant inspirationto deny her, he could only acquiesce and wonder why he hadn'tthought up some brilliant excuse. 

He looked helplessly at the Pendletons, but they merely murmuredtheir adieux and their independent niece accompanied McLean to hiswaiting carriage as if it were the most natural thing in the world. 

 * * * * *

The caravan was before them. A long line of camels was just turningin the gates and before the steps of a back entrance other camels, kneeling with that profound and squealing resentment with which eventhe camel's most exhausted moments oppose commands, were beingrelieved of their huge loads by natives under the very minute andexact direction of Thatcher. 

And within the entrance a young man with rumpled dark hair and athin, bronzed face flushed with impatience was imperiously conveyingthe Arabs who were bearing the precious sarcophagi. 

Over his shoulder he caught sight of the two arrivals. 

"I asked for motors--and they furnished these!" he crieddisgustedly, gesturing at the enduring camels. "It took us all daythough we half killed the brutes. .. . Hello, Jinny, did you bring thethings?"

With light casualness he accepted her appearance on the scene. Thatglitter in his bright hazel eyes was not for that. "Come in, bothof you, " he called, plunging after his men. 

At the foot of the stairs McLean waited with Miss Jeffries until themen had reached the top and deposited their burdens in the room andin the manner which Ryder was specifying so crisply, and then theycame mechanically up. 

McLean had the automatic feeling of a mere super in a well rehearsedscene. He had no idea of plot or appearance but his rôle of dumbsubservience was clearly defined. 

"You understand, " Ryder was calling to the men, "nothing more goesin this room. All else down stairs. .. . Come in, " he said hurriedlyto his waiting friends, and shutting the door swiftly behind them, "of course--this doesn't lock!" he muttered. "Jinny, you stand here, do, and if any one tries to come in tell them they can't. "

"Tell them you say they can't?" questioned Jinny a littlehelplessly. 

"No--no--not that. Tell them you are using the room; tell them, "said Ryder with very brisk and serious inspiration, "tell them yourpetticoat is coming off!"

"Why Jack Ryder!" said Jinny indignantly. 

"Nonsense, " said he to her indignation. "Don't you remember whenyour aunt's petticoat came off on the way to church? It happens. "

"But it doesn't run in families!"

Her protest fell apparently upon the back of his head. He hadturned to the last sarcophagus and was slipping his fingers beneaththe lid. "Here, Andy, " he said quickly. "I had it wedged so itwasn't tight shut, but it's been so infernally hot and dusty--"

He was tremendously troubled. It was not the heat which had broughtthose fine beads of moisture to his brow, white above the line ofbrown, and drawn such a pale ring about his mouth. McLean saw thatthe slim, wiry wrists which supported the case's top were shaking. 

"Gently now, " he murmured and the lid was lifted and laid aside. 

The same dark, unstirring form of the tomb scene. The same dry, dusty little mummy. .. . But with hands strangely reckless for anarchaeologist dealing with the priceless stuff of time Ryder tore atthose bandages; he unwrapped, he unwound, and in a lightning'sflash--

To McLean's tense, expectant nerves it was like a scene at thepantomime. He had divined it; he had foreseen and yet there was theshock and eerie thrill of magic, the appealing unreality of thesupernatural in the revelation. 

In a wave of an enchanter's wand the mummy was gone. And in itsplace lay a Sleeping Beauty, the dark hair in sculptured closenessto the head, the long, black lashes sweeping the still cheeks. 

CHAPTER XXVI

THE PAINTED CASE

"She's fainted, " said Ryder in a voice that shook. From his pockethe drew swiftly a thermos bottle but before the top was off thoselong lashes fluttered, and from under their shadow the soft, darkeyes looked up at him with a smile of very gallant reassurance. 

"Not--faint, " said the girl, in a breath of a voice. "But it was solong--so hot--"

"Drink this. " Ryder slipped an arm about her, offering the filledtop of the thermos. "It's over, all over, " he murmured as she drank. "You're safe now, safe. .. . You're at the museum. .. . Then we'll getyou to the hotel--"

"Hotel--?" the girl echoed with a faint implication of humor in thatsilver bell of a voice. 

She put her hands to her hair and to her face in which the hues oflife mingled with the pallor of exhaustion; on her small fingerssparkled the gleam of diamonds and from her slender arms fell backthe gold and jade tissues of her chiffon robe. 

To McLean she had increasingly the appearance of a creature ofenchantments. And to see that young loveliness in its strange gleamof color lying against his friend's supporting tan linen arm--

Sardonically his eyes sought Ryder. 

"So that was your mummy!"

"There was nothing else to do. " Ryder had withdrawn his arm; the twomen faced each other across the girl. "I was in a blue funk--yousee, I was hiding her in the inner chamber until I could smuggle heraway. And when those wolves came on the scent, and not an instant tolose--I got the bandages off the real mummy and about Aimée. .. . Lord, it was a close call!"

