Barry and his father came down the gangway, turned to wave to the tall, gaunt Professor at the top, and then made their way along the pier toward the staircase. They reached the street level at practically the same moment that the elevator started up. Through the iron grille of the car a girl was looking out, apparently directly at Barry. He stopped dead, stared at the ascending elevator, and then, with no explanation to his father, turned and fled back up the stairs like a man demented! His behaviour was so extraordinary that a Customs official intercepted him at the top. “Kindly stand aside!” Barry said breathlessly. “I have seen someone I want to speak to--_must_ speak to!” “Go easy, go easy!” The man persistently intruded his burly form. “Wait a minute! Who are you running away from?” “I’m not running away from anybody!” cried Barry angrily. “Let me pass! I want to go on board.” “Go easy!” the man repeated. “You can’t go on board. The last visitors are just coming ashore. In three minutes the gangway will be cleared----” And then John Cumberland, even more breathless than Barry, arrived on the scene. “What’s the matter?” he asked; and, to the man: “It’s all right,” he explained. “My name is John Cumberland. My son has seen someone he thinks he knows.” “You can guess who it is!” the latter returned. “And I’ve lost her again!” Slipping past the mystified Customs officer, he raced out along the pier. Beyond exciting amusement and astonishment among the onlookers, his reward was nil. Of course! He was too late! And he was sure, absolutely sure, that this time he had not been mistaken! Could it be that she had gone on board the liner?--that she was leaving America--still unknown, elusive to the end! He was prevented from reaching the gangplank. The order “Clear away!” was given as he ran up. Realizing the hopelessness of the thing, he turned and went back to where his father waited. His manner was constrained. As they drove home, John Cumberland was very sympathetic, but secretly was glad to think that the journey to Egypt would prove a powerful distraction, which he considered his son badly needed. He was growing more and more anxious about this odd obsession of Barry’s. We are no other than a moving row Of magic shadow-shapes which come and go, Round with the sun-illumined lantern held In midnight by the Master of the Show. The Master of the Show had many more queer tricks and illusions in store. But neither Barry nor John Cumberland, being poor mortals, could peep behind the scenes. The ensuing week passed like a feverish dream, so magically does time dissolve on such occasions--and the night of their departure for Egypt came. A tremendous crowd of friends turned up to see them off, Aunt Micky more iron-jawed than usual, and full of dark theories respecting missing baggage (which was really safely on board, of course).