Mr. Fenshawe, renewing his acquaintance with Arabic gutturals, and von Kerber, walking apart with Mrs. Haxton, in order to learn how and when she had received tidings of Abdullah, had eyes or ears for naught else. Irene and Dick were thus given a few moments free from listeners, and the girl was quick enough to grasp the chance.

"You know why we have come here?" she asked in a low tone, halting to look back at the belt of tiny islets which secludes Massowah's larger island from the open sea.

"Baron von Kerber told us at Marseilles," said Dick, wondering what new development had chased from the girl's face the smiling interest of a moment ago.

"'Us'?" she demanded, almost sharply.

"I should have said Captain Stump, Mr. Tagg, and myself."

"What did he tell you?"

"The remarkable history of a Roman expedition against the Sabaeans, of a storm, a shipwreck, the burial of a vast treasure, and the ultimate discovery of its hiding-place by means of a Greek papyrus found in a tomb."

"That is what irritates me," said she, in a sudden gust of anger. "His behavior is faultless, yet I am certain that he is acting in an underhanded way. I have ventured to say as much to my grandfather, but I cannot obtain a shred of actual fact to justify my suspicions. Indeed Baron von Kerber is candor itself where the genuineness of the papyrus is concerned. Did he endeavor to explain Mrs. Haxton's presence, or mine?"

"When Captain Stump protested—before he had seen you, remember—against ladies accompanying us, the Baron said that without you the expedition could not proceed."

"Exactly. That is another bit of unconvincing accuracy. Mrs. Haxton has always been an essential part of the scheme. I am here solely because I did not think Mr. Fenshawe should be allowed to go alone—alone in the sense that these people were strangers to him, while he was spending many thousands of pounds for their very great benefit. There, again, I find myself in a sort of verbal cul de sac. Under other circumstances I should be delighted to take part in an adventure of this kind. Grandad promised me two years ago that we should pass the present winter in Upper Egypt. Unhappily, Mrs. Haxton introduced von Kerber to him at a place in the Highlands where we were invited for the shooting. The instant he heard of the legend on that wretched scrap of paper all his old enthusiasm for exploration work revived, and he has followed their plans blindly ever since."

"I hope you will forgive me if I express a somewhat contrary opinion, Miss Fenshawe," said Royson. "Your grandfather did not hesitate to run counter to the Baron's wishes to-day, for instance."

"Oh, that is nothing. Of course, with his experience of Egypt, he takes the lead in such matters. What I want you to believe is this: Mrs. Haxton, and not von Kerber, found that papyrus, or it came into her hands by some means. She is the originator of the scheme. She sought to be included in our friend's party at Glengarloch with the set object of meeting grandad, whose interest in archeology is known to all the world. She did not come across von Kerber by accident, but produced him at the right moment. He is not a casual friend, met in Cairo, as she pretends, but a man whom she has known for years. And, last in a list of guessings which I know to be true, they both fear some discovery, or interruption, or danger not revealed to us, which may prevent them from obtaining the wealth they hope to gain. They are desperately poor, Mr. Royson. They have mortgaged their credit to its utmost extent to enable them to keep up appearances, and they dread some catastrophe which will interfere with our search, though the only authority we have for the existence of the Roman legion's loot is a scrap of scarcely decipherable writing, which, though genuine enough, may be nothing better than a madman's dream."

"Have you told Mr. Fenshawe these things?" asked Dick. His pledged word to von Kerber interposed an awkward barrier against that complete confidence which he would gladly have given to one who had so curiously amplified his own doubts.

"Yes, everything, but he only laughs, and bids me remember that I am not yet twenty. He says that there are stranger things buried beneath the dust of Egypt than all the learned societies have succeeded in revealing. He is quite content that the cruise of the Aphrodite should be a wild-goose chase so long as the evidence of the papyrus is proved to be false. And that is my chief stumbling-block. Perhaps you do not realize that, to an antiquarian, the search yields as keen pleasure as the find. The cost of this expedition is a matter of no consequence to my grandfather, and I repeat that, under other conditions, I should regard it as a most enjoyable and memorable excursion. But these two people have made me nervous, and that is why I was determined they should not get rid of you at Suez, because I felt that I could trust you with my doubts and fears, and look to you for help should an emergency arise. Otherwise, Mr. Fenshawe and I would be at their mercy."

