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By Root 1307 0

it out, since it was without archaeological or artistic interest. How Nefret knew its location I had not had time to inquire. That she knew was all that mattered. Once we had passed the crossroads at Mit Ukbeh there were few people on the road and she let Moonlight out. Never once did she stop or slow her pace, even when she turned off the road onto a scarcely discernible track. Before long the cultivation was behind us and the track grew steeper. The waxing moon was high in the sky; its light and that of the stars must have been enough to show her where to go, for there were few landmarks—a huddle of tumbledown houses, a grove of trees. When she pulled Moonlight to a walk, I saw ahead a dark mass that might have been almost anything, so shapeless were its outlines. We drew nearer, and I began to make out details—fallen stones, a clump of low trees—and a light! The regularity of the shape indicated that it issued from a window somewhere beyond the trees.

Nefret stopped and dismounted and gestured me to do the same. When I would have spoken, she put her hand over my mouth. Then, from her lips, issued the soft but penetrating whistle Ramses used to summon Risha.

It was not long before the stallion’s familiar shape emerged from the night. He came toward us, stepping lightly and silently, and Nefret caught hold of his bridle and whispered in his ear.

If the noble beast could only speak! His presence proved that Ramses was here, somewhere in that ruinous blackness.

There was no need for us to confer; the lighted window was our guide and our destination. We left the horses and crept forward. Once, after stubbing my toe on an unseen rock, I tugged at Nefret’s sleeve and held out my torch. She shook her head and took my hand.

The window was on the ground floor of a small structure well inside the outer walls. It might once have been a pavilion or kiosk. Crouching, picking our way with painful slowness, we approached; then, cautiously, we raised our heads just enough to look inside.

It was a strange place to find in an abandoned palace of the eighteenth century—a poor imitation of a gentleman’s study, with leather chairs and Persian rugs and a few sticks of furniture. In the center of the floor was a large copper brazier or shallow tray; it must have served the former function quite recently, for it was filled with ashes and bits of scorched paper, and the stench of their burning was still strong. Of more immediate interest was the fact that the room was occupied.

Two of the men were unknown to me. One of them was tall and heavily built, gray-bearded and fair-skinned as a European under his tan. The other wore traditional Senussi garb. The third man . . .

The hair of bright auburn, artistically dulled by gray, was a wig, and his face was turned away, but I would have known that straight, lithe form anywhere. I felt a pang—yes, I confess it. Though he had all but openly confessed his treachery, I had cherished a forlorn hope that I might have misunderstood. There could no longer be the slightest doubt. He was guilty, and if Ramses was a prisoner here, Sethos was one of his captors.

“That is the lot, then,” Graybeard said, in heavily accented but fluent English. “What sort of incompetent is this man? Keeping the documents was bad enough; leaving us to destroy them while he amuses himself with the prisoner is inexcusable. I am tempted to let the thrice-accursed British catch the thrice-accursed imbecile.”

There was not a sound from Nefret, not even a catch of breath. I did not need the painful pressure of her fingers to warn me I must be equally silent.

“One is certainly tempted,” the false Scot agreed. I would have ground my teeth had I dared make the slightest sound. I ought to have known that Sethos would have more than one identity; no wonder he had agreed so readily to give up that of the Count! In his other role he had taken even greater pains to avoid me.

Hamilton, as I knew he must be, continued in the same lazy drawl. “We can’t risk letting him fall into the hands of the police. He knows too much about us, and they