“Don’t get excited,” she went on. “It’s a perfectly reasonable question. And as I can’t talk to the girl, and your father won’t talk to _me_, I’m asking _you_. Have we adopted her?” Barry laughed to hide his embarrassment. “I suppose in a way we are responsible for her,” he answered evasively. “What does Dad say?” “Nothing!” Micky replied promptly. “That is, nothing sensible. He told me, only yesterday, that her history was so strange I should never be able to believe it.” She took a fresh cigarette from the box. “He’s very likely right,” she added. “No, Micky!” Barry protested. “Something has upset you. What is it?” “It isn’t one thing; it’s several.” “Tell me one of them.” “In the first place, who is this girl?” “It’s very difficult to explain, Micky.” “Ha!” She lighted her fresh cigarette with the stump of the old one. “That’s what John says--and Blackwell! You’re all lying--all the damn’ lot of you! You can’t tell fairy tales to Micky Colonna! And where, exactly, does the man Danbazzar come in?” Again Barry hesitated. It was hateful to lie to Aunt Micky. Hitherto, by skillful evasion, he had dodged the necessity. He determined to endeavour to do so again. “Well,” he replied, “Danbazzar is the only one of the party who knows her language. He knows--all about her father, too.” Aunt Micky stared at him hard; then: “_I’ve_ been in Egypt, young lad,” she said, “and although I never went so far, I know where the desert Arabs live--and what they look like. This girl isn’t one! Also, when Dr. Davidson called, why did old Blackwell hurry him away without seeing Zalithea?” “I don’t know, Micky.” “But _I_ do! Because Dr. Davidson has just come back from a journey through Zalithea’s home country, among the Senussi Arabs! Teach your grandmother to suck eggs, young Cumberland!” “Does all this mean you don’t like her?” “I’d like her well enough if I knew who she _was_. But all I know is that she’s a little impostor and the whole gang of you are backing her up.” “She isn’t an impostor,” Barry retorted hotly. “No! I didn’t mean to be abrupt, but you don’t understand, Micky. It’s the rest of us who are impostors!” Aunt Micky shaded her unflinching gray eyes with one upraised hand, a mark of disapproval; then: “Liars! all the lot of you!” she commented. “I knew it. But what’s the object? Is she wanted by the Egyptian police?” Barry laughed. “Not exactly,” he replied. “But there is a likelihood of complications, all the same. You see, we brought a stack of stuff away. It’s all at Danbazzar’s place, now.” “What has this to do with Zalithea?” “Well, in a way---- Oh, I can’t explain, Micky! What’s the use of trying?” “Tell me what your father told me yesterday--that I wouldn’t understand--and I’ll heave this ink-well at you!”