"You can count on me to the end," said Royson earnestly, "but I would ask you not to forget that the officers and crew are all Englishmen, and, from what I have seen of them, they would never lend themselves to any undertaking which meant actual treachery to their employers."

"That, of course, is excellent so far as it goes," was the tart response, "but I am also aware that our enterprising Baron has very adroitly bound all of you to secrecy, and exacted a promise of faithfulness to his interests. The result is that not even you, Mr. Royson, told me anything about the attack made on him at Marseilles—"

This counter-stroke was unexpected, and Royson glanced at her with some degree of embarrassment.

"He persuaded us that if the incident came to your knowledge it might alarm you needlessly," he broke in, "and that sounded quite reasonable."

"Exactly. You are beginning to appreciate the pitfalls which awaited me when I tried to convince my grandfather that he should not credit every statement made to him. Baron von Kerber is the most plausible of men. He never tells a downright untruth. Indeed, he speaks the absolute truth, but only a part of it. Fortunately, my maid heard of your prowess in routing the Baron's assailants. You at once became a hero among the sailors, which, by the way, was only fit and proper if you are destined to fill the rÔle played by your distinguished ancestor."

A quiet little smile chased the shadows from her face, and Dick flushed as he recalled the wild words of that wonderful night in the canal.

"Tagg must have been talking," he managed to say. "Please tell me what you have heard, Miss Fenshawe."

"Nothing beyond the fact that our Austrian friend was set upon by some highway robbers while driving from the station to the ship at a late hour, and that you and Mr. Tagg happened to be near, with disastrous results to the Marseillais. Does your bond permit you to carry the story further? What did really happen?"

"There was a rather one-sided fight, because Tagg and I took them by surprise, but the Baron escaped uninjured, or nearly so."

"Did they rob him, then?"

"I meant that he sustained a couple of slight cuts, and therein you have another valid reason for his anxiety that the affair should not reach your ears."

Though her own manner was imperious enough, Irene was manifestly surprised at the annoyance apparent in Dick's voice. She did not realize that he was wroth because of the check imposed by the promise exacted in London. If he told her of the theft of the papyrus, and explained the few details he possessed with regard to von Kerber's declared enemy, he would only add fuel to the distrust already planted in her heart. That would achieve no tangible good, while no casuistry would wipe away the stain on his own honor. So here was he, burning with desire to assure her of his devotion, forced into silent pact with the very conspiracy she was denouncing.

She attributed his sudden gruffness to a distaste for hearing his exploits lauded.

"At any rate, you now understand my motive for speaking so plainly, Mr. Royson," she went on. "You may feel bound by your arrangement with the Baron, and I have no fault to find on that score, but I am quite, certain, since I have learnt who you are, that you will not lend yourself to any discreditable plan which may be in the minds of the remarkable pair who are now looking at us, and wondering, no doubt, what we are discussing so earnestly."

Royson saw that von Kerber and Mrs. Haxton were awaiting them at the door of the post-office, but the personal allusion to himself, which Miss Fenshawe had dropped, in parenthesis as it were, into her concluding sentence, demanded a question.

"Will you enlighten me on the interesting point of my identity, then?" he asked rapidly.

"Oh yes. I take it that your Port Said letter was opened and read. Mrs. Haxton is skilled at jumping to conclusions, I fancy. She said she recognized your name at Marseilles—when the telegram arrived, you know—but, if that were so, it is strange that she should keep the knowledge to herself until all of us were at dinner after leaving Port Said. I also can add two and two occasionally, and I have not the slightest doubt that something in your letter gave her the necessary clue. Was she mistaken?"

"In what?"

"In the belief that you are the nephew of a baronet, and his heir?"

He laughed pleasantly. After years of indifference, his birthright was pursuing him with a certain zest.

"You could not have chosen a better example of those half-truths you complain of," said he. "I admit that my uncle is Sir Henry Royson, but his heir he vowed I should not be when last we met. Yet the letter you speak of was from his solicitor, and it held out a vague suggestion of possibilities which, to put it mildly, would make Mrs. Haxton a remarkably good guesser."

A silence fell upon them as they neared the others. Irene disdained to use any subterfuge, and Royson was far too perplexed to branch off into a new conversation meant for the general ear. Mrs. Haxton and the Austrian also broke off their talk. They were about to enter the post-office when Mr. Fenshawe came out.