He drew a long breath. "I hadn't a gun. I hadn't a thing--and I hadto grin and play it through . .. And I was deathly afraid ofThatcher. "

"Thatcher?"

"Yes, Thatcher. You see I'd popped the mummy into a case without itsbandages and if Thatcher had glimpsed that he'd have saidsomething--Oh, innocently--that would have given the show away. Heknew there was only one mummy and it was wrapped. But the Lord waswith me. The men opened the empty case first and at the second theysaid nothing to show it wasn't empty and Thatcher didn't look in. Then they went on to the third. "

"And me--when I heard those voices--I stopped breathing, " said thegirl. "But I shook so--I thought they would think that mummy wascoming to life! And the dust--Oh, it was almost beyond my force notto sneeze--"

"You'd have sneezed us to Kingdom Come, " said Ryder, gayly now. 

"But I did not, " she protested. "I lay there and thought of Hamdilooking down upon me, and my flesh crept. .. . Oh, it was terrible!And yet it was funny. "

Funny. .. . McLean gazed in sardonic astonishment upon the two youngcreatures with such misguided humor that they found something funnyin this appalling business. Flying from palaces . .. Hiding in tombs. .. Taking a mummy's place beneath the dusty bandages of the dead. .. Funny. .. . 

And yet there was laughter in their young eyes when they looked ateach other and a curve of astounding amusement in their lips. 

It touched McLean to wonder. It touched him--queerly--to an odd andaching pain. For he saw suddenly that he was looking upon somethingdeathless and imperishable, yet fragile and fleeting as the breathof time. .. . 

They were so young, so absorbed, so oblivious. .. . 

He had forgotten Jinny Jeffries. So too, --not for the first time, alas!--had Ryder. Now her clear voice from the doorway made themstart. 

"You might present me, Jack. "

Ryder turned, so did the girl in the painted case, and her eyeswidened with a startled surprise. The doorway had not been withinher vision. 

Jinny was leaning back against the door, her hand behind her on theknob she was to guard, her figure still rigid with astonishment. 

"I didn't know you--you dug them up--alive, " she said with a quiverof uncertain humor. 

"My dear Jinny, I had for--Miss Jeffries, let me present you toMademoiselle Delcassé, " said Jack gravely. "I know that you met herthe day of her reception--"

Only in that moment did Jinny place the haunting recollection. 

"But she was burned--she was killed, " she protested, shaken now withexcitement. 

"She was not burned--although there was a fire. The man who calledhimself her husband pretended she was killed in order to save hispride. For she escaped from him. And he tried to get her back, setting another man, a false father, after her with lyingwitnesses--Oh, it's a long story!--so I had to hide her in thiscase. "

"But Jack, you--why were _you_ hiding her--? Did you get her out?"stammered Jinny. 

"The night of that reception. You see, I knew she was truly a Frenchgirl who had been stolen by Tewfick Pasha and brought up as hisdaughter--Oh, that's a long story, too! But at McLean's I hadhappened on the agents who were searching for her from her aunt inFrance, and so I knew. .. . And at the reception when I found shehated that marriage I stayed behind and--and managed to get heraway, "--thus lightly did Ryder indicate the dangers of thatnight!--"so she could escape to France. "

"Oh--France!" said Jinny. 

She could be forgiven for the tone. She had been kept shamefully inthe dark, misled, ignored. .. . She had been a catspaw, a bystander. 

Not that she cared. Not that she would let them think for a minutethat she cared. .. . 

But as for this talk of France--

Her eyes met the eyes of the girl in the mummy case. And Jinny foundherself looking, not at the interloper, the enchantress, but at avery young, frightened girl, lost in a strange world, but resolvedupon courage. She saw more than the men could see. She saw theloveliness, the helplessness, and she saw too the sensitive dignity, the delicate, defensive spirit. .. . 

Really, she was a child. 

And to have gone through so much, dared such danger. .. . Sheremembered that dark, forbidding palace, the guarded doors, thehideous blacks--and that bright, smiling figure in its mistyveil. .. . And now that little figure sat in its strange hiding place, confronting her with a lost child's eyes. .. . 

Into Jinny's bright gray eyes came a mist of tears. She was queerlymoved. It was a mingled emotion, but if some drops for her owndisconcertment were mingled with the warm prompting of pity, hercompassion was none the less true. 

"I'll be so glad to do anything I can to help, " she saidimpulsively. "If you have no friends to trust in Cairo--"

"I have no friends to trust--beyond this room, " said the girl. 

"Then I'll take you to the hotel with me. You can register as one ofour party and keep your room till we leave--we are going in fourdays now. And, oh, I know! You can cross on the same steamer with usto Europe, for there's a woman at the hotel who wants to give up hertransportation and go on to the Holy Land--she was moaning about itonly this noon. It would all fit in beautifully. "

It seemed to McLean that an angel from Heaven was revealing herblessed goodness. 

