"Don't worry about that" Cyrus stroked his goatee. "Abdullah's relatives have surrounded the place like a band of Apaches besieging a fort. They've already manhandled my cook and beat up a date peddler."

With my mind at ease on this point, and the telegram having been dispatched, I could return my attention to where my heart already lay. It was a trying time, for as the effects of the opium wore off, other, more alarming, symptoms appeared. They were due, Dr. Wallingford thought, to the other drugs Emerson had been given, but treatment was impossible since we did not know what they were.

Abdullah had returned to the prison to find the place swept clean. The police denied having taken anything away, and I was prepared to believe them, since they would not have had the sense to search the scene of the crime. It was evident that the kidnapper had returned to remove any evidence that might incriminate him. This was an ominous sign, but I had no leisure to consider the ramifications or contend with the reporters who, as Cyrus had predicted, besieged us clamoring for news. Dr Wallingford moved into one of the guest rooms and concentrated on his most interesting patient. His full attention was required, for coma was succeeded by delirium, and for two days it required all our efforts to prevent Emerson from harming himself or us. "At least we know his physical strength is not seriously impaired,"

I remarked, picking myself up off the floor where Emerson's flailing arm had flung me.

"It is the unnatural strength of mania," declared Dr. Wallingford, rubbing his bruised shoulder.

"Nevertheless, I find it rea.s.suring," I said. "I have seen him this way before. It is my own fault, I ought to have known better than . . . Get hold of his feet, Cyrus, he is trying to get out of bed again!"

Anubis had prudently retired to the top of the dresser, where he squatted, watching with wide green eyes. In the brief lull that followed Emerson's fit of agitation I became aware of a low rumbling sound. The cat was purring! Abdullah would have taken it for another sign of diabolical intelligence, but I felt a strange, irrational surge of renewed hope- as if the creature's purr were a good omen rather than the reverse.

I needed all the encouragement I could find during the dreadful hours that followed, but finally, after midnight on the third night, I dared to believe the worst was over. At last Emerson lay still. The rest of us sat round the bed, nursing our bruises and catching our breath. My eyes blurred, I was giddy and light-headed from lack of sleep. The scene was unreal, like a two-dimensional photograph of some past event- the smoky lamplight casting its shadows over the strained faces of the watchers and the emaciated features of the sick man, the silence unbroken except for the rustle of leaves outside the open window and Emerson's slow, regular breathing.

My senses did not dare to register that sign at first. When I rose and tiptoed to the bed, Dr. Wallingford came with me His examination was brief. When he straightened, his tired face wore a smile.

"It is sleep- sound, natural sleep. Get some rest now, Mrs. Emerson He will want to see you smiling and well when he wakes in the morning."

I would have resisted, but I could not, Cyrus had to half-carry me into the adjoining dressing room, where a cot had been placed for me. The unconscious mind- in which I firmly believe, despite its questionable status- knew I could now abandon my vigil, and I slept like the dead for six hours.

Waking, filled with energy, I bounded from bed and rushed to the next room.

At least such was my intention. I was brought to a sudden stop by an apparition that appeared before me- shockingly pale, dreadfully disheveled, wild-eyed and unkempt. It was several seconds before I recognized my own image, reflected in the mirror over the dressing table.

A quick glance into the adjoining chamber a.s.sured me that Emerson still slept and that the good doctor, eyegla.s.ses askew and cravat loosened, dozed in the chair next to the bed Hastily I set about making a few essential repairs, smoothing my hair, pinching color into my cheeks, a.s.suming my most elaborately ruffled and beribboned dressing gown. My hands shook, I was as tremulous as a young girl preparing for an a.s.signation with her lover.

Sounds from the next room brought me flying to the door, for I recognized the querulous grunts and groans with which Emerson was wont to greet the day. If he was not himself again, he was producing a good imitation.

Cyrus, who must have been listening outside the door, entered when I did. Dr. Wallingford waved us back. Leaning over the bed, he said, "Do you know who you are?"

He was weary, poor fellow, or no doubt he would have found more felicitous phraseology. Emerson stared at him. "What a d.a.m.ned fool question," he replied. "Of course I know who I am. More to the point, sir, who the devil are you?"

"Please, Professor," Wallingford exclaimed. "Your language! There is a lady present."

Emerson's eyes swept the room in a slow survey and came to rest on me where I stood with hands clasped to my breast in order to still the telltale flutter of the ruffles that betrayed my wildly beating heart. "If she doesn't care for my language she can leave the room. I did not invite her."

Cyrus could contain himself no longer. "You blamed fool," he burst out, clenching his fists. "Don't you recognize her? If she had not dropped in uninvited a few days ago, you wouldn't be alive and blaspheming this morning."

