and:
'You have had a desperately trying time, Greville,' he said; 'but you can't have failed to see that you have exploded a bombshell in my household. Now, before I say any more on the latter point, please bring me up to date. If there's been foul play, is there anyone you could even remotely suspect? '
'There is certainly a lot of mystery about our job,' I confessed. 'I know for a fact that Sir Lionel's rivals--I might safely call them enemies--have been watching him closely-- notably Professor Zeitland. '
'Professor Zeitland died in London a fortnight ago. '
'What! '
'You hadn't heard? We had the news in Cairo. Therefore, he can be ruled out.'
There was a short interval whilst the waiter got busy, and then:
'As I remember poor Barton,' Petrie mused; 'he was always surrounded by hosts of strange servants. Are there any in your camp? '
'Not a soul,' I assured him. 'We're a very small party. Sir Lionel, myself, Alt Mahmoud, the head man. Forester, the chemist--I have mentioned him before; and the chiefs niece, Rima, who's our official photographer.'
I suppose my voice changed when I mentioned Rima; for Petrie stared at me very hard, and:
'Niece?' he said. 'Odd jobs women undertake nowadays. '
'Yes,' I answered shortly.
Petrie began to toy with his fish. Clearly his appetite was not good. It was evident that repressed excitement held him-- grew greater with every mile of our journey.
'Do you know Superintendent Weymouth?' he asked suddenly.
'I've met him at the club,' I replied. 'Now that you mention it, I believe Forester knows him well. '
'So do I,' said Petrie smiling rather oddly. 'I've been trying to get in touch with him all day.'
He paused, then: 'There must be associations,' he went on. 'Some of you surely have friends who visit the camp?'
That question magically conjured up a picture before my mind's eye--the picture of a figure so slender as to merit the description serpentine, tall, languorous; I saw again the brilliant jade-green eyes, voluptuous lips, and those slim ivory hands nurtured in indolence.... Madame Ingomar.
'There is one,' I began--I was interrupted.
The train had begun to slow into Wasta, and high above those curious discords of an Arab station, I had clearly detected a cry.
'Dr. Petrie! A message for Dr. Petrie.'
He, too, had heard it. He dropped his knife and fork and his expression registered a sudden consternation.
As Petrie sprang to his feet, a tall figure in flying kit came rushing into the dining car, and:
'Hunter!' Petrie exclaimed. 'Hunter!' I, too, stood up in a state of utter bewilderment. 'What's the meaning of this?' Petrie went on. He turned to me, and: 'Captain Jameson Hunter, of Imperial Airways.' he explained --'Mr. Shan Greville.'
He turned again to the pilot.
'What's the idea. Hunter?' he demanded.
'The idea is,' the airman replied, grin- ning with evident enjoyment, 'that I've made a dash from Heliopolis to cut you off at Wasta! Jump to it! You've got to be clear of the train in two minutes! '
'But we're in the middle of dinner! '
'Don't blame me. It's Superintendent Weymouth's doing. He's standing by where I landed the bus. '
'But,' I interrupted, 'where are we going? '
'Same place,' said the airman, grinning delightedly. 'But I can get you there in no time; save you the Nile crossing and land you, I believe, within five hundred yards of the camp. Where's your compartment? You have to run for your things or leave them on the train. It doesn't matter much. '
'It does,' I said. I turned to Petrie. 'I'll get your bag. Fix things with the attendant and meet me on the platform.'
I rushed out of the dining car, observed in blank astonishment by every other occupant. Our compartment gained, I nearly knocked over the night attendant who was making the bed. Dr. Petrie's bag I grabbed at once. Coats, hats, and two light suitcases were quickly bundled out. I thrust some loose money into the hand of the badly-startled attendant and made for the exit.
Petrie's bag I managed to place carefully on the platform. The rest of the kit I was compelled to throw out unceremoniously-- for the train was already in motion. I jumped off the step and looked along the platform.
Far ahead, where the dining-car had halted, I saw Petrie and Jameson Hunter engaged apparently in a heated altercation with the station-master. Heads craned through many windows as the Luxor express moved off.
And suddenly, standing there with the baggage distributed about me, I became rigid, staring--staring--at a yellow, leering face which craned from a coach only one removed from that we had occupied.
The spy had been on the train.
I was brought to my senses by a tap on the arm. I turned.
An Airways mechanic stood at my elbow.
'Mr. Greville,' he said, 'is this your baggage?'
I nodded.
'Close shave,' he commented. He began to pick up the bags. 'I think I can manage the lot, sir. Captain Hunter will show you the way. '
'Careful with the black bag!' I cried. 'Keep it upright, and for heaven's sake, don't jolt it! '
'Very good, sir.'
Hatless, dinnerless, and half-asleep I stood, until Jameson Hunter, Dr. Petrie, and the station-master joined me.
'It's all settled,' said Hunter, still grin- ning cheerfully. The station-master here was rather labouring under the impression that it was a hold-up. I think he's been corrupted by American movies. Well, here we go!'
But the station-master was by no means willing to let us go. He was now surrounded by a group of subordinates, and above the chatter of their comments I presently gath- ered that we must produce our tickets. We did so, and pushed our way through the group. Further obstruction was offered... when all voices became suddenly silent.
A big man, wearing a blue serge suit, extraordinarily reminiscent of a London policeman in mufti, and who carried his soft hat so that the moonlight silvered his crisp white hair, strolled into the station.
'Weymouth!' cried Petrie. 'This is amazing! What does it mean?'
The big, genial man, whom I had met once or twice at the club, appeared to be under a cloud. His geniality was less manifest than usual; but the effect of his arrival made a splendid advertisement for the British tradi- tion in Egypt. The station-master and his subordinates positively wilted in the presence of this one-time chief inspector of the Crim- inal Investigation Department now in supreme command of the Cairo Detective Service.
Weymouth nodded to me, a gleam of his old cheeriness lighting the blue eyes; then: 'I don't begin to think what it means, Doctor,' he replied, 'but it was what your wife told me. '
'The cry in the courtyard? '
'Yes; and the telegram I found waiting when I got back. '
'Telegram?' Petrie echoed. He turned to me. 'Did you send it, Greville? '
'No. Do you mean, Superintendent, you received a telegram from Luxor? '
'I do; I received one to-day. '
'So did I,' said Petrie, slowly. 'Who, in sanity's name, sent those telegrams, Greville?'
But to that question I could find no answer.
'It's mysterious, I grant,' said Weymouth; 'but whoever he is, he's a friend. Mrs. Petrie thinks-- '
'Yes,' said Petrie, eagerly.
Weymouth smiled in a very sad way, and: 'She always knew in the old days,' he added. 'It was uncanny. '
'It was,' Petrie agreed.
