suffers anguish and physical pain.' Elliott took another drink of the whisky. 'The damage to her body-surely there is similar damage to her brain.'
'You must take me to her immediately!'
' 'I gave her what was left in the vial, the one you so carelessly dropped in the museum. I applied it to her face and her hands. But much more is needed.'
'You saw it work? It shrank these wounds?'
'Yes. But the sunlight had already healed her enormously.'
Elliott paused; he studied Ramsey's seemingly impassive face, the blue eyes staring forward. 'But surely this is no mystery to you!'
'You're wrong.'
Mechanically Ramses lifted the glass and drank.
'A quarter of the vial, that's all that was left,' Elliott said. 'Would it have been enough for me, if I had drunk it instead of giving it to her?'
'I don't know.'
Elliott smiled bitterly.
'I am not a scientist. Only a King.'
'Well, you have my proposition, Your Royal Highness. You give me the elixir. And in a quantity sufficient to resolve all doubts. And I shall give you Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt, to do with as you like.'
Ramses looked at him directly. 'And suppose I told you I would kill you if you did not tell me where she was?'
'Kill me. Without the elixir I'll die anyway. Those are the only two things I think of now: death and the elixir. I'm not sure I can distinguish between the two any longer.'' One more glass of whisky, that was all he could handle. He drank it down and made a faint bitter face. 'Look, I'll be frank with you. I have no stomach for what I've seen today. But I want that potion. And all else collapses in the face of mat desire.'
'Yes, how well I remember. Yet it didn't for her. She chose death. To be with her beloved Mark Antony, though I held it out to her. That was her choice.'
'Then she didn't really know what death was.'
Ramses smiled.
'In any case, that, I am certain, she doesn't remember. And if she does, I doubt she cares. She's alive now, suffering, struggling with her wounds, her hungers . . .'He stopped.
Ramses leaned forward. 'Where is she!'
'Give it to me. And I will help you with her. I will do anything that I can. We won't be enemies, you and I. We aren't enemies now, are we?'
'No, not enemies!' Ramses whispered. His voice was soft, but his eyes were full of anger. ' 'But I can't give it to you. It's far too dangerous. You simply do not understand.' •
'Yet you raised her from the dead like a bloody alchemist!' Elliott said heatedly. 'And you will give it to Julie Stratford, will you not? And your devoted friend, Samir?'
Ramses didn't answer. He rested back against the wall, eyes forward again.
Elliott stood up.
'I'll be at Shepheard's. When you've brewed the elixir, call me there. I'll know your voice when you call. But be careful. Then we shall arrange another meeting.'
Gathering up his walking stick, he started for the door. He did not look back, hard as that was for him. His face was burning with shame. But this was the only feeble chance that remained to him, and he played it out, miserable though he was.
There was a moment of fear as he walked in the dark alleyway alone. He was keenly aware not only of all the familiar aches and pains that plagued him, but also of the general weakness from which he was suffering, the premature curse of old age. Then it occurred to him that Ramses would follow!
He stopped, listened. Not a sound in the darkness. He went on.
* * *
She stood in the front room; she had not made up her mind whether or not she should kill this noisy bird. It was being quiet at this moment, clucking, dancing on its perch. And it was beautiful. If it did not scream, she would not kill it. That seemed fair enough.
The body of the dancing girl had begun to rot. She had dragged it into the farthest corner of the garden and there thrown a great cloth over it; but still she could smell it.
Even in the back kitchen she could smell it. But that had not stopped her from consuming all the food she could find. A few lemons, very sweet: a loaf of stale bread.
After that she had changed into one of the other 'frocks,' to use the American's word for frilly dress. This one was white; she liked it because it made her skin look very fine and faintly golden; and it had even bigger skirts with great ruffles to hide her feet.
The pain in her feet was bad. So was the pain in her side. If Lord Rutherford did not come soon, she would go out again. Though how to find him, she had no idea. It had been hard enough finding this house again. She had driven the American motor car to the outskirts of this curious part of the city where the houses were old and without color or decoration, and then she had wandered through the narrow streets until she saw the open door. Now she was growing impatient.
Suddenly she heard a knock.
'Your name?' she said in English.
'Elliott, Lord Rutherford. Open for me.'
She opened the door at once.
'I have waited a long while for you, Lord Rutherford. You have brought the elixir to me? You know where is the man with the blue eyes?'
Lord Rutherford was startled by her English. She gave a little shrug of her shoulders as she closed the door. 'Oh, yes, your language is no puzzle to me,' she said. 'In the streets of this city today I heard much of it and other such tongues. I learned many things. It's the past that's the puzzle, the world I cant remember!'' Suddenly she felt angry. Why was he staring at her like that! 'Where is Ramses!' she demanded. She was certain that that was the name of the man with the blue eyes.
'I spoke with him. I told him what was needed.'
'Yes, Lord Rutherford.' She approached him. He backed away from her. 'Do you fear me?'
'I don't know. I want to protect you,' he whispered.
'Ah, true. And Ramses, the blue-eyed one. Why does he not come?' Something unpleasant, something very unpleasant. A dim image of Ramses backing away from her. Of Ramses standing many feet away from her as she cried out. Something about the venom of the snake and . . . she was screaming, but no one could hear her! And then they pulled the black cover over her face. She turned away from Lord Rutherford. 'If I remembered nothing, it would be easier,' she whispered. 'But I see it, and then I see it no more.' She turned back to him.
'You have to be patient,' Lord Rutherford said. 'He will come.'
'Patient! I don't want to be patient. I want to find him. Tell me where he is. I shall go to him.''
'I can't. That's impossible!'
'Is it!' Her voice had risen to a shriek. She saw the fear in him, she saw the ... what was it? He was not repelled as the others had been. No, it was something else as he stared at her. 'Tell me where to find him!' she screamed. She took another step towards him, driving him towards the wall. 'I will tell you a secret, Lord Rutherford. You are weak, all of you. Strange beings! And I like killing you. It soothes my pain to watch you die.'
She rushed at him, grabbing him by the throat. She would shake the truth from him, and then kill him if he did not tell her. But suddenly strong hands laid hold of her, wrenching her backwards. For a moment she could not get her bearings; she screamed, blundering, and then saw the blue-eyed man standing before her. Who was this! She knew, ah, but it was just beyond Her grasp. Yet the word broke from her: 'Ramses!' Yes, this was Ramses, the blue-eyed one. . . . She ran at him with her hands out.
'Get out,' he shouted to the other. 'Get away from here. Go.'
His throat felt like marble. She could not snap the bones! But he could not throw her off, either, no matter
