“Not exactly,” Barry replied. “Dad has a scheme for exploiting the old caravan road to the Dakhla Oasis.” “What for?” drawled his acquaintance. “Nobody wants to go there!” “They might,” Barry returned, “if the journey were easier.” “Goin’ to build a hotel there?” “I don’t quite know, but we are starting out to-morrow to prospect.” “Good luck!” murmured the irrigation gentleman, raising his glass. “If I’m still alive when you come back you might bring me a few dates. They are the best dates in Egypt. I don’t think they grow anything else.” Their chat was interrupted at this point by the sudden appearance of Professor Blackwell, expected that evening from Assouan and evidently newly arrived. “Ah! Professor!” cried Barry, jumping up. “Glad to see you! Does Dad know you are here?” “No,” the Professor replied, dropping into an armchair. “I have only this very moment come in.” Barry introduced the Professor to the irrigation expert, who presently, however, having offered to buy more drinks, withdrew to what he termed his “fly trap,” nodding gloomily to Barry as he went. “Don’t forget the dates,” were his parting words. Going back to their rooms, Barry ushered in Professor Blackwell. John Cumberland, who was seated at a table studying some maps, stood up gladly to greet him. Danbazzar, his broad back to the room, was staring out of the open window across the Nile to where, sharp in the moonlight, the Libyan Hills were outlined against the sky. He turned, fixing his penetrating regard upon the new arrivals; and: “Hassan tells me,” Barry began eagerly, “that we start operations on Thursday. Is that correct?” “It’s surely correct,” came Danbazzar’s deep voice. “I don’t know who’s been giving public recitations, but it looks like some of our plans have leaked out. Yes, sir, we start on Thursday.” CHAPTER XII. THE CAMP IN THE DESERT Barry now entered upon a period of existence widely different from any he had known. Danbazzar’s camp was in the neck of a _wâdi_ on the north of the caravan route from Thebes to Farshût. Further north, and visible from the tents, on the summit of a mountain stood an ancient watchtower, used in the days of the Pharaohs by the tomb guard. All about were remains of stone huts which had probably been the quarters of these guards. On the right, above terraced, desolate hills covered with débris of abandoned excavations, rose the stately mass of El Kurn, the Horn.