Selim let out a groan and collapsed against Emerson's broad shoulder. Taking a flask from my belt, I administered a sip of brandy, and Selim declared he felt much better.

I handed the flask to Emerson, who absently took a drink. "Now then, Peabody," he said affably. "What else did you learn?"

I told him about the safragis and described my visit to Mr. Aziz. Emerson shook his head. "That was a waste of time, Peabody. I could have told you Aziz was not a member of the organization. He has not the intelligence or the-er-intestinal fort.i.tude."

"Precisely what I said to Aziz, Emerson. So it appears we are not much farther along."

"We have made a start, at any rate. I did not antic.i.p.ate bringing our inquiries to a successful conclusion in one day."

"Quite right, Emerson. You always cut straight to the heart of the matter. And," I added hopefully, "perhaps during our absence Sethos has done something, such as attacking the compound, which will give us more information." heart of the matter. And," I added hopefully, "perhaps during our absence Sethos has done something, such as attacking the compound, which will give us more information."

Twelve.

At Emerson's request the train stopped at Dahshoor long enough to let us disembark. We trudged off along the path, Emerson supporting Selim with such vigor that the boy's feet scarcely touched the ground. After a short time Selim declared breathlessly that he was fully recovered and capable of walking by himself.

"Good lad," said Emerson, with a hearty slap on the back.

Alternately rubbing his back and his head, Selim followed us. "He may have saved your life, Amelia,'' said Emerson. "You didn't happen to see the man who attacked him?"

"It all happened so quickly," I said truthfully.

"The attacker may have been a common thief, you know. We need not see emissaries of Sethos everywhere."

"I think you are right, Emerson."

Before we reached the house we knew something was amiss. The gates were wide open and the place was buzzing like a beehive. The men had gathered in a group, all talking at once. Enid sat in a chair by the door, her face hidden in her hands; Donald paced up and down, patting her shoulder each time he pa.s.sed her.

"What the devil," Emerson began.

"It is Ramses, of course," I said. "I expect he has gone off again."

As soon as we appeared, the entire a.s.semblage rushed toward us and a dozen voices strove to be the first to tell the news. Emerson bellowed, "Silence!" Silence duly ensued. "Well?" said Emerson, looking at Donald.

"It is my fault," Enid cried. "The poor dear little boy wanted to give me a lesson in Egyptian; but I-" She gave Donald a betraying glance.

"No, it is my fault," Donald said. "He was my responsibility; but I-" He looked at Enid.

Emerson rounded on me and shook a finger under my nose. "Now you see, Amelia, what comes of this love nonsense. People afflicted by that illness have no sense of responsibility, no sense of duty-"

"Be calm, Emerson," I implored. "Let Donald speak."

"He is gone, that is all," Donald said, shrugging helplessly. "We noted his absence about an hour ago, but precisely how long ago he left I cannot say."

"Is he on foot or on donkeyback?" I inquired.

"Neither," Donald said grimly. "The little-er-fellow borrowed a horse-not any horse, but the cherished steed of the mayor, the same one you hired the other day. I say borrow, but I ought to add that the mayor was unaware of the fact. He has threatened to nail Ramses to the door of his house if anything happens to that animal."

"He cannot control such a large horse," Enid exclaimed, wringing her hands. "How he managed to mount and get away without being seen-"

"Ramses has a knack with animals," I said. "Never mind that. I a.s.sume no one saw him leave and therefore we have no idea as to which direction he took?"

"That is correct," said Donald.

Emerson clapped his hand to his brow. "How could he do this? He left no message, no letter?"

"Oh yes," Donald said. "He left a letter."

"Then why have you not gone after him?" Emerson cried, s.n.a.t.c.hing the grimy paper Donald held out.

"Because," said Donald, "the letter is written in hieroglyphic."

And indeed it was. I stood on tiptoe and read over Emerson's shoulder. Ramses' hieroglyphic hand was extremely elegant, in striking contrast to his English handwriting, which was practically illegible. I doubted, however, that it was for that reason he had chosen to employ the former language.

"Mazghunah," Emerson exclaimed. "He has gone to Mazghunah! 'For the purpose of speaking with the wab-priest....' That is a rather unorthodox use of the present participle, I must say."

"You may be sure Ramses can and will justify the usage if you are foolish enough to ask him," I said. "Well, Emerson, shall we go after him?"

"How can you ask, Amelia? Of course we will go after him, and as quickly as we can. When I think of what may have befallen him, alone in the desert-a little child on a horse he cannot handle, pursued by unknown villains.... Oh, good Gad!" Emerson ran toward the stable.

