She lay with her back to me. Rising slowly, impelled by an impulse I could not have explained, I bent over her. As if my intent regard had penetrated her slumber, she stirred and murmured. Quickly I drew back. Silence reigned without. It was time to go.

I had taken off my belt before I reclined. Much as I would have liked to take it with me, I dared not risk the noise. Thanking heaven and my own foresight for my useful pockets, I distributed several important tools among them. One of the most important, my handy little knife, provided me with a convenient exit from the tent. After cutting a long slit I returned the knife to my pocket, picked up my parasol, and exited.

Cyrus had placed my tent some distance from the others in a thoughtful attempt to give me as much privacy as the terrain allowed. It was not much, for at its greatest extent the wadi was only a few hundred feet wide. My tent backed up onto the slope of scree that bordered the cliffs. Carrying my boots, I crept along the base of it. Even our Egyptian friends wore sandals here, for the thick integument that years of going barefoot had developed on the soles of their feet was insufficient protection against the sharp-edged stones littering the floor of the canyon. My thick stockings served me no better, but I did not dare a.s.sume my boots until after I had gone some distance and was concealed from sight of the camp by a series of outcroppings.

It was extremely hot and very still. The only shade was high up on the steep, loose scree of the slope at the base of the cliff Since haste was imperative, I had to follow the path winding among the boulders on the bottom, now in full sunlight. If I had not been in such a hurry I would have enjoyed the walk. It was the first time in many days I had been alone.

Naturally I kept a firm grip on my parasol and a sharp eye on the surroundings, but I was more inclined to trust that sixth sense that warns of lurking danger. Persons like myself, who are sensitive to atmosphere and who have been often subject to violent attack, develop this sense to an acute degree. It had seldom failed me

I cannot explain why it failed on this occasion. No doubt I was preoccupied with composing the speech I meant to make to Kevin. The men must have been lying concealed and motionless for some time, for I certainly would have heard sounds of someone descending the slope.

They did not come out of hiding until after I had pa.s.sed the first of them, so that when they emerged, simultaneously, I found retreat cut off. A second man popped out of a hole opposite me, two others appeared ahead. They looked very much alike in their turbans and grubby robes, but I recognized one of them. Mohammed had not run away after all. I had to admire his persistence, but I did not like the way he was grinning at me.

The cliff face was split by innumerable crevices and cracks. Some of the fallen boulders were big enough to conceal not one but several men. How many opponents must I defeat? Taking a firm grip on my parasol, I considered alternatives with a rapidity of thought my measured prose cannot attempt to convey.

Flight, in any direction, would have been folly. I could not scramble up the scree fast enough to escape those who would follow. A rapid advance would have sent me straight into the waiting arms of two adversaries, who were now advancing slowly toward me. Retreat- not flight, but a considered, deliberate withdrawal- eastward, in the direction from which I had come, appeared to offer the best hope. If I could dispose of the single man who barred my way .

But even as I shifted my parasol to my left hand and reached for my pistol, that hope was reduced by the rattle and crunch of rock. Another man was coming from the east to reinforce his confederate, and at considerable speed. There was not much chance, I feared, that I could incapacitate or elude two men A hand weapon is inaccurate except at very close range, and I would be running as I fired. I would have to try, of course.

The second man came into view, and my fingers froze on the barrel of the pistol (which had shifted around in my pocket in a way I had not antic.i.p.ated). Astonishment paralyzed every muscle. The man was Emerson, bareheaded, red-faced, and in extremely rapid motion. With a shout of, "Run, d.a.m.n you!" he hurled himself at the surprised Egyptian, who collapsed onto the ground in a flurry of dirty fabric.

I took it that the order was addressed to me, and I was certainly in no position to object to the way it had been phrased. Emerson's sudden appearance and abrupt action had sent our opponents into momentary confusion, I had no difficulty in outstripping the man who was nearest to me. They were all close behind, though, and when Emerson caught my hand and fled, dragging me with him, I was in full agreement with his decision I did wish he would get over his prejudice against firearms, however. A rifle would have been particularly useful just then

We were over a mile from the camp and I did not see how we could reach it without being overtaken. Had he come alone? Was help on the way? Questions flooded my mind but I was too short of breath to articulate them, which is probably just as well, because Emerson was obviously in no mood to permit debate. After rounding an outcrop of rock he turned abruptly to the right, caught me round the waist, and threw me up onto the rocky slope. "Go on," he gasped, emphasizing the suggestion by a sharp slap on a convenient part of my anatomy. "Through that opening. Hurry!"

Looking up, I saw the opening he referred to- a black irregular hole in the cliff face. It was roughly triangular in shape, narrowing to a crack that turned at a sharp angle to meet the top of the slope. Only at its widest part was there room for the pa.s.sage of a body. Mine pa.s.sed, with little conscious volition on my part but with considerable a.s.sistance from Emerson, shoving from behind. I did not resist, though the prospect of dropping down into blackness, with no idea of what lay below and beyond, was not especially appealing. It was more appealing than the alternative, however.

I landed somewhat forcibly on an uneven surface about six feet below the opening. The floor was littered with stones and other objects which pressed painfully into my bare hands. As I struggled to my feet I heard a nasty crunching sound and a scream, followed by a rumble of falling rock. I deduced that Emerson had kicked one of our pursuers in the face The ensuing confusion gave him time to make a more dignified entrance into the hole than I had managed,- feet first, he dropped down beside me, and for a few moments he was too out of breath to do more than pant heavily.

The s.p.a.ce in which we stood was quite small. Immediately behind us the floor sloped sharply up toward the ceiling. The width was no more than five or six feet, but from the relative regularity of the side walls I deduced it must be the entrance to one of the tombs Emerson had mentioned.

