"I've been, and couldn't see anything."

"I know. I heard a sound. I sang out, and you didn't answer, so I thought something must be up. Let's have another try. I've got Miss Gilder's watch."

I slipped Biddy's bag into the pocket of my pyjamas, and pulling on our boots we went out into the night.

"It's _their_ tent I'm thinking of," I said, though I'd never talked of Brigit O'Brien's affairs to Fenton. "If some one had planned to rob them, not knowing of the change we made at the last minute--"

"All our Arabs did know--"

"I'm not talking of them. We've been here two days. Any one could have spied on us enough to find out which tent was Mrs. Jones' and Miss Gilder's."

"You're thinking of Bedr?"

"Well, yes, I suppose I am. Biddy never believed they were Germans."

"Who, those chaps in checked clothes he had in tow? By Jove! yes--I heard her speak of a scar on the forehead of one."

"She thought he might have been Burke, the fellow in the street row, that night at the House of the Crocodile."

"These things happen to heiresses in old-fashioned story books," said Anthony. "But there's nothing that happens in a story which can't happen in real life, I suppose--especially to _such_ a girl. She--"

"Oh, but I wasn't thinking of her!" I began, then stopped, shocked because it was true, and also because I was unwilling to tell why my thoughts had turned to "Mrs. Jones."

"We must find out if they're safe," I went on. "The thieves seem to have got clear away and we're not likely to find them, unless they've gone to our old tent--"

"Come along," said Anthony. "We'll slip on something, and call the ladies as softly as we can, not to disturb the others and have the whole camp buzzing like a beehive. When we're sure _they're_ all right, we can attend to such details as searching for tracks."

He seemed as eager as I was, to know that the two women were safe; but there was no sign to tell me about which one he chiefly concerned himself.

A minute transformed him from a pyjamaed Englishman into a robed Egyptian of that old-fashioned order which despises things European.

Only, he forgot to put on his turban. I didn't think of the omission myself at the time, but I recalled it later.

Going to the tent which had been ours, I scratched on the tight drawn canvas near the spot where I knew one of the folding iron bedsteads was placed. "Biddy--Biddy!" I called gently, and after a few repet.i.tions I heard her voice, rather sleepy, a little anxious, cry, "Is that you, Duffer?"

"Yes," I whispered, seeing the tent quiver in the region of some big cushiony b.u.t.tons. "'Antoun' and I are both here. But don't be scared.

Could you come and peep out from under the door flap a minute?"

"Yes," said she. "Go round there, and I'll come."

There was not much delay, for Biddy's crinkled black hair needs no night disfigurements by way of patent curlers. In a few seconds the door flap waved, and Biddy looked out into the starlight, the yellow glimmer of a candle flame within the tent silhouetting the j.a.panesey little figure wrapped in a kimono. Behind her dark head and above it, floated a mist of bronzy gold, which I took to be Miss Gilder's hair.

There seemed to be quant.i.ties of it, and I should have been feverishly interested in wondering how long it was, if I had had time to think of anything but my thankfulness that Biddy and Monny were both safe.

"Are either of you ill?" asked the creamy Irish voice which had never sounded half so sweet as now, in the starlight and fragrance of this strange night. "Because if you are, I've some lovely medicine--"

"I wouldn't frighten them any more than I could help, if I were you," I heard Fenton mumbling advice in m.u.f.fled tones at my back.

For obvious reasons I made no audible answer; but I had just been resolving not to tell Biddy my suspicions unless it were necessary to do so.

"No, we're not ill," I a.s.sured her. "But there's been a silly sort of scare about a sneak thief: may have been a false alarm, and we won't say anything about it to-morrow, if others don't. We're horribly sorry to disturb you and Miss Gilder, but we couldn't rest without making sure you hadn't been worried."

"_You_ heard nothing, did you, Monny?" Brigit threw a question over her shoulder to the floating mist of gold.

"No, and I wasn't asleep either," Miss Gilder's voice answered. "I was lying awake thinking about its being our last night--and lots of things."

"I was lying half awake, too, thinking of 'lots of things,'" Biddy mimicked her friend, "or I shouldn't have heard you so easily when you scratched on the canvas. Oh, by the way, Duffer, did you or Antoun Effendi find a little chamois-skin bag under the pillow?"

"I found it," said I, and this gave me a chance I had been wanting but hadn't quite known how to s.n.a.t.c.h. "I was rather worried over the responsibility. Of course you knew that we'd take care of your treasures."

"It's all my money, and--and just _one_ other thing!" Biddy answered, with an odd little hesitation in her manner and a catch in her voice.

"I should hate to have anybody open that bag. I'm thankful it's safe.

With you, I know it's _sacred_. All the same, I'd like to have it, if you don't mind the bother."

"You oughtn't to carry the thing about with you, if it's so important,"

I scolded her. "Why not leave your secret treasure, whatever it is, and most of your money, in Cairo, when you come off on an expedition like this?"