A lurid sunset glorified the west as our patient little donkeys trotted south along the path we knew so well. Emerson was as incapable as I of whipping an animal, but he urged his steed forward with impa.s.sioned pleas.

"So far so good," I remarked, in the hope of comforting him. "Ramses would have followed this same path; we have not seen his fallen body, so it is probably safe to a.s.sume he managed to control the horse."

"Oh, curse it," was Emerson's only response.

We entered the village from the north, pa.s.sing the ruins of the American mission, which had been the scene of some of our most thrilling adventures the year before. It was silent and abandoned; the makeshift steeple of the church had collapsed and the surrounding houses were uninhabited. I had no doubt that the villagers shunned the spot as haunted and accursed.

As we approached the well, we saw a crowd of people. One and all stood in silent fascination, facing the house of the priest, their heads tilted as they listened. Faint and far away, yet distinctly audible, the wavering notes rose and fell-the cry of the muezzin reciting the call to prayer. A strange sound in a Christian village, with never a mosque in sight! Most curious of all was the fact that the sound came from inside the house of the priest.

There was a brief, waiting silence. Then the adan adan was repeated, but more loudly, and in a different voice. The first had been tenor, this was a gruff baritone. It broke off after a few words, to be followed immediately by yet a third voice, distinguished by a perceptible lisp. It sounded as if the priest of Dronkeh were entertaining, or interviewing, all the local muezzins. was repeated, but more loudly, and in a different voice. The first had been tenor, this was a gruff baritone. It broke off after a few words, to be followed immediately by yet a third voice, distinguished by a perceptible lisp. It sounded as if the priest of Dronkeh were entertaining, or interviewing, all the local muezzins.

The crowd parted like the Red Sea before Emerson's impetuous rush. Without waiting to knock, he flung the door open.

The last rays of the dying sun cut like a flaming sword through the gloom within. They fell full upon the form of Walter "Ramses" Peabody Emerson, seated cross-legged on the divan, his head thrown back, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as from his parted lips came the wailing rise and fall of the call to prayer.

The priest, who had been sitting in the shadow, started up. Ramses-being Ramses-finished all four of the initial statements of the ritual ("G.o.d is most great, et cetera") before remarking, "Good evening, Mama. Good evening, Papa. Did you have a productive day in Cairo?"

Emerson accepted Father Todorus' offer of a cup of cognac. I declined. I required all my wits to deal with Ramses.

"May I ask," I inquired, taking a seat beside him, "what you are doing?"

I hated to ask, for I felt sure he would tell me, at tedious length; but I was so bewildered by the uncanny performance I was not quite myself. It was obvious that not only the last, but all all the other muezzin calls had come from the scrawny throat of my son. Emerson continued to sip his cognac, his bulging eyes fixed on Ramses' Adam's apple. the other muezzin calls had come from the scrawny throat of my son. Emerson continued to sip his cognac, his bulging eyes fixed on Ramses' Adam's apple.

Ramses cleared his throat. "When you and Papa discussed the unfortunate captivity of Father Todorus here, I found myself in complete agreement with your conclusion that he had been imprisoned somewhere within the environs of Cairo. Your further conclusion, that it would not be possible to narrow this down, was one with which I was reluctantly forced to disagree. For in my opinion-"

"Ramses."

"Yes, Mama?"

"I would be indebted to you if you would endeavor to restrict your use of that phrase."

"What phrase, Mama?"

" 'In my opinion.' "

The cognac had restored Emerson's powers of speech. He said hoa.r.s.ely, "I am inclined to agree with your mama, Ramses, but let us leave that for the moment. Please proceed with your explanation."

"Yes, Papa. For in my ... That is, I felt that although Father Todorus had been unable to see see out of the windows, he had probably been able to out of the windows, he had probably been able to hear hear out of them. Indeed, one of your own statements corroborated that a.s.sumption. Now while the agglomerate of sounds that might be called the 'voice of the city' is generally indistinctive-I refer to such sounds as the braying of donkeys, the calls of water sellers and vendors, the whining pleas of beggars, the-" out of them. Indeed, one of your own statements corroborated that a.s.sumption. Now while the agglomerate of sounds that might be called the 'voice of the city' is generally indistinctive-I refer to such sounds as the braying of donkeys, the calls of water sellers and vendors, the whining pleas of beggars, the-"

"I observe with concern, Ramses, that you seem to be developing a literary, not to say poetic, turn of phrase. Writing verses and keeping a journal are excellent methods of expurgating these tendencies. Incorporating them into an explanatory narrative is not."

"Ah," said Ramses thoughtfully.

"Please continue, Ramses," said his father. "And, my dearest son-be brief!"

