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He stared at the torn dress lying on the floor, and at the curious rags pushed in a pile against the wall. He paid little heed to the young man passing him; the young man who moved about, vaguely exhilarated by these obvious signs of disaster, searching and scribbling in his little book.

Those rags--why, they looked like mummy wrappings, yet some of the linen appeared to be new. He looked up as the young man held a passport before him.

"Stratford's," said the young man. "All of his identification is in there, in his coat."

Elliott leaned on Alex's arm as they stepped out of the glass lift.

"But what if Pitfield can't straighten all this out?" Alex asked.

"We will continue to conduct ourselves like civilized people as long as we must remain here," Elliott said. "You'll take Julie to the opera as planned tomorrow night. You will accompany her to the ball afterwards. And you will be ready to leave as soon as your passport is released."

"She's in no mood for it, Father. And she'd rather have Samir accompany her, if you want the truth. Since all this started, it's Samir she confides in. He's always at her side."

"Nevertheless, you are to stay close to her. We are going to be seen together tomorrow. Everything right and proper. Now why don't you go out on the veranda and have a nightcap and leave the legal business to me?"

Yes, she liked Shepheard's, she knew it already. She had liked it this afternoon when she had seen the long chain of motor cars before it, with exquisitely dressed men and women climbing out of them and walking up the steps.

Now there were very few cars. She managed to stop right before the entrance; and a charming young male servant came to open

her door. Carrying her canvas bag and satin purse, she walked serenely up the carpeted stairs as other servants scrambled to retrieve her many packages.

The lobby delighted her at once. Oh, she had no idea the rooms of this palatial building would be so grand. And the crowds moving to and fro--shapely women and handsomely clad men--excited her. This was an elegant world--"modern times." One had to see such a place as this to grasp the possibilities.

"May I help you, miss?" Another servile male approached; how strange was his clothing, especially his hat. If there was one thing about "modern times" she did not like, it was these hats!

"Oh, would you be so kind!" she said carefully. "I would like to have lodgings here. This is Shepheard's Hotel? The hotel?"

"Yes, indeed, miss. Let me take you to the desk."

"Wait," she whispered. Some feet away from her, she spied Lord Rutherford! No mistake. It was he. And an exquisite young man was with him, a tall, slender creature of fine porcelain features who made her earlier companions seem quite crude.

She narrowed her eyes, concentrating, trying to hear what this young man was saying. But there was too great a distance. And the two were moving in and out of sight, beyond a row of high potted palms. Then the young one clasped Lord Rutherford's hand and left him, moving towards the front doors. And Lord Rutherford moved into a large shadowy room.

"That's Lord Rutherford, miss," said the helpful young man beside her.

"Yes, I know," she said. "But the beautiful one. Who is he?"

"Ah, that's his son, Alex, miss, the young Viscount Summerfield. They're frequent guests of Shepheard's. Friends of the Stratfords, miss."

She looked at him quizzically.

"Lawrence Stratford, miss," he explained as he took her arm and gently guided her forward. "The great archaeologist, the one who just made the discovery of the Ramses tomb."

"What did you say!" she whispered. "Speak slowly."

"The one that dug up the mummy, miss, of Ramses the Damned."

"Ramses the Damned!"

"Yes, miss, quite a story, miss." He pointed now to a long ornate table in front of her, which in fact looked like an altar. "There's the desk, miss. Anything else I can do for you?"

She gave a little laugh of pure amazement. "No," she said. "You have been simply super. Very okay!"

He gave her a sweet indulgent look, the look all these men gave her. And then he gestured for her to step up to the "desk."

*

Elliott went right to it as Pitfield sat down across from him. He was aware that he was talking too fast, and likely to say strange things, but he could not break his momentum. Get Alex out of here. Get Julie out if at all possible. Those were the only thoughts in his mind, and worry about Randolph later.