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"I don't want you to leave Julie. You're taking Julie with you. You're to go to her now. Tell her to get ready! Do as I say."

"Father, you don't understand. She won't leave until Ramsey's been cleared. And no one can find Ramsey. And no one can find Henry, either. Father, until this matter's settled, I don't think the authorities would let any of us leave."

"Dear God."

Alex took out his handkerchief; he folded it carefully and blotted Elliott's forehead. He folded it again and offered it to Elliott. Elliott took it and wiped his mouth.

"Father, you don't think Ramsey really did these dreadful things, do you? I mean, I was rather fond of Ramsey!"

Walter came to the door. "Your bath's ready, my lord."

"Poor Alex," Elliott whispered. "Poor decent and honorable Alex."

"Father, tell me what's the matter. I've never seen you like this. You're not yourself."

"Oh, yes, I am myself. My true self. Desperate and cunning and full of mad dreams as always. Too much myself. You know, my son, when you inherit the title, you will probably be the only decent and honorable Earl of Rutherford in our whole history."

"You're being the philosopher again. And I'm not all that decent and honorable. I'm merely well bred, which I hope is a tolerable substitute. Now, get into the bath. You'll feel much better. And don't drink any more Scotch, please." He called out to Walter to come and give him a hand.

Miles Winthrop stared at the telegram placed in his hand by the man standing before him.

"Arrest her? Julie Stratford! For the theft of a priceless mummy in London? But this is madness, all of it. Alex Savarell and I went to school together! I'm contacting the British Museum myself."

"Very well, but do it promptly," said the other. "The governor's furious. The Department of Antiquities is up in arms. And find Henry Stratford. Track down that mistress of his, that dancing girl, Malenka. Stratford's somewhere in Cairo, and pretty well besotted, you can be sure of it. In the meantime arrest somebody or the old man will blow his top."

"The hell I will," Miles whispered as he picked up the phone.

Ah, such a bazaar. Everything was for sale here--rich fabrics, perfumes, spices, and strange ticking devices with Roman numbers on them; jewelry and pottery; and food! But she had no money to buy the food! The first peddler had told her in English and with age-old indisputable gestures that the money she had was no good.

She walked on. She was listening to the voices on all sides of her, picking out the English, trying to understand.

"I won't pay that much. That's too dear, the man's trying to rob us...."

"Just a little drink, come on now. It's burning hot."

"Oh, and these necklaces, how pretty."

Laughter, horrid noises; loud grating noises! She had heard these before. She put her hands over her ears under the broad floppy headdress. She walked on, trying to shut out what hurt her and still hear what she needed in order to learn.

Suddenly a monstrous sound--an inconceivable sound--shook her and she looked up, on the verge of screaming. Her hands would not shut it out. She stumbled forward, realizing in her panic that those around her were not frightened! Those around her were scarcely paying any attention at all.

She had to fathom this mystery! And though the tears were welling in her eyes, she moved on.

What she beheld suddenly filled her with a nameless dread. She had no words in any tongue to describe it. Immense, black, it moved forward, on wheels made of metal, a chimney atop it belching smoke. The sound was so loud all other sounds vanished. Great wooden wagons following, coupled to it by huge hooks of black iron. The whole monstrous caravan thundering along a thin strip of metal that ran along the ground. And the noise grew even louder as the thing rolled past her and entered a great yawning tunnel in which hundreds crowded as if trying to get near to it.

She sobbed aloud, staring at it. Oh, why had she left her hideaway? Why had she left Lord Rutherford, who would have protected her? But just when it seemed she could see nothing worse than this awful chain of wagons rattling past her, the last one entered the tunnel and she beheld, beyond the metal pathway, a great granite statue of the Pharaoh Ramses, standing with arms folded, his scepters in his crossed hands.

In dizzying shock she looked at this colossus. Ripped from the land she had known, the land she had ruled, this thing stood here, grotesque, abandoned, ludicrous.

She backed away. Another one of the demonic chariots was coming. She heard a great searing screech from it, and then it roared by, obliterating the statue.

She felt herself turning, inward, away from all of it, back into the darkness, into the dark water whence she'd come.

When she opened her eyes a young Englishman stood over her. He had his arm around her and was lifting her and telling others to get away. She understood that he was asking after her and what he might do.

"Coffee," she whispered. "I should like some sugar in my coffee." Words from the talking machine Lord Rutherford had revealed to her. "I should like a bit of lemon in my tea."

His face brightened. "Well, yes, of course. I shall get you some coffee. I shall take you there, into the British cafe!"