"Yes, Papa. There is one variety of auditory phenomena that is, in contrast to those I have mentioned (and others I was not allowed to mention), distinctive and differentiated. I refer, of course, to the calls of the muezzins of the mosques of Cairo. It occurred to me that Father Todorus, who had probably heard these calls ad nauseam, so to speak, day after day, might be able to distinguish between them and perhaps even recall their relative loudness and softness. I came, therefore, to attempt the experiment. By reproducing-"

"Oh, good Gad!" I cried out. "Ramses-have you been sitting here for over three hours repeating the adan adan in different voices and different tones? Emerson-as you know, I seldom succ.u.mb to weakness, but I must confess I feel-I feel rather faint." in different voices and different tones? Emerson-as you know, I seldom succ.u.mb to weakness, but I must confess I feel-I feel rather faint."

"Have some cognac," said Emerson, handing me the cup. "Was the experiment a success, my son?"

"To some extent, Papa. I believe I have narrowed the area down to one approximately a quarter of a mile square."

"I cannot believe this," I murmured, half to myself- entirely to myself as it turned out, for none of the others was listening.

"It was very interesting," said Father Todorus, nodding like a wind-up toy. "When I closed my eyes I could imagine myself in that house of Satan, listening, as I had done so often, to the calling of the heathen."

"I cannot believe this," I repeated. "Ramses. How did you learn to differentiate these calls? There are three hundred mosques in Cairo!"

"But only thirty or forty within the area I considered most likely," said Ramses. "To wit, the old city, with its dark and secret byways and its crumbling ancient mansions and its-" He caught my eye. "I became interested in the matter last spring," he went on, more prosaically. "When we were in Cairo before leaving for England. We were there for several weeks, and I had ample opportunity to-"

"I understand," said Emerson. "A most ingenious idea, upon my word. Don't you agree, Peabody?"

My cup was empty. I thought of asking for more, but my iron will rose triumphant over distress and disbelief. "I believe we should go home now," I said. "Father Todorus must be tired."

Father Todorus made polite protestations, but it was evident he would be glad to see the last of us. His manner toward Ramses as he bade him farewell was a blend of respect and terror.

As we emerged from the priest's house, one of the villagers came up leading the mare and, with a deep salaam, handed the reins to Ramses.

Ramses' excursion into grand theft had momentarily slipped my mind. I remembered reading that in the American West, horse thieves were usually hanged.

Perhaps Ramses remembered this too. In the act of mounting he hesitated and then turned to me. With his most winning smile he said, "Would you like to ride Mazeppa, Mama?"

"A very proper thought, Ramses," said Emerson approvingly. "I am glad to see you show your dear mama the consideration she deserves."

The mayor shared the opinion of the American cowboy with regard to horse thieves. I was obliged to propitiate him by hiring the horse, at a staggering fee, for the duration of our stay at Dahshoor. Leaving the mare with her owner, for we had no stabling facilities worthy of such a paragon, I returned to the house.

My annoyance was not a.s.suaged by the sight of Ramses and his father deep in consultation over a map of Cairo that was spread across the table, on which our evening meal had already been set out. One end of the map was in the gravy. Ramses was jabbing at the paper with his forefinger and saying, "The most audible of the muezzins was the gentleman from the mosque of Gamia 'Seiyidna Hosein. By a process of elimination and repet.i.tion I feel we can eliminate everything outside a region roughly seven hundred and fifty-"

Very firmly and quietly I suggested that the map be removed and the dishes rearranged. We sat down to the excellent (though tepid) meal Hamid had prepared. A distinct air of constraint was to be felt, and for a time all ate in silence. Then Emerson, whose motives are always admirable but whose notion of tact is distinctly peculiar, said brightly, "I trust the matter of the mare was settled to your satisfaction, Peabody."

"It was settled to the satisfaction of the mayor, Emerson. We have hired the mare for the season, at a price of one hundred shekels."

Emerson choked on a mouthful of stew and had to retire behind his table napkin. However, he did not complain about the price. Instead he suggested, "Perhaps we should purchase the animal outright. For you, Pea-body, I mean; wouldn't you like to have her for your own? She is a pretty creature-"

"No, thank you, Emerson. The next thing, Ramses would be demanding that we ship her back to England with us."

"You are quite mistaken, Mama; such an idea had not occurred to me. It would be more convenient to keep Mazeppa here, so that I can ride her when we come out each-"

The sentence ended in a gasp and a start, as Emerson, who had realized that any further reference to the mare, especially from his son, would not improve my mood, kicked Ramses in the shin. No one spoke for a while. Donald had not said a word the entire time; I attributed his silence to remorse at his failure to carry out his duty, but as I was soon to learn, there was another reason. He had been thinking. As Emerson says-somewhat unjustly, I believe-the process is difficult for Englishmen, and requires all their concentration.