Emerson got his breath back. "Where is that ridiculous pistol of yours?" was his first question.

I produced it and handed it to him. Extending his arm out the opening, he pulled the trigger three times.

"Why are you wasting bullets?" I demanded. "There are only six in the pistol, and you didn't even- "

"I am summoning a.s.sistance," was the brusque reply.

Summoning a.s.sistance is not something Emerson often does. In this case it seemed the only sensible course. The entrance to the tomb-cave was so narrow and inconveniently located our adversaries could only pa.s.s through it one at a time- at the considerable risk of being knocked on the head, one at a time, by Emerson, as they did so-but neither could we get out while they were waiting for us. Emerson had- for once- accepted the inevitable, but he obviously did not like it.

"Oh," I said. "Then you came alone?"

"Yes," said Emerson, very softly. Then his voice rose to a roar that deafened my ears. "You d.a.m.ned fool woman! What the devil possessed you to do such an idiotic thing?"

I started back, but I did not go very far, Emerson's hands shot out and gripped my shoulders. He shook me like a terrier with a rat, shouting all the while. Distorted by echoes, the words were relatively unintelligible, but I got the idea.

I do not think I would have hit him if- quite unintentionally, I feel sure- his violent shaking had not brought my head into painful contact with the wall behind me. I had lost my hat during our flight and my hair had come down, so there was nothing to cushion the blow. It hurt enough to remove any inhibitions I might have had about hurting him back. All the same, if I had not been in a state of considerable emotional excitability (for various reasons) I would not have done it. Except for playful gestures of quite another nature (which are irrelevant to this narrative) I had never struck Emerson. It would not have been playing the game to strike an opponent who is unable to hit back.

I certainly did not intend to hit him on the face. My wild blow landed square on his bandaged cheek

The effect was remarkable. With a long gasping intake of pain (and, I presume, fury) he shifted his grip. One arm encircled my shoulders, the other my ribs. Pulling me to him, he pressed his lips to mine. He had NEVER kissed me like that before. Between the steely strength of his arm and the pressure of his mouth, my head was bent back at an angle so acute that I felt my neck must snap. Between the unyielding barrier of the wall at my back and the hard muscles of his body, mine was crushed as if in a vise. What with constant practice and a.s.siduous study, Emerson's natural talents at osculation had been honed to a fine pitch, but he had never kissed me like THAT before (And I certainly hoped he had never kissed anyone ELSE like that before.) My senses were not gently wooed, they were a.s.saulted, mastered, overcome.

When at last he let me go I would have fallen had it not been for the wall against which I leaned. As the roaring of blood in my ears subsided, I heard other voices, crying out in question and alarm. Rising above them all was a voice I took to be that of Cyrus, for it called my name, though I would scarcely have recognized it otherwise.

"We are here," Emerson shouted through the opening. "Safe and unharmed. Stand by, I will hand her out."

Then he turned to me. "I beg your pardon," he said quietly. "That was an unforgivable action for a gentleman- which, despite some eccentricities of behavior, I like to consider myself. You have my word of honor it will never happen again."

I was too shaken to reply, which is probably just as well, for if I had I would have blurted out what I was thinking: "Oh, yes, it will-if have anything to say about it!"

CHAPTER 12.

"Once a man has taken refreshment in your home and a chair in your sitting room, you are less likely to pitch him into a pond."

There was nothing for it but to take Cyrus into my confidence.

"It was Kevin O'Connell I had to see," I explained. "I told you he couid turn up, and so he has Selim delivered a message from him yesterday."

I sat on a camp stool drinking tea, for I felt myself ent.i.tled to a mild restorative. Emerson, of course, had immediately returned to work, Cyrus had not followed him, he now lay sprawled on the rug at my feet like a fallen warrior, his face hidden in his arms, I nudged him gently with my toe "What you need,"

I said, "is a nice hot cup of tea."

Cyrus rolled over and sat up. His face was still flushed, though the livid color it had originally exhibited had faded somewhat. "I have never been a drinking man," he said, endeavoring to control his voice.

"But I am beginning to understand how a man can be driven to drink. Never mind the darned tea.

Where is that bottle of brandy?"

He was only joking, of course. I handed him a cup of tea. "Give me the benefit of your advice, Cyrus. What am I to do about Kevin?"

"Amelia, you are the most . . . You have an absolutely unparalleled You- you- "

"We have already had that conversation, Cyrus. I said I was sorry to have worried you, but as you see, it has all turned out for the best. We have captured Mohammed! One enemy the less! And as soon as his broken nose heals we can question him and find out who hired him"

"One down," said Cyrus gloomily. "How many to go? If you are going to take risks like that to collect the rest of them, my heart is going to give way under the strain. Your lip is bleeding again, my dear, I can't stand the sight of it."

"The hot liquid must have opened the cut," I murmured, pressing my napkin to my mouth. "It is no injury incurred in the line of battle, you know, only a- a bitten lip."

For a moment we were both silent, thinking- I am sure- quite different thoughts. Then I gave myself a little shake and said briskly, "Now if we may return to the subject of Kevin

"I'd like to murder the young rascal," Cyrus muttered. "If it had not been for him ... All right, Amelia, all right. Where is he, and what do you want me to do?"

I explained the situation. "So," I concluded, "we had better be off at once."

"Now?" Cyrus exclaimed.

"Certainly. If we hurry we can be back before dark. I do not antic.i.p.ate another attack so soon, the men who got away can scarcely have had time to report the failure of this one. However, it is difficult walking in the dark."