She danced with Ramsey, with her father, and with nice British and American boys to whom she was introduced.

“This,” she said to Ramsey, “is the sort of life I used to love.”

“But not now?” he asked.

“For tonight—yes—tonight it is divine.”

“But not for tomorrow?”

“Not tomorrow. Even now I find my hands reaching for the controls, my fingers itching for the feel of the switches, and my ears listening for the roar of the motors.”

“It gets in your blood. I know. What’s it going to be after it’s all over?”

“We’ll know when it is all over, if we’re still around to know. Let’s have tonight for tonight.”

“And tomorrow for tomorrow.”

The music ceased. That dance was over. It was announced that the orchestra would play two selections that were not dances.

“We sit these out. Come on!” He led her by the hand. “There’s a spot before the fountain where we can sit and watch the pyramid.”

“Does it need watching?” she asked with a laugh.

“It seems not.” His tone was sober as he helped her to a seat beneath the stars. “I like to watch it all the same. Sometime I expect it to speak to me.”

“Speak to you?”

“Yes, why not? Surely it’s stood there in silence long enough. Look,” he leaned close to her, “did you ever think what that great pile of stone over there stands for?”

“No—I—”

“Of course not. You haven’t watched it night after night as I have. It stands for power. That’s what. The power one man wielded over thousands and thousands of others. Think of the weary years toiled cutting those stones with primitive tools and getting them up, up, up toward the sky.”

“What for?”

“Because some man wanted to be remembered after he was dead. They did remember, but only to curse him. We have our monuments today, skyscrapers, museums, places for fishes to live in, homes for mummies and stuffed elephants. They have been built by men who wanted to be remembered. But the people who pay for them are the little people who have made machines, sold goods, and all that for a little pay, and who were left to finish their lives as best they could when they were too old to work any more. That is what the pyramid will say to me some moonlit night.”

“And what shall you do about it?”

“Probably nothing, just as other generations have done. But see here!” he sprang to his feet. “This was to be a night!”

“Of music, laughter and the lighter touch.” She supplied the words. “Well, there’s the music. Isn’t it lovely?”

When it was over and they were sauntering back toward the dance floor he said:

“I’m to be up there with you over the Arabian Desert tomorrow. Rommel’s desert rats have a hidden base somewhere out there. We lose a plane now and then, never get a trace of it. It seems your father doesn’t want you to get lost.”

“I think you’re right.”

“There will be three other escorting planes in the squad. They will all be double seaters. I’ll be in a single-seater, a regular blue devil of a fighting plane.”

“So I’ll be able to recognize you. How grand!” she enthused. “You shall be my knight in shining armor.”

“Sure, it’s like going back to ancient days, when fair ladies and rich treasure in coaches were guarded on their way by armored knights on horseback.”

“Swift steeds you ride now,” she laughed.

“Real enough for all that. The lady is real, too, and the treasure, never forget that.”

“I shall not forget.”

“Have you any notion what the treasure is?”

“Not the slightest. All we know, Sparky and I, is that it is of the greatest importance to China and that it must go through.”

“Here we are,” he said, helping her up the steps. “One more dance.”

“One more and that’s all,” she agreed. “I must have my beauty nap, for tomorrow I am a working woman again.”

A short time later they said good-night to the Colonel who assured them he was leaving at once. Then he drove her home in his car.

“It’s been the most delightful evening of my life,” she declared.

“It’s the contrast,” was his reply. “Today you were in great danger.” She had told him of her adventure with the spy. “Tonight you have been safe with the right kind of people and quite happy.”

“And tomorrow?”

“Who knows? I shall be with you in the Arabian skies. That much is decided. The rest is chance.”

He went with her to the door of the chateau. Then, gripping her hand he whispered: “Just something to remember.”

She did not refuse. A moment later, a little flushed and quite happy, she was in her own room preparing for a few winks of sleep.

She was just putting on the night robe that had been left for her when her father entered the chateau.

“Have a good time?” he asked.

“Best ever.”

“That’s splendid! I wish you were to be here a week.”

“I don’t,” was the quick reply. “I love duty, and, I’m ashamed to say it, danger. But, Dad, I don’t see this papyrus business. Why should I take that roll to America?”

“Why shouldn’t you?”

“It might be dangerous.”

“There’s scarcely a chance. In the first place, I know that Arab. He seems an honorable old man. In the second, I shall place your overnight bag in your plane the moment before you start—”

“And the roll will be in that bag?”

“Exactly. Once you are in the air, the roll cannot possibly get you into trouble. When you arrive at your destination there is not a chance in a thousand that anyone there will know about that papyrus—or any papyrus, for that matter.

“So you see—” he went on, “you will be aiding this aged Arab and, at the same time, adding a little to our American collection of Egyptian lore. Some rare discoveries have been made by those who delve into the mysteries of the messages recorded thousands of years ago.”

“Perhaps this tells of some war fought and won on these very grounds,” she suggested.

“Here is a card,” he said, handing her a square of cardboard. “On it I have written the address of my old professor of Egyptology. I suggest that you show the roll to him before you deliver it to this Doctor Spinka—”

“Why?”

“Well,” he hesitated, “in these times we must be very careful. There is an off chance that an enemy spy is working through this Arab to turn a sharp trick on us.”

“And if that is true, your professor will discover it?”

“He and his colleagues.”

“Okay—good-night, Dad. You’ll call me?”

“You’ll be at the airport on time, with a good cup of coffee and toasted English muffins under your belt.”

The off chance is sometimes the real chance, also the wisest of men sometimes make mistakes. It is also true that the game is neither won nor lost until the last card is played. The roll of papyrus went aboard Mary’s plane as planned and was promptly forgotten.