Ryder took the revelation delightedly for granted. 

"Bully for you, Jinny, " he said warmly. "I knew I could count onyou. "

If for one moment a twinge of wry reminder recalled that she hadnever been able exactly to count upon him it did not dim his mood. He was alight with triumph. 

"I'll see to the transportation, " he said quickly, doing mentalarithmetic about present sums in the bank. "And we won't wire youraunt until you're safely out of Egypt--better send a wireless fromthe ship. I think your aunt is near Paris--"

"We are going to hurry to Paris, " said Jinny, "That was our regularplan--"

"And London?" said McLean. 

"London, later, of course. Cathedrals, lakes and universities--thenLondon. "

"I shall be in London, " said McLean thoughtfully, "in June. .. . Ifyou are not too occupied--"

"With cathedrals?" said Miss Jeffries. 

"Where are the things?" demanded Ryder ruthlessly, and thusrecalled, Jinny produced the bag. 

McLean moved toward the door. "We might go and mount guard in thecorridor, " he suggested, and he and Jinny stepped outside, back intothe everyday world of Egypt where nothing at all had been happeningbut the arrival of a caravan from the excavations. 

Within the room Ryder stooped and lifted the girl from the case andset her lightly on the floor. Ruefully she shook out the tornchiffons of that French audacity of a robe, and with a whimsicalsmile surveyed the soiled little slippers that she had discarded inher disguise when she had ridden behind the turbaned Ryder upon theArab horse. 

So little time ago, and yet so long away--

Under her long lashes she looked up at the young man, who had setthe old life crumbling about her at a touch. Wistfulness edged thebrave smile with which she murmured, "And so it is all arranged--soquick. I am safe--I go to the hotel with that nice girl--"

"And I won't be able to see you, " he said suddenly. 

"But you have seen me, monsieur, these many days--"

"Seen you? I haven't seen you. I've sat outside a tomb on guard, I've marched beside a mummy case--and--and we've said so little--"

It was true. They had said little. The hours had been absorbed inaction. Their words had always been of explanation, of reassurance, of anxious planning. Of the future, the future after safety had beenachieved, they had said nothing. It had all been uncertain, nebulous, vague. .. . 

And now it was upon them. 

"And I have never said Thank you, " she murmured. "I--I think I beganby saying Thank you, monsieur. I remember saying that my educationhad proceeded to the Ts!"

"If--if only you never want to unsay it, " he muttered. "You don'tknow what's ahead--life's so uncertain--"

"No, I do not know what is ahead, " she told him, "but I amfree--free for whatever will come. "

The brightness of that freedom shone suddenly from her upturnedface. 

"Anything is better than that man, " she vowed. "Even if my aunt, that Madame Delcassé, should not like me--you see, I have thought ofeverything, and I am not afraid. "

"Like you--? She'll love you, " said Ryder bitterly. "She'll go madover you and give you all she has--she'll marry you to a count--"

"Another marriage?" Aimée raised brows of mockery. "But I am throughwith the marriages of convenience--"

"You're so lovely, darling, that you'll have the world at yourfeet, " said the young man huskily. 

He looked at her with eyes that could not hide their pain. "Oh, I--you--it's not fair--" he muttered incoherently. 

He had meant--ever since that sobering moment of guardianship in thedesert--to be very fair. He would not bind her with a word, a touch. Not since that impulsive clasp of reunion in the palace had hetouched her in caress. With the reverence of his deep tenderness hehad served her in the tomb, meaning to deny his heart, to delay itsrevelation, to wait upon her freedom and her youth. .. . 

Nobly he had resolved. .. . But now parting was upon him. 

"It's not fair to you, " he said desperately--and drew closer. 

For at his blurted words her look had magically changed. Thedefensive lightness was fled. A breathless wonder shone out at him. .. A delicious shyness brushed with dancing expectation like thegleam of a butterfly's wing. 

No glamorous moonlight was about them now. No scented shadowygarden. .. . But the enchantment was there, in the bare and dustyroom, with its grim old mummy cases, the enchantment and the veryflame of youth. 

"Sweet, I'll be on the ship--I'll wait till you are ready, " he vowedand at her low murmur, "Ready--?" he gave back, "Ready--for love, "with a boy's stammer over the first sound of that word between them. 

"But what is this now, " she said wondering, yet with a little elfishgleam of laughter, "but--love?"

His last resolve went to the winds. 

And as his arms closed about her, as he held to his heart all thatyoung loveliness that had been his despair and his delight, therewas more than joy in the confused tumult of his youth, there wasthe supreme exultation of triumphant daring. 

For he had opened the forbidden door; he had challenged theadventure and overcome the risk. 

He had won. And he would hold his winnings. 

"Aimée, " he whispered. "Aimée--Beloved. "