John Cumberland’s excitement had been intense all day, and Barry’s little less. Never, until now, had Barry fully understood the hold that Egypt and the things of Egypt had over his father. It was a complete, an absorbing passion. The John Cumberland of New York was barely recognizable in this keen, alert, bright-eyed man to whom the African air was an elixir of youth, and who now crossed the terrace and joined him. “Well, Barry,” said he, “has the spell of the Nile got hold of you yet?” “It has, Dad,” Barry admitted, looking at the healthily tanned face of the speaker; “I’m simply dying to start. I went again to-day to look at the mummy of Seti; and even now I find it hard to believe that this man ruled over Egypt, a civilized country, at a time when Europe was peopled by savages, and when the American Continent was probably a mix-up of mountains, forests, swamps, and rivers. That man was no savage, he was a ruler of great power and intellect.” “Certainly he was,” John Cumberland agreed, nodding to an acquaintance coming up the steps. “We are very proud of our new wisdom, Barry. I wonder how much of it is in advance of the old?” “I hadn’t been altogether able to believe in your hopes of success,” Barry went on, “but the figure of Seti is beginning to make me share them. There he lies in the flesh for everyone to see. I looked at him yesterday for nearly half an hour, and I realized that he had known, probably had many times spoken to, the Princess Zalithea! Dad, I’m just crazy to be on the job! Isn’t Danbazzar late?” John Cumberland glanced at his watch; then: “No,” he replied. “The train got in about ten minutes ago. He should be here at any moment now.” And even as he spoke an _arabiyeh_ pulled up at the steps and Danbazzar got out. He wore a white drill suit, the coat cut tunic fashion and buttoning close up to the neck. His light gray felt hat with its very wide brim awakened in this Eastern scene memories of the West. His pale skin had assumed a deep, even tan, and, with his aquiline features, he looked more truly of the Orient than any of the Cairenes about him. His gaze sought and found John Cumberland on the terrace, and he raised his right hand in a slow, graceful gesture. A second traveller descended from the carriage and followed Danbazzar up the steps. This was an æsthetic-looking Egyptian, black-robed and white-turbaned, slender, with small delicate features and the gentle eyes of a gazelle. He carried an ebony cane and possessed a curious dignity, utterly unlike that of Danbazzar, yet in its way equally impressive. John Cumberland sprang up eagerly and extended his hand. “Is everything all right?” he demanded. “Everything is fine,” Danbazzar replied, and, turning, greeted Barry. “I want you to meet our Chief of Staff, Hassan es-Sugra. What I don’t know about the Valley of the Kings, Hassan can tell us.”