They disembarked and were driven to the hotel, still discussing their project. Afterwards they all wandered into the bazaars, along the narrow streets, where dusky children pulled at their clothes and ran by their side, where every now and then a brown-skinned Arab, on a slow-moving camel, made his way through the throngs of veiled Turkish women, Syrians, Arabs, and Egyptians. Laura and Lenora, at any rate, attracted by the curious novelty of the scene, forgot the heat, the street smells, and the filthy clothes of the mendicants and loafers who pressed against them. They bought strange jewellery, shawls, beads and perfumes. The Professor had disappeared for some time but rejoined them later.
“It is all arranged,” he announced. “I found a dragoman whom I know. We shall have four of the best camels and a small escort ready to start to-morrow morning. Furthermore, I have news. An Englishman whose description precisely tallies with Craig’s, started off, only an hour ago, in the same direction. This time, at any rate, Craig cannot escape us.”
“He might go on past the Mongar camp,” Quest suggested.
The Professor shook his head.
“The Mongar village,” he explained, “is placed practically at a cul-de-sac so far as regards further progress southwards without making a detour. It is flanked by a strip of jungle and desert on either side, in which there are no wells for many miles. We shall find Craig with the Mongars.”
They made their way back to the hotel, dined in a cool, bare room, and sauntered out again into the streets. The Professor led the way to a little building, outside which a man was volubly inviting all to enter.
“You shall see one of the sights of Port Said,” he promised. “This is a real Egyptian dancing girl.”
They took their seats in the front row of a dimly-lit, bare-looking room. The stage was dark and empty. From some unseen place came the monotonous rhythm of a single instrument. They waited for some time in vain. At last one or two lights in front were lit, the music grew more insistent. A girl who seemed to be dressed in little more than a winding veil, glided on to the stage, swaying and moving slowly to the rhythm of the monotonous music. She danced a measure which none of them except the Professor had ever seen before, coming now and then so close that they could almost feel her hot breath, and Lenora felt somehow vaguely disturbed by the glitter of her eyes. An odd perfume was shaken into the air around them from her one flowing garment, through which her limbs continually flashed. Lenora looked away.
“I don’t like it,” she said to Quest simply.
Suddenly Laura leaned forward.
“Look at the Professor,” she whispered.
They all turned their heads. A queer change seemed to have come into the Professor’s face. His teeth were gleaming between his parted lips, his head was a little thrust forward, his eyes were filled with a strange, hard light. He was a transformed being, unrecognisable, perturbing. Even while they watched, the girl floated close to where he sat and leaned towards him with a queer, mocking smile. His hand suddenly descended upon her foot. She laughed still more. There was a little exclamation from Lenora. The Professor’s whole frame quivered, he snatched the anklet from the girl’s ankle and bent over it. She leaned towards him, a torrent of words streaming from her lips. The Professor answered her in her own language. She listened to him in amazement. The anger passed. She held out both her hands. The Professor still argued. She shook her head. Finally he placed some gold in her palms. She patted him on the cheek, laughed into his eyes, pointed behind and resumed her dancing. The anklet remained in the Professor’s hand.
“Say, we’ll get out of this,” Quest said. “The girls have had enough.”
The Professor made no objection. He led the way, holding the anklet all the time close to his eyes, and turning it round. They none of them spoke to him, yet they were all conscious of an immense sense of relief when, after they had passed into the street, he commenced to talk in his natural voice.
“Congratulate me,” he said. “I have been a collector of Assyrian gold ornaments all my life. This is the one anklet I needed to complete my collection. It has the double mark of the Pharaohs. I recognised it at once. There are a thousand like it, you would think, in the bazaars there. In reality there may be, perhaps, a dozen more in all Egypt which are genuine.”
They all looked at one another. Their relief had grown too poignant for words.
“Early start to-morrow,” Quest reminded them.
“Home and bed for me, this moment,” Laura declared.
“The camels,” the Professor assented, “will be round at daybreak.”
Lenora, a few nights later, looked down from the star-strewn sky which seemed suddenly to have dropped so much nearer to them, to the shadows thrown across the desert by the dancing flames of their fire.
“It is the same world, I suppose,” she murmured.
“A queer little place out of the same world,” Quest agreed. “Listen to those fellows, how they chatter!”
The camel drivers and guides were sitting together in a little group, some distance away. They had finished their supper and were chattering together now, swaying back and forth, two of them at least in a state of wild excitement.
“Whatever can they be talking about?” Laura asked. “They sound as though they were going to fight every second.”
The Professor smiled.
“The last one was talking about the beauty of his fat lady friend,” he remarked drily. “Just before, they were discussing whether they would be given any backsheesh in addition to their pay. We are quite off the ordinary routes here, and these fellows aren’t much used to Europeans.”
Laura rose to her feet.
“I’m going to get a drink,” she announced.
The dragoman, who had been hovering around, bowed gravely and pointed towards the waterbottles. Lenora also rose.
“I’m coming too,” she decided. “It seems a sin to think of going to sleep, though. The whole place is like a great silent sea. I suppose this isn’t a dream, is it, Laura?”
“There’s no dream about my thirst, any way,” Laura declared.
She took the horn cup from the dragoman.
“Have some yourself, if you want to, Hassan,” she invited.
Hassan bowed gravely, filled a cup and drank it off. He stood for a moment perfectly still, as though something were coming over him which he failed to understand. Then his lips parted, his eyes for a moment seemed to shoot from out of his dusky skin. He threw up his arms and fell over on his side. Laura, who had only sipped her cup, threw it from her. She, too, reeled for a moment. The Professor and Quest came running up, attracted by Lenora’s shriek.
“They’re poisoned!” she cried.
“The Veedemzoo!” Quest shouted. “My God! Pull yourself together, Laura. Hold up for a minute.”
He dashed back to their little encampment and reappeared almost immediately. He threw Laura’s head back and forced some liquid down her throat.
“It’s camphor,” he cried. “You’ll be all right, Laura. Hold on to yourself.”
He swung round to where the dragoman was lying, forced his mouth open, but it was too late—the man was dead. He returned to Laura. She stumbled to her feet. She was pale, and drops of perspiration were standing on her forehead. She was able to rise to her feet, however, without assistance.
“I am all right now,” she declared.
Quest felt her pulse and her forehead. They moved back to the fire.
“We are within a dozen miles or so of the Mongar village,” Quest said grimly. “Do you suppose that fellow could have been watching?”
They all talked together