"Another confounded intruder," Emerson muttered, glowering at Cyrus. He looked back at me ... And this time there could be no mistake. The brilliant blue orbs were clear and conscious, and cool with indifference. They narrowed and his brows drew together. "Wait, though- the features are familiar, though the costume is not. Is she the unsuitably attired female who popped into my pleasant little room last night, like a cork forced into a bottle, and then proceeded to pepper the empty doorway with bullets? Females should not be allowed to handle firearms."

"It wasn't last night, it was three days ago," snapped Cyrus, his goatee quivering. "She saved your life with that pistol, you- you- " He broke off, with an apologetic glance at me.

A gleam of white teeth appeared amid the tangle of Emerson's beard. "I do not know you, sir, but you appear to be a hot-tempered fellow- unlike myself. I am always calm and reasonable. Reason compels me to confess that the doorway may not have been empty, and that this lady may have rendered me some small a.s.sistance. Thank you, madam. Now go away."

His eyes closed. A peremptory gesture from the doctor sent both of us from the room. Cyrus, still quivering with indignation, put a protective arm around me. Gently but decisively I removed it.

"I am quite composed, Cyrus. I do not require to be soothed."

"Your courage amazes me," Cyrus exclaimed. "To hear him deny you- sneer at your devotion and daring- "

"Well, you see," I said with a faint smile, "it isn't the first time I have heard such remarks from Emerson. I had hoped, Cyrus, but I had not really expected anything else. Having nerved myself to expect the worst, I was prepared for it."

In silence he placed his hand on my shoulder. I allowed it to remain, and neither of us spoke again until the doctor emerged from Emerson's room.

"I am sorry, Mrs. Emerson," he said gently. "Pray don't be disheartened. He has not forgotten everything. He knows his name and his profession. He asked after his brother Walter, and declared his intention of proceeding at once to his excavations."

"Where?" I asked intently. "Did he say where he intended to work this season?"

"Amarna," was the reply. "Is that important?"

"It was at Amarna that he was working when we became . . . well acquainted."

"Hmmm. Yes. You may have found the clue, Mrs. Emerson. His memory of events is clear and precise up to a period approximately thirteen years ago. He remembers nothing that has happened since that time."

"Since the day we . . became acquainted," I said thoughtfully.

The doctor put his hand on my other shoulder. Men seem to think this gesture has a soothing effect. "Don't despair, Mrs. Emerson. He is out of danger, but he is still much weaker than his- er- peremptory manner might lead you to believe. It may be that his memory will return as his health improves"

"And maybe it won't," muttered Cyrus. "You're pretty doggoned nonchalant about it, Doc, isn't there anything you can do?"

"I am not a specialist in nervous disorders," was the huffy reply. "I would certainly welcome a second opinion "

"No offense meant," Cyrus said quickly. "I guess we're all pretty tired and short-tempered. A specialist in nervous disorders, you said . . Hey! Wait a minute!"

His face lit up and he stopped twisting his goatee, which had gone quite limp under his attentions.

"I guess the good Lord must be on our side after all. One of the world's greatest experts in mental disorders is on his way to Luxor at this very moment, if he is not already here. Talk about the luck of the devil!"

"What is his name?" the doctor asked skeptically.

"Schadenfreude. Sigismund Schadenfreude. He's a crackerjack, take my word for it."

"The Viennese specialist? His theories are somewhat unorthodox- "

"But they work," Cyrus declared enthusiastically. "I was a patient of his myself a few years ago."

"You, Cyrus?" I exclaimed.

Cyrus looked down and shuffled his feet like a guilty schoolboy. "You remember, Amelia- that business with Lady Baskerville? I gave my heart to that woman, and she smashed it to smithereens. I went around like a droopy-eared hound dog for quite a while, and then I heard about Schadenfreude. He set me straight in a matter of weeks."

"I am very sorry, Cyrus I had no idea."

"Water over the dam, my dear. I've been footloose and fancy-free ever since. I told Schadenfreude when we parted company to let me know if he was ever in Egypt and I'd show him what an archaeological dig was like. He must have arrived in Cairo right after I left Got his letter a few days ago-paid no attention to it at the time-other things on my mind- but if I remember rightly, he planned to be in Luxor sometime this week. What do you say I run over and see if he's available?"

Of course the matter was not so easily arranged as Cyrus's sympathetic enthusiasm led him to hope.

It was evening before he returned, towing the famous Viennese physician along like a pet dog Schadenfreude was a curious figure- very thin in the face and very round in the stomach, his cheeks so pink they looked rouged, his beard so silvery-bright it suggested a halo that had slipped its moorings. Myopic brown eyes peered uncertainly through his thick spectacles. There was nothing uncertain about his professional manner, however.

"A most interrrresting case, to be sure," he declared. "Herr Vandergelt has given me some of the particulars. You have not forced yourself upon him, gnadige gnadige Frau?" Frau?"

I stiffened with indignation, but a wink and a nod from Cyrus reminded me that the famous doctor's imperfect command of English must be responsible for this rude question.