"Here you are," he cried. "Lots of letters and newspapers. Take them, Irene, and sort them out. The Baron and I must hurry to the Governor's house. We can read our correspondence at the hotel."

Von Kerber had evidently profited by his stroll with Mrs. Haxton. He raised no objection, but went off at once with the older man. Irene managed to open the bulky, string-tied package entrusted to her. She gave Mrs. Haxton several letters, and added to Royson's already bewildered state by handing him three, two being directed to him in his right name and the third bearing the superscription "Richard King, Esq."

He knew that Miss Fenshawe had noticed the alias, and took it as a kindly act that she passed no remark on it. He was equally well aware that Mrs. Haxton was alive to the fact that there were letters for him. Stump, who made his appearance at the moment, added a whiff of awkwardness when he saw the envelopes in Dick's hands.

"Hello!" he growled, "you've bin pretty spry. Letters, eh? How did you work it?"

"I am not able to tell you," was the frank answer. "Evidently some one in London discovered the yacht's route long before I knew it myself."

"That's funny," said Stump, with a hint of doubt in the exclamation.

"It is probably a simple enough matter if it were cleared up," said Irene off-handedly. "The Aphrodite's ports of call are quite open to the knowledge of any person who takes the trouble to inquire at Mr. Fenshawe's residence. Mr. Royson will find, no doubt, that his friends followed that course when he failed to let them know whither the vessel was bound. But it is too hot to stand here in the sun. Let us go to the hotel and look through our budget in comfort."

When opportunity served, Dick glanced at his unexpected mail. The two letters for "Royson" were from Forbes. They bore different dates. The first stated that Sir Henry Royson was seriously ill, and had given urgent instructions that his nephew was to be brought to his bedside. "I have reason to believe," wrote the lawyer, "that your uncle has sustained some shock, perhaps arising from the sudden receipt of intelligence hitherto withheld from him, and I would fail in my duty if I did not urge you to cast aside all other considerations and return to England at once."

The second letter was even more explicit. "The person from whom I have received information of your whereabouts," said Mr. Forbes, "has called on me to-day, and the facts he has laid before me demand your earnest consideration. He is assured that the treasure-hunting expedition you have joined is a compound of piracy and rascality, in which Mr. Fenshawe is a dupe, having been misled by a man who has incurred the gravest suspicion of felony. The Italian Government is taking steps to procure this person's arrest, and, whether or not the charges brought against him be substantiated, it is an assured thing that the movements of the Aphrodite will be watched, with a view towards the armed prevention of any landing from her in Italian territory. You must know that I have the strongest grounds for this statement, or I would not dare place my opinion in writing. If you think it will serve any useful purpose, I authorize you to show this letter to Mr. Fenshawe, only stipulating that I am giving him a friendly warning (which will soon be verified by events) and that my name must not be used in any investigation he may choose to make. It may help you to arrive at a right decision if I tell you that I have traced you with the help of Lieutenant the Hon. John S. Paton, of the Coldstream Guards, who saw an advertisement I inserted in the Times, and gave me the date of a carriage accident in Buckingham Palace Road, in which you seem to have displayed the courage and resource that might be looked for in one of your family. Inquiry showed that the carriage was Mr. Fenshawe's, and one of my clerks, after visiting Mr. Fenshawe's house, was accosted by a man who was able to prove that he had accurate knowledge of your movements. I am told that he is writing Mr. Fenshawe fully by this mail, so, in any event, I feel confident of your early departure from Massowah, believing, as I do, that Mr. Fenshawe will not continue to lend his name to an undertaking of bad repute."

The third letter, that addressed to "King," was from a Mr. William Fielding, "Confidential Inquiry Agent," who revealed himself as Mr. Forbes's informant. He wrote in similar strain to the solicitor, and added: "I have directed the envelope to you in the name under which you shipped on board the Aphrodite, though I am aware that a telegram sent to you at Marseilles in your proper name reached you. If you will kindly seek a private interview with Mr. Fenshawe, and tell him how a man named Alfieri, with others, attacked Baron von Kerber at Marseilles, and robbed and wounded him without any subsequent protest on his part, you will help in undoing a great wrong."

