_A priest enters, carrying a miniature sphinx with a tiny tripod before it. A morsel of incense is smoking in the tripod. The priest comes to the table and places the image in the middle of it. The light begins to change to the magenta purple of the Egyptian sunset, as if the god had brought a strange colored shadow with him. The three men are determined not to be impressed; but they feel curious in spite of themselves._ CAESAR. What hocus-pocus is this? CLEOPATRA. You shall see. And it is _not_ hocus-pocus. To do it properly, we should kill something to please him; but perhaps he will answer Caesar without that if we spill some wine to him. APOLLODORUS (_turning his head to look up over his shoulder at Ra_). Why not appeal to our hawkheaded friend here? CLEOPATRA (_nervously_). Sh! He will hear you and be angry. RUFIO (_phlegmatically_). The source of the Nile is out of his district, I expect. CLEOPATRA. No: I will have my city named by nobody but my dear little sphinx, because it was in its arms that Caesar found me asleep. (_She languishes at Caesar; then turns curtly to the priest._) Go. I am a priestess, and have power to take your charge from you. (_The priest makes a reverence and goes out._) Now let us call on the Nile all together. Perhaps he will rap on the table. CAESAR. What! Table rapping! Are such superstitions still believed in this year 707 of the Republic? CLEOPATRA. It is no superstition: our priests learn lots of things from the tables. Is it not so, Apollodorus? APOLLODORUS. Yes: I profess myself a converted man. When Cleopatra is priestess, Apollodorus is devotee. Propose the conjuration. CLEOPATRA. You must say with me "Send us thy voice, Father Nile." ALL FOUR (_holding their glasses together before the idol_). Send us thy voice, Father Nile. _The death cry of a man in mortal terror and agony answers them. Appalled, the men set down their glasses, and listen. Silence. The purple deepens in the sky. Caesar, glancing at Cleopatra, catches her pouring out her wine before the god, with gleaming eyes, and mute assurances of gratitude and worship. Apollodorus springs up and runs to the edge of the roof to peer down and listen._ CAESAR (_looking piercingly at Cleopatra_). What was that? CLEOPATRA (_petulantly_). Nothing. They are beating some slave. CAESAR. Nothing! RUFIO. A man with a knife in him, I'll swear. CAESAR (_rising_). A murder! APOLLODORUS (_at the back, waving his hand for silence_). S-sh! Silence. Did you hear that? CAESAR. Another cry? APOLLODORUS (_returning to the table_). No, a thud. Something fell on the beach, I think. RUFIO (_grimly, as he rises_). Something with bones in it, eh? CAESAR (_shuddering_). Hush, hush, Rufio. (_He leaves the table and returns to the colonnade: Rufio following at his left elbow, and Apollodorus at the other side._) CLEOPATRA (_still in her place at the table_). Will you leave me, Caesar? Apollodorus: are you going?