Not until we had slaked the first pangs of hunger and were nibbling on slices of fruit did the young man rise from his chair and clear his throat. "I have come to a decision," he announced. "That is, Enid and I have come to a decision." were nibbling on slices of fruit did the young man rise from his chair and clear his throat. "I have come to a decision," he announced. "That is, Enid and I have come to a decision."

He took the hand the girl offered him, squared his shoulders, and went on, "We wish to be married at once. Professor, will you perform the service this evening?"

The sheer lunacy of the request startled me so that I dropped my napkin. It fell on top of the cat Bastet, who was crouched under the table, hoping (correctly) that Ramses would slip tidbits to her. This upset her a great deal, and the rest of the conversation was punctuated with growls and thumps as Bastet wrestled with the napkin.

Emerson's jaw dropped. He started to speak, or perhaps to laugh. Then a thought seemed to occur to him, for his eyes narrowed and his hand crept to his chin. "That would certainly solve some of our difficulties," he said musingly, stroking the dimple. "Mrs. Emerson's obsession with chaperonage and propriety ..."

"Emerson!" I exclaimed. "How can you entertain such a notion for a split second? My dear Ronald- excuse me, Donald-my dear Enid-whatever gave you the idea that Professor Emerson is licensed to marry people?"

"Why, I don't know," Donald said, looking confused. "The captain of a ship has such privileges; I thought the leader of an expedition in a foreign country-"

"You thought wrong," I said.

Enid lowered her eyes. Yet I had a feeling she had known the truth all along-and had not cared. I should not wish it to be supposed that I ever approve of immorality, but I must confess that my opinion of the girl rose.

"Sit down, Donald," I said. "You look so very indecisive standing there scratching your ear. Let us discuss this rationally. I thoroughly approve of your decision, which will, of course, have to wait until the proper formalities have been carried out. May I ask what led you to it?"

Donald continued to hold Enid's hand. She smiled at him with (I could not help thinking) the gentle encouragement of a teacher toward a rather backward child.

"Enid has convinced me," Donald said. "We cannot continue to hide like criminals who have something to be ashamed of. Surely she is in no danger from the police; only a madman could entertain the notion of her guilt."

"That is in fact the case," I said. "We learned today that the police have abandoned any idea that she killed Kalenischeff. You, however-"

"I," said Donald, lifting his chin, "will face my accusers like a man. They cannot prove I killed the fellow-though I was often tempted to punch him senseless as I followed him and Enid around Cairo and saw him smirk and leer at her."

"That is the sort of statement I strongly advise you not to make to anyone else," said Emerson. "However, I agree with you that there is little evidence against you. But you have not explained this sudden surge of gallantry. Was it love, that n.o.ble emotion, that strengthened your moral sinews?"

His satirical tone was lost on Donald, who replied simply. "Yes, sir, it was. Besides, reluctant as I am to face the truth, Enid has convinced me that it was Ronald who tried to kill me this morning."

"Well, of course it was," Emerson said. "It has been evident from the first that the difficulties you two have encountered are purely domestic in nature. Your brother, Mr. Fraser, appears to be a thoroughly unprincipled person. It was he, was it not, who forged the signature and persuaded you to accept the blame? Stupid, Mr. Fraser-very stupid indeed. For that act had consequences far more dangerous to you than mere dishonor. Your brother hoped that despair would lead you to death by accident or self-destruction, thus giving him control of your estate. I suspect he has an additional motive which has to do with the affections of Miss Debenham here. I also suspect that had Miss Debenham been content to accept Donald's disgrace and disappearance, not to mention the hand in marriage of Ronald, Donald (curse it, these names are very confusing)-Ronald, I mean, would have gone no further. By vigorously pursuing the search for Donald and denying his guilt, she endangered Ronald's position and he was forced to take more direct action. evident from the first that the difficulties you two have encountered are purely domestic in nature. Your brother, Mr. Fraser, appears to be a thoroughly unprincipled person. It was he, was it not, who forged the signature and persuaded you to accept the blame? Stupid, Mr. Fraser-very stupid indeed. For that act had consequences far more dangerous to you than mere dishonor. Your brother hoped that despair would lead you to death by accident or self-destruction, thus giving him control of your estate. I suspect he has an additional motive which has to do with the affections of Miss Debenham here. I also suspect that had Miss Debenham been content to accept Donald's disgrace and disappearance, not to mention the hand in marriage of Ronald, Donald (curse it, these names are very confusing)-Ronald, I mean, would have gone no further. By vigorously pursuing the search for Donald and denying his guilt, she endangered Ronald's position and he was forced to take more direct action.