Royson was sitting in the balcony veranda on the first floor of the HÔtel Grande del Universo when his astonished eyes skimmed rapidly through these letters. Scarce crediting his senses, he read them again, word by word, striving to extract from their cryptic sentences that hidden meaning which lay beneath. Outspoken as the solicitor was, he had evidently left unsaid the major portion of the strange story within his ken. The new correspondent, too, might or might not be the man whom Dick had seen in Hyde Park and at Charing Cross Station. But the same curious guardedness was apparent in each missive. The lawyer dealt in generalities; the private detective merely asked for the corroboration of a single detail in the statement which, doubtless, awaited Mr. Fenshawe's perusal among the letters now piled on a table by the side of Miss Fenshawe's chair.

At the thought, Dick turned and looked at Irene. She was smiling at some quip or bit of lively news in a closely-written sheet. Near her, Mrs. Haxton was engaged more deeply. The letter clasped in her long slender fingers was as obviously a business document as Irene's was the crossed and interlined product of a feminine pen overflowing with gossip. Stump was leaning on the railing of the veranda, contemptuously heedless of the efforts of half a dozen vendors of carpets, ostrich feathers, fruit, sweets, and Abyssinian curios, who had gathered in the street beneath and were endeavoring vociferously to secure his patronage for their wares. So Dick had leisure to think out a line of action, and he saw no reason to dispute the soundness of the advice given him by Mr. Forbes. If the owner of the Aphrodite were unknowingly lending himself to an illegal quest, it was the duty of an honest man to warn him. The agreement with von Kerber stood in the way perhaps. In that case, it must be terminated. Such a resolve was rather bitter to the taste, but it was unavoidable. To travel home by the next mail steamer from Aden would be a tame ending to an adventure that promised so well in its initial stages. And what of his vow not to desert the girl who had placed her faith in him? Well, he would best serve her by opening Mr. Fenshawe's eyes to the character of his associates, for Dick had no manner of doubt that Mrs. Haxton was the leading spirit in the plot of which the millionaire was the "dupe," according to the lawyer.

But Royson had found adversity a hard task-master. He had learnt early the lesson that a man who takes a leap in the dark should at least jump from firm ground, and when he asked himself what was the definite charge he would prefer against von Kerber his logic was brought to an abrupt halt. In plain English, he depended on a few words in the solicitor's letter, and these, in their turn, were probably inspired by the one-sided statements of the Austrian's avowed enemy, Alfieri. This consideration brought him back to the starting-point in his review of a puzzling situation. Fielding, whoever he might be, had done the right thing in placing his case before Mr. Fenshawe by letter. It would serve to clear the ground, and give scope for the interference of one who really had no cause of complaint against von Kerber.

"Anyhow," reflected Royson, smiling at the queer manner in which many opposing interests helped to entangle him in a mesh of difficulties, "I need not rush my fences. Let Fenshawe read his letter, and, above all else, let me seek counsel from his granddaughter. Then, by happy chance, I may hit on the right line." When a young man does not want to deprive himself of the company of a nice young woman, he may be depended on to argue himself into a state of mind which does not demand such a sacrifice.

At that instant Irene rose and told Captain Stump that she agreed with him—a scrutiny of the chattering mob in the street was more to her taste than a description of the frocks worn at the last court ball. Dick pocketed his letters, and would have joined them had he not noticed that Mrs. Haxton was bending forward in her chair and examining the mixed pile of correspondence on the table. There was no grave significance in the action, because a number of magazines and newspapers were mixed with the heap, and these were more or less common property. But Royson, knowing of the existence of one document of exceeding importance, acted on the principle that if opportunity makes the thief Mrs. Haxton's reputation should remain unsullied that day if it lay in his power. He lit a cigar, wheeled his chair slightly, and sat facing her, at a distance of ten or twelve feet. The open railing of the veranda was half as far away on his right and on Mrs. Haxton's left. Through the narrow rails they both could see the opposite pavement, with its dun-colored throng of natives and the gloomy interiors of several small shops, while the white walls and close-latticed windows of the upper stories seemed to be bleaching visibly in the slanting rays of a fierce afternoon sun.

Mrs. Haxton, apparently giving no heed to Royson, glanced listlessly at the wrappers and postmark. The task seemed to prove uninteresting. Soon she selected a periodical, and was about to open It when a remark from Irene caught her ear.

