“Clean your teeth in Vichy water,” was her last injunction to Barry. “Once you are out of England, all water is poison.” Then came the final shouted farewells, Danbazzar, Barry, and John Cumberland standing at the rail as the liner crept out of her dock. Much cheering and waving of hats. Great excitement, to be followed by depression. And over it all came a clarion cry from Jim Sakers, standing bareheaded far below, a megaphone upraised. “Don’t forget, Barry!” he bellowed--“a bottle of the Unchanging Desert! I am an Arab brave and free!” CHAPTER X. CAIRO From the balcony of Shepheard’s Hotel, Barry fascinatedly watched the life in the street below. This was Cairo!--real yet less than his imaginings concerning it. Vendors of fly whisks, of scarabs incredibly old, of necklaces from the tombs of queens, of red slippers, of all sorts of Birmingham ware, clamoured in a group beneath him. They poked their offerings through the railings at his feet. The instinct of these people was wonderful. His father was never solicited in this way. One glance the sidewalk merchants would give him, smile sadly and pass on. While of Danbazzar they seemed to be positively afraid. The passers-by absorbed his attention. He had learned to pick out the residents from the tourists, to recognize the curious air of detachment, that quiet fatalism which is the seal of Africa. He had also grown used to the _tarbûsh_ worn by the British officers. At first he had mistaken them all for Turks. But he was not yet entirely reconciled to the presence of laden camels and smart automobiles in the same street. In some of the cars he had glimpses of veiled women, whose long dark eyes provoked him. Whenever such a _harem_ car went by he craned forward eagerly, vaguely expecting to meet the glance of eyes that he knew. During the journey, he had torn himself free in a measure from this strange infatuation, but Egypt had revived his dreams. He had dressed early this evening, and now, sipping a cocktail, sat waiting for his father to join him. It was too hot yet for the big tourist invasion, but the advance guard was already in possession. Guide books were in evidence at several tables in his immediate neighbourhood. To whatever government, Turkish, French, British, or Egyptian, the people may from time to time acknowledge obedience, everybody knows that Egypt really belongs to Thomas Cook & Son. To-night, Danbazzar was expected back from Luxor, where he had been to select a base of operations and to check the information furnished by his agent. This agent, Hassan es-Sugra by name, had met him there four days earlier and was returning with him to Cairo.