"Where do such things have their birth? It is no easier to discover than the birthchamber of the anti-British propaganda in Egypt, Effendi."

"You do not attach any belief to the rumour?"

"_La_, Effendi. Who would believe that men are standing knee-deep in jewels and precious stones, and that there is enough gold to build three mosques in these hills, so near the village?"

Michael laughed. He remembered the reports which had been spread abroad about the wealth of Freddy's find. One Englishman had heard that Freddy had been wading ankle-deep in priceless scarabs and jewels and gold collars and necklaces.

"You may well laugh, Effendi. The poor and ignorant will believe anything. I must see the jewels first."

Michael wondered what he would say if he showed him the crimson amethyst which had had its second hiding-place in the saint's ear.

"But who is reported to have found this King Solomon's mine?"

"Some poor man, whom no one has seen or spoken to--every man who tells you the fairy-tale has heard it from his trusted friend, from a reliable source. I never believe in these trusted friends, or any reliable source but my own eyes. And even then, with the wise, seeing isn't always believing."

Michael stole an unseen glance at Abdul. His face was as expressionless as a death-mask. The report appeared to him to be beneath contempt. He politely warned his master that the sun was not so high in the heavens; they had many hours to travel.

When they were out of hearing and all the polite good-byes had been spoken--a proceeding which is always a trying one to the impatient traveller--Michael and Abdul talked together in low accents and in English. What had the _Omdeh's_ news really meant?

In Abdul's heart there was little doubt as to who had found it, if there was any truth in the rumour. Even if they divided the wealth of the treasure by a hundred, and made all due allowances for native exaggeration, it still seemed as though the treasure was one of unusual importance.

"Then you believe there is truth in the report that the treasure has been found, Abdul?"

"Who but the spy of Madam could have known of it, Effendi? and certainly this rumour is disturbing."

"Some natives might have hit upon it by accident. Such things have happened before."

"_Aiwah_, Effendi." Abdul smiled his unbelieving, unpleasant smile.

"Just at this particular time, after all these thousands of years, the coincidence would indeed be strange."

"Then you believe, Abdul, that Madam has antic.i.p.ated us? that she has secured the treasure?"

"_Aiwah_, Effendi, I do, if there is any truth in the story. And if there is not, it is very strange that such a rumour should have been started at this moment."

"I agree," Michael said. "And yet something in my heart tells me that Madam has not done the deed."

"The little voice, Effendi, it is always true, it knows. If the little voice counsels, always obey it."

"It tells me, Abdul, that in this one instance Madam is innocent. I agree with you that if the treasure has been found, it is pa.s.sing strange and points only to one thing. And yet, if I was to lay my hand on the Holy Book and swear my belief, it would not be that she was guilty of this piece of treachery."

"If Madam has not antic.i.p.ated the Effendi, then the treasure is intact!

The rumour is false. It is strange what wonderful treasures have melted into thin air before this, Effendi. I have known of dealers in _antikas_ travelling for days without end, only to find . . .!" Abdul threw back his head.

"A mare's nest," Michael said. "That is what we call it, Abdul."

"A good expression, Effendi." In Abdul's heart there was anger and chagrin. Had the harlot outwitted them? Was she even now in possession of the jewels and gold which the saint had discovered, which he himself had clearly visualized?

A beatific smile lit up his face. If the woman had lain in the sheets which had made the sick man's bed, not all the jewels of the Orient or the gold of Ophir would now make her hideous face pleasing in the sight of men! What would her emeralds and topazes and cornelians be worth?

They would only mock her pox-pitted face!

In Abdul's Moslem heart there was no pity. His eyes visualized and rejoiced in the sight of the treacherous woman's spoilt beauty. She had earned his hatred, and she had had it ever since the moment when she had spoken scornfully of the saint, a hatred which had grown and flourished like the Biblical bay-tree. To despise a Christian--and more especially a Christian woman--was in keeping with his Oriental mind and Moslem training; he despised Millicent not only as a woman and a Christian, but as a harlot. No evil which he could do to her would inflict the least shame upon his own soul. The contemplation of what her misery would be when she discovered that she was sickening for the smallpox afforded him a gratifying pleasure. He had drunk deeply of the cup of hate; it was not tempered with camphor.