"I don't know," she mumbled evasively. "I'm used to having this thing with me. I can't think how I forgot it under my pillow. I never have before. It isn't the sort of--of valuable one keeps in a bank. Monny embroidered the bag when she was a little girl. It was her first work.

I taught her how to do it, and she gave it to me for a birthday present. I wouldn't lose it for the world."

"You shan't," I said soothingly. I had heard what I had been afraid to hear; but why should Biddy's trip be spoiled by another worry if I could shield her? We could not _know_ that the oiled hand had been groping for that bag; and I resolved not to distress Brigit by putting the idea into her head at present. "Go to sleep again in peace, both of you," I went on. "All's well, since _you_ are well. Probably some prowler has been sneaking round the kitchen-tent."

"Yes. The news of the lamb has gone forth!" said Biddy. "Good night!"

"Good night!" I answered.

Down went the tent flap, and hid the sparkle of eyes in starsheen, and mist of gold in wavering candle-light. We trusted that the two had crept back into their beds; but we did not return to ours. We took one of the camp lanterns and searched for footprints--those which were freshest after the rain. The rough gra.s.s growing spa.r.s.ely out of the sandy earth was not favourable to such attempts, however; and even at dawn, when we looked again before the camp was stirring, we made no notable discoveries such as amateur detectives make, in books.

Our next expedition, as soon as light came, was to the town, where we inquired at the few hotels, and put questions to the police. n.o.body answering the description of Bedr and his two companions had been seen in Medinet, and we had to go back to camp baffled.

There was our adventure; and when we reached Cairo by train, the mystery of the oiled hand was still unsolved.

CHAPTER XVII

THE SHIP'S MYSTERY AGAIN

I expected a black mark for the lamb and every little desert difficulty, but, to my surprise, only our joys were remembered. Those who had stayed in Cairo exchanged tales with the desert travellers, and it was astonishing to hear what a marvellous week we had had. Each day had been better than its brother. In fact, our trip had been one long, glorious dream of golden sands and amethyst sunsets; the camels were as easy to ride as sofas, and combined the intelligence of human beings with the disposition of angels; the camp was as luxurious as the Savoy or the Plaza; and to me and that wonderful Antoun Effendi all credit was suddenly due. Not to be outdone, the stayers in Cairo had had the "time of their lives." They had not been herded together like animals in a menagerie, as in Colonel Corkran's day. The girls had not only been to dances, but had danced with darling pets of officers, friends of Ernest Borrow; while their mothers had been asked to those fascinating picnics they get up in Egypt, don't you know, where you dig in ancient burial grounds and find mummy beads and amulets. Somehow or other, all these people attributed their pleasures to me, as they had blamed me for their mishaps; and my spirits were at the top of the thermometer three days later when, after some hard work, the _Enchantress Isis_ was ready to start "up Nile."

Sir Marcus wanted "his tours to be different from every other Nile tour, and a little better." He wanted to "show what he could do," and he was beginning well. Though the _Enchantress Isis_ had had a past under other owners, she looked as if this were her maiden trip, and she was as beautifully decorated as a debutante for her first ball. Her paint was new and gleaming white; her bra.s.s and nickel glittered like jewellery; and even those who thought nothing quite good enough for them, uttered admiring "Ohs!" as they trooped on board.

"The Highway of Egypt" was a silver-paved road, leading to adventure.

The masts of native boats lying along the river bank were etched in black lines crowding one over another, on the lightly washed-in background of blue. Near by, the great Kasr-el-Nil bridge gleamed with colour and life like a rainbow "come alive"; and the _Enchantress Isis_ looked as gay and inviting as a houseboat _en fete_ for Henley regatta.

She was smaller than the most modern of the Nile boats, for she had been sold cheap to Sir Marcus by another firm: but she was big enough for his experiment, though he had turned some of her cabins into private baths and sitting-rooms. Her three decks towered out of the water with a superior air of stateliness, such as small women put on beside tall sisters; and her upper deck was a big open-air sitting-room.

There were Turkish rugs on the white floor, and basket chairs and sofas with silk cushions. On the tables and on the piano top there were picture-books of Egypt, and magazines, and bowls of flowers. From the roof, sprouted electric lamps with bra.s.s leaves and gla.s.s lotuses; and smiling Arabs in white from turban to slippers had blue larks flying wide-winged on their b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Oh, yes, Sir Marcus was "doing" his clients well, that was patent at first glance, and became even more conspicuous to the eyes of the Set as they wandered into the dining saloon, drawing-room and library, or peeped into each other's cabins.

Sir Marcus himself had come on board ostensibly to see us off, really to watch the effect of his boat upon Cleopatra. He lay in wait for her outside the door of her suite (the best on board), pretending to engage me in conversation, but forgot my existence as she appeared. The ecstasy on his big face was pathetic, as his brown eyes fixed themselves on a quant.i.ty of artificial blue lotuses she held in her hands.

"Do you like 'em, Mrs. East?" he ventured.