How brightly the stars
shine to-night, Dr. Pinsent." The cool impudence of the pair struck me dumb. I shook with passion. For a moment I thought of calling a halt and returning the way we had
come to my own camp with my Arabs. But for my curiosity to see the
tomb of Ptahmes very probably I should have done so. In a few seconds,
however, my rage cooled, and my uppermost feeling was admiration mixed
with mirth. I had never been treated with such open and absurd contempt
before. It was a refreshing experience. I burst of a sudden into a peal
of laughter. Miss Ottley joined me in the exercise. But Sir Robert rode
on like a hook-nosed Sphinx. "I knew I could not be mistaken," said Miss Ottley. "You should thank
God for your sense of humour, Dr. Pinsent." "And who is benefiting from it at this moment, I should like to know?" I retorted. "The thanks are due from you, I fancy." "Deo gratias!" she flashed. "In sober truth, we need your Arabs sadly." "I repeat, I am glad to be of use." "We shall use you, but not necessarily in the cause of your Society. Understand that fully." "You mean?" "That you must not expect to share our secrets." "In plain words, you will not let me help you open the sarcophagus." "Your penetration is remarkable." "And if----"

"And if," she interrupted quickly, "you require a reward for the
courtesy we asked and you accorded or have promised to accord, you have
but to name a sum in cash to have it paid." "Or----" said I, stung to the quick. "Or," she flashed, "return! You are at liberty to make your choice. Yours are not the only Arabs in Egypt. At a pinch we can wait a day or
two. It is for you to say." I tore off my hat. "Miss Ottley--my Arabs are yours for as long as you
require them!" I furiously announced. "Good day to you. Sir Robert,
good day!" Then I dragged the head of my ass round and set his face to my
camp. The beast, however, would hardly budge, and I had to belabour
him unmercifully to induce him to trot. Never did man make a more
undignified exit from circumstances of indignity. And it did not need
Miss Ottley's mocking laughter to assure me that I looked ridiculous. I could have strangled her with all the cheerfulness in life; and from
that moment I have cherished an ineradicable hatred of donkeys. Sir
Robert did not open his lips. He did not even return my angry salute. Almost choking with rage, I finally got out of range of Miss Ottley's
laughter. Then I dismounted and told the desert just what I thought of
her and her father. It was almost midnight when I reached my camp, for,
to crown all, I neglected the stars in my passion, and for two hours
lost my way. Chapter II

A Patient of the Desert


I spent the next two days in absolute solitude, and got through a
tremendous quantity of toil. In fact, I added two whole chapters to my
treatise on the Nile monuments and I arranged the details of a third. By the end of that time, however, I was ravenously hungry. I had been
too engrossed in labour to think of eating anything but biscuits. And
appetite at last turned me out of the tent. I looked around for my
Arabs and saw sand and sky--no living thing--oh, yes, there was my
donkey. The little beast had eaten his way through a truss of straw,
and was asleep. Strolling over to the ruined pylon, I glanced down into
the hole my Arabs had excavated. It was empty. "Gad!" I exclaimed. "They must still be working for Ottley." I had to build a fire and turn
cook, willy nilly. Later, fortified with the pleasant conviction of a
good dinner, I turned my telescope on the Hill of Rakh. An Arab stood
on the treeless summit leaning on a rifle whose barrel glittered in the
sunlight. I was puzzled. He was manifestly posted there as sentinel,
but why? I watched him till dark, but he did not move. That night I
shot a jackal--omen of disaster. It was long before I slept. Yet I
seemed only to have slumbered a moment or two when I awoke. A voice
called my name aloud. "Dr. Pinsent! Dr. Pinsent!" I started upright and
listened, nerves on edge. "Dr. Pinsent!" "Who calls?" I shouted. "I--May Ottley." "Miss Ottley!" I hopped out of my bag bed like a cricket. "Just a
moment." I struck a light and, grabbing at my clothes, proceeded to
dress like mad. Thus for thirty seconds; then I remembered how I had
been treated, and went slower. Then I thought--"Pinsent, you're a
cad--she's a woman, and perhaps in trouble." So I got up steam again
and called out, "Nothing wrong, I hope?" "Yes," said Miss Ottley. Well, here was a woman of business, at any
rate. She seemed to know the use of words, and valued them accordingly. Waste not, want not. I drew on my jacket and lifted the flap. An Arab
rustled past me. "Hello!" said I. "Not so fast, my man." But it was Miss Ottley. I stepped back, bewildered. Her hair was tucked
away in a sort of turban, and she was wrapped from head to heel in
a burnous that had once been white--very long ago. But the costume,
though dirty, was becoming. She sank upon a camp stool and asked at
once for water. She seemed very tired. My bag was empty. I hurried
off without a word to the barrel in the temple. When I returned she
was asleep where she sat. I touched her shoulder and she started
up, suppressing a scream. "Now," said I, as she put down the cup. Miss Ottley stood up. "A bad thing has happened," she began. "The
sarcophagus was filled with treasure, gold and silver in bars, and
other things. The Arabs went mad. My father fought like a paladin and
held them off for a day and a half. But soon after dark this evening a
caravan arrived. The fight was renewed and my father was wounded. The
Arabs secured the treasure and fled into the desert. The dragoman only
kept faith with us. He has gone by the river to Khonsu for troops. I
hurried here for you. I ran almost all the way. Will you come? Father
is very ill. He has lost a lot of blood. He was shot in the shoulder." I nodded, caught up my revolver and surgical pack and rushed out of the
tent. In two minutes I had saddled the donkey. Miss Ottley was standing
by the door of the tent. I lifted her on the beast and we started off
in silence. An hour later she spoke. "There is one thing I like about you," she announced. "You haven't much
to say for yourself, but you are a worker." "Tu quoque," I replied. "You must have done that twelve miles in record
time. It is not yet two o'clock." "I made it in two hours, I think." "You are an athlete, by Jove!" "I am no bread-and-butter miss, at any rate. This donkey has a bad
pace, don't you think?" I kicked the brute into a trot and ran beside it. The Hill of Rakh soon
began to loom large among the stars on the horizon. "I suppose you were
pretty wild at our cavalier treatment of you the other evening," said
Miss Ottley. "Well, yes," I admitted. "We were sorry when the fight came." "No doubt," said I. "It served us right, eh?" "That is my opinion." "Do you bear malice still?" "I am thinking of your father's wound." "That atones?" "Your twelve-mile run helps."