Whenever I speak of it she apologises--and says
she only learned the things she knows to be a help to her dear old
father. Dear old father, indeed! The selfish old swine ought to be
suppressed. He loathes me because he fears I'll persuade her to leave
him. If she wasn't so useful she could go to the deuce for all he'd
care. But it's got to end soon or I'll know the reason why. Don't you
think I'm right? We've been engaged now seven years." "I consider you a model of patience," I replied. "Besides," said the Captain, starting off on a new tack, "the old man
is positively uncanny. It's my belief he has an underhanded motive in
his love for mummies, especially for his latest find, this Ptahmes. He's a spook-hunter, you know--and he told me one day in an unguarded
moment that he expected to live a thousand years." "What's a spook-hunter, Captain?" "Oh! I mean a spiritualist. He has a medium chap, he keeps in London--a
rascally beggar who bleeds thousands a year out of him. They have
séances. The medium scamp pretends to go into a trance and tells him
all sorts of rubbish about the Nile kings and prophets and wizards
and magicians and the elixir of life. It is dashed unpleasant for me,
I can tell you. There's always some wild yarn going round the clubs. And as I'm known to be Ottley's prospective son-in-law, I have the
life chaffed out of me in consequence. The latest was that the medium
chap--Oscar Neitenstein is his name--put Ottley in the way of finding
an old Theban prophet's tomb--this very Ptahmes, don't you know. And
though he has been underground 4000 years, Neitenstein has fooled
Ottley into expecting to find the prophet still alive. It's too idiotic
to speak seriously about, of course; but on my honour the yarn drove me
out of England. It got into the comic papers. Ugh! you know what that
means. But I'm not sorry in one way. So I've come here to have it out
with Ottley. And I'm going to--by Gad." "You haven't spoken to him yet?" "I have, but he treated me like a kid. Told me to run away and play and
allow serious people to work. I stormed a bit, but it was no use. It
made him so angry that he nearly took a fit--and I had to leave. Since
then he has been shut up with his infernal mummy, in that cave temple
over there--and he won't even let his daughter go within yards of the
door. That's curious, isn't it?" "Very." "And there's that business about the mysterious Arab," went on the
Captain. "The ugly horror that tried to throttle you and has been
frightening Miss Ottley. She thinks it's a ghost. But I reckon not." "Ah!" "I reckon Sir Robert knows all about that Arab, though he pretends he
does not know. In my opinion it's another of those spook mediums of
his, and he is keeping the ugly beast hidden away somewhere. Probably
the fellow is some awful criminal who has got to hide. Sir Robert would
shelter Hill or even that Australian wife-murderer Deeming if he said
he was a medium." "You extend my mental horizon," I remarked. "The Arab mystery is
clearing up." The Captain simply beamed. "So glad you catch on," he said. "Do you
know, I am depending heaps upon you in this business." "How?" The monosyllable disconcerted the Captain. He stuttered and hawed for
a while. But, finally, he blurted out, "Well, you see, she won't leave
her father under existing circumstances on any account, that's the
trouble. But I'm hoping if we can convince the old man he is being
fooled by a pack of scoundrels he will return to his sober senses and
live Sensibly, and then----" he paused. "And then--wedding bells," I suggested. "Exactly," replied the Captain. "And see here, I have a plan." "Ah!" "It's to lay for that Arab, as a first step--and catch the brute." "And what then?" The Captain looked rather foolish. "Well," he said, "well--oh!--we'd
be guided by circumstances then, of course. We might induce him to
confess--don't you think?" I could not help laughing. "If you want to know what I think," I said,
"it is, that you are in the position of a man who knows what he wants
but does not in the least understand how to get it. Still count on my
help. If we can lay the Arab by the heels we shall not harm anyone
deserving of consideration, and we will put Miss Ottley's mind at rest,
at all events; I hate to think that she is worried by the rascal. What
do you propose?" "I thought of hiding by the temple to-night. I passed it late last
evening, and though Sir Robert was ostensibly alone, I could swear I
heard voices. What do you say?" "Certainly." "Shake," said the Captain. We shook. "Now let's go to lunch," said he. We went. "That's Belleville's shanty," observed the Captain, pointing to a
neighbouring tent. "I don't like the fellow, do you?" "I don't know him." "He's a spook-hunter like Sir Robert." "Ah!" "The beggar is in love with Miss Ottley." "Oh!" "He had the impudence to tell her to her face one day that she would
never marry me. He declared that it was written--by spooks, I suppose. One of these days I'll have to break his head for him. But he is not a
man you can easily quarrel with. You simply can't insult him. He comes
up smiling every time." "An unpleasant person." "A bounder," said the Captain with intense conviction. "Lord, how hot
it is!" We entered the eating tent as he spoke. The table was already laid. Dr.
Belleville stood near the head of it talking to Miss Ottley. A couple
of Soudanese flitted about affecting to be busy, but effecting very
little. At sight of me both shuddered back against the canvas and stood
transfixed. One held a spoon, the other a plate. They looked extremely
absurd. I told them in Arabic that only the dishonest had occasion to
fear the evil eye, and took a seat. Instantly both rushed to serve me. My companions, not possessing the evil eye, were forced to wait. Miss
Ottley became satirical, but I was hungry and her shafts glanced off
the armour of my appetite. When I had finished my first helping of
currie she sat down. "There's no use waiting for father," she sighed. "I shall take his lunch to him by-and-by." Dr. Belleville echoed the sigh. "My dear young lady," said he, "permit
me now," and he vanished a minute later carrying a tray. "You see," said the Captain, sotto voce, to me. "More currie," I said, addressing, not the Captain, but the tent. Immediately one of the Soudanese slipped and sprawled on the floor in
his eagerness to serve. The other leaped over his fellow's prostrate
body and whisked away my plate. He returned it loaded in about five
seconds. Miss Ottley broke into a half-hysterical laugh. It kept up so
long that at last I looked at her in surprise. She had a knife and fork
before her, but nothing else; also the Captain. "What is the matter?" I
demanded. "Look," she gurgled. Following her finger I turned and saw both
Soudanese standing like statues behind me. "Wretches," I cried, "have
you nothing else to do?" They uttered a joint howl of terror and fled from the tent. But the
joke had staled.