"That Italian standing in front of the grain-dealer's place seems to be rooted to the ground with astonishment at seeing strangers in the hotel," said the girl, turning her smiling face towards her companion.

"Them Dagos is impident pups at times, miss," replied Stump, his red eyes no doubt meeting the man's stare with a fixity that might have disconcerted most gapers.

"Does he know you, do you think? I happened to see him coming along the street, and as soon as he saw us he stood stock-still. He has been gazing up here now for the past two or three minutes."

"I've booted a rare lot of I-talians in my time," said Stump. "I wouldn't be a bit surprised if he was some loafer I'd helped across a ship's gangway at Genoa or Naples."

"But, captain," laughed Irene, "that man appears to be a superior class."

"Bless yer heart, miss, that's nothin'. By the cut of his jib I'd rate him as a fiddler, an' I remember once, at Brindisi, I was pointed out two counts an' a markee among the coal-heavers."

Naturally enough, Mrs. Haxton and Dick looked for the person whose singular behavior was under discussion. Though they had no difficulty in finding him, it was impossible that they themselves could be seen with any degree of clearness. The railing and the deep shade of the veranda shielded them effectually. The Italian, a man of middle height, with a finely-molded face and soldierly aspect, a man whose bearing went far to prove that Stump's general estimate of a great nation was apt to be wrong, was certainly very much taken up with the appearance of the two figures leaning over the balcony. But Royson had scarce time to note his main characteristics when he heard Mrs. Haxton utter a queer gasping sob. It seemed to him that she had only just succeeded in smothering a scream. Her cheeks suddenly became ashen gray, and her tightly compressed lips were bloodless. All her beauty fled, as the tints of a rose die under certain varieties of chemical light. Her eyes dilated in an alarming way, and lines not visible previously now puckered the corners of her mouth.

Owing to the Babel of tongues in the street, neither Irene nor Captain Stump knew how terribly the mere sight of the staring Italian had affected Mrs. Haxton. It came to Royson with a flash of inspiration that this man must be Alfieri, that the woman had recognized him, and that she feared him with a mortal dread.

He sprang upright and went to her.

"What is it?" he asked, neither raising nor lowering his voice sufficiently to attract attention. "Are you ill? Shall I call Miss Fenshawe?"

She lifted an appealing hand, and tremblingly essayed to drop her veil. Her languid insolence had vanished with her good looks. For the moment, she was a broken and despairing woman.

"No, no," she murmured, and the anguish in her voice would have aroused sympathy in a nature far less impressionable than Royson's. "If you could help me, and all of us, try and find Baron von Kerber, and tell him—tell him—I sent you with the message that there is one here whom he must not meet. Oh, what shall I say to make him understand?"

"May I tell him that Alfieri is in Massowah?"

Dick almost regretted the words when he witnessed their tremendous effect. She was on the very brink of hysteria, and the suddenness of her collapse was painful.

"You—you, too, know Alfieri?" she gasped, looking at him in a very agony of terror.

"I am sorry if I have added to your alarm. I did not mean to do that, Alfieri is unknown to me, but I heard his name at Marseilles, when he attacked the Baron."

The pity he could not withhold seemed to give her new strength.

"An attack!" She whispered. "At Marseilles! Oh, why was I not told? But you will find him, at the Governor's house! It is not far—on the seaward point…. The hotel people will supply a guide…. Baron von Kerber and Alfieri must not meet here. If they do meet, we shall lose everything…. Tell the Baron to go on board the yacht, no matter what Mr. Fenshawe says. Do you understand? It is a matter of life and death. Slip out into a back street, so that Alfieri may not see you…. I will watch from here. Go, for Heaven's sake. Let nothing delay you."

She was incapable of further explanation. Dick feared she would faint if he waited another second.

Hence, when Irene turned to say that Mr. Fenshawe and the Baron appeared to be paying a prolonged visit to the Governor, she found that Mrs. Haxton was sitting alone, with her veiled face propped on her hands, while, so malicious was fate's decree once more to Royson, that he was then hastening through malodorous lanes and crowded slums in order to save from threatened peril the very man whose downfall offered the only visible means by which he could bend his own frail fortunes in the direction that looked best to him.