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There was a sharp noise from outside--another motor car backfiring as it ground its way up the sandy road. A dark-faced servant in soiled clothes entered suddenly, with a full breakfast tray in his hands. Samir came behind him.

"I cannot hold them back much longer, Lawrence," Samir said. With a small graceful gesture, he bid the servant set down the breakfast on the edge of the portable desk. "The men from the British embassy are here also, Lawrence. So is every reporter from Alexandria to Cairo. It is quite a circus out there, I fear."

Lawrence stared at the silver dishes, the china cups. He wanted nothing now but to be alone with his treasures.

"Oh, just keep them out as long as you can, Samir. Give me a few more hours alone with these scrolls. Samir, the story is so sad, so poignant."

"I'll do my best," Samir answered. "But do take breakfast, Lawrence. You're exhausted. You need nourishment and rest."

"Samir, I've never been better. Keep them out of here till noon. Oh, and take Henry with you. Henry, go with Samir. He'll see that you have something to eat."

"Yes, do come with me, sir, please," Samir said quickly.

"I have to speak to my uncle alone."

Lawrence looked back at his notebook. And the scroll opened above it. Yes, the King had been talking of his grief after, that he had retreated here to a secret study far away from Cleopatra's mausoleum in Alexandria, far away from the Valley of the Kings.

"Uncle," Henry said frostily, "I'd be more than happy to go back to London if you would only take a moment to sign ..."

Lawrence refused to look up from the papyrus. Maybe there would be some clue as to where Cleopatra's mausoleum had once stood.

"How many times must I say it?" he murmured indifferently. "No. I will sign no papers. Now take your briefcase with you and get out of my sight."

"Uncle, the Earl wants an answer regarding Julie and Alex. He won't wait forever. And as for these papers, it's only a matter of a few shares."

The Earl ... Alex and Julie. It was monstrous. "Good God, at a time like this!"

"Uncle, the world hasn't stopped turning on account of your discovery." Such acid in the tone. "And the stock has to be liquidated."

Lawrence laid down the pen. "No, it doesn't," he said, eyeing Henry coldly. "And as for the marriage, it can wait forever. Or until Julie decides for herself. Go home and tell that to my good friend the Earl of Rutherford! And tell your father I will liquidate no further family stock. Now leave me alone."

Henry didn't move. He shifted the briefcase uneasily, his face tightening as he stared down at his uncle.

"Uncle, you don't realize--"

"Allow me to tell you what I do realize," Lawrence said, "that you have gambled away a king's ransom and that your father will go to any lengths to cover your debts. Even Cleopatra and her drunken lover Mark Antony could not have squandered the fortune that has slipped through your hands. And what does Julie need with the Rutherford title anyway? Alex needs the Stratford millions, that's the truth of it. Alex is a beggar with a title the same as Elliott. God forgive me. It's the truth."

"Uncle, Alex could buy any heiress in London with that title."

"Then why doesn't he?"

"One word from you and Julie would make up her mind--"

"And Elliott would show his gratitude to you for arranging things, is that it? And with my daughter's money he'd be very generous indeed."

Henry was white with anger.

"What the hell do you care about this marriage?" Lawrence asked bitterly. "You humiliate yourself because you need the money...."

He thought he saw his nephew's lips move in a curse.

He turned back to the mummy, trying to shut it all out--the tentacles of the London life he'd left behind trying to reach him here.

Why, the whole figure looked fuller! And the ring, it was plainly visible now as if the finger, flesh

ing out, had burst the wrappings altogether. Lawrence fancied he could see the faint color of healthy flesh.

"You're losing your mind," he whispered to himself. And that sound, there it was again. He tried to listen for it; but his concentration only made him all the more conscious of the noise outside. He drew closer to the body in the coffin. Good Lord, was that hair he saw beneath the wrappings about the head?