When they pitched their camp that night, Michael felt weary and depressed. A physical la.s.situde, which he had found it increasingly difficult to fight against for the last two days, overwhelmed him. He was glad to go to bed and try to sleep. His efforts met with little success; he felt horribly wide awake and acutely conscious of the smallest sound.

When at last sleep came to him, it did little to give him the rest he required, or to restore peace to his nerves, for his dreams were a vivid repet.i.tion, horribly exaggerated, of his journey through the subterranean village. He had lost his way; he was wandering through the airless arteries of the village. His body was covered with house-flies; his nose and ears tickled with them; they crawled into the corners of his mouth; scabs had broken out on his face and body. No little child in the street was a more hideous and loathsome object than he felt himself to be.

No child was ever more pleased to see its mother than Michael was to see Abdul, when he came to wake him and remind him that that same evening they ought to reach the hills, and prove that the _Omdeh's_ rumour about the treasure was either false or true. Never for one instant had Abdul doubted the vision; he had never considered the fact that there might never have been any treasure at all. His second sight--his truer sight--had seen it. That was sufficient.

Michael felt strangely disinclined to exert himself to get up and ride from sunrise until sundown. It seemed to him a task which he could never fulfil. But Abdul was obviously full of suppressed excitement.

He was eager for his master to bestir himself and show something of his usual enthusiasm and vitality. The _Omdeh's_ story had sorely disturbed him.

"I will be ready, Abdul," Michael said. "Make me some strong coffee."

"_Aiwah_, Effendi."

"Very strong, Abdul!"

"_Aiwah_, Effendi, very strong."

CHAPTER IX

In the Valley where the Pharaohs sleep, below the smiling hills, the heat and the power of the sun were becoming an actual danger. The best working hours were those which began at dawn and terminated at eleven o'clock.

In the early summer, for Egypt knows no spring, as it knows no twilight, the heat compels even the natives to abandon work during the hottest hours of the day. The sun is at its most dangerous point in the sky at three o'clock in the afternoon; at that hour, as the season advances, little exposed work can be done.

One particularly hot afternoon Margaret was waiting for her brother to come to tea. She had always contrived to keep their sitting-room fresh and cool by closing its windows and drawing down wet blinds before the sun got a chance of entering it. The windows were kept open all night.

She had tried almost every possible device--and had been very successful--for excluding "the brightness of Aton" from their home.

If the windows were left open after sunrise, an army of flies too great to combat would invade the room, and ten minutes of sunshine would warm the room for the whole day. If the sun never penetrated it and the windows were kept open during the chilly hours of the night, it was always an agreeable and refreshing place to enter after a long spell in the blinding sunlight. It was so essential for Freddy's health that he should have a cool, dark room to rest in, that Margaret gave the subject her best care and unremitting attention.

The dryness of the air in Upper Egypt can hardly be imagined by those who have not experienced it.

Margaret had heard the overseer's whistle; she knew that work was suspended for some hours. A beautiful sense of order and neatness had been developed out of the mess of debris and broken rocks which had disfigured the site of the tomb, and some new chambers had been cleared and examined.

When Freddy appeared, Margaret asked him a few questions about his work. Had he heard from the experts who were examining the skull and bones of the mummy? Freddy answered her absently and half-heartedly.

"No, not yet--no report has come. Let's have some tea, first, before we talk--my throat's bone dry."

Meg was conscious of some constraint, some anxiety in his manner.

Freddy's silence could be very eloquent. She gave him his tea and administered to his wants. For some days he had had a little touch of diarrhoea, the result of a slight cold caught during one of the quick falls of temperature which take place in Upper Egypt. Margaret knew that in Egypt diarrhoea must never be neglected, for it too often leads to dysentery. She had made her brother take the proper remedies, a gentle aperient followed by concentrated tincture of camphor, and she had been very careful not to allow him to eat any fatty food or fruit or meat.

Freddy did not take kindly to a diet of arrowroot or rice boiled in milk, adulterated with water. This afternoon he looked tired and out of spirits. Meg wondered if the tiresome complaint had been troubling him again.