Before he realized what she intended to do, she had glided to the tent cloth, raised it, and gone out. He jumped up and followed her. He had recalled, tardily, the real purpose of the interview. His duty was to see that Zalithea did not make her presence known to Mr. Tawwab! In the tiny lobby, old Safîyeh had scrambled hastily to her feet. Beside her mat was a bowl in which were some peaches which Zalithea had evidently rejected as overripe. Some of them, presumably, Safîyeh had consumed. The less desirable remained. Mr. Tawwab’s voice came from immediately outside. He had paused on his way down the _wâdi_. “Surely a new tent?” he inquired smoothly. “Sure!” boomed Danbazzar. “An English Bell tent, sir!” “You have guests?” “No, sir! We’re hoping for guests--distinguished guests--and we’re all ready. If ever you feel like spending a night with the boys, say the word!” “I am deeply indebted,” Mr. Tawwab assured him. “It would be delightful. But my duties do not allow.” “That’s a pity,” said Danbazzar. They moved on, slowly--and Zalithea, ignoring Barry’s restraining hand, pulled the flap aside and peered out. Over her shoulder, he could see Danbazzar, a great, towering figure, moving down the _wâdi_ beside the slight, red-capped form of Mr. Tawwab. Then, in a moment, it had happened. Displaying a deadly aim, Zalithea hurled an imperfect peach at the retreating Mr. Tawwab! It struck him on the back of the head, squashed liberally, and dislodged his _tarbûsh!_ With a cry of mingled fear and anger, he turned. Barry dropped the flap and sank back, aghast.… Zalithea, both hands held over her mouth, fled beyond the tent cloth. Safîyeh, horror-stricken, followed. “Hell’s bells!” roared Danbazzar. “Mr. Tawwab, I can’t say what I think! It’s that half-wit Said! Wait here, sir! Take my handkerchief! By God! I’ll----” He ran back and burst into the tent in an apparent fury. Barry faced him. “Zalithea?” Danbazzar whispered. Barry nodded. “Howl like fury!” Danbazzar directed--“not in English!” Thereupon he broke into a flood of Arabic, and clapped his hands, simulating smacks. Barry yelled obediently. “You son of a mange!” Danbazzar concluded--and went out. “He’s crazy, Mr. Tawwab,” he called. “Don’t blame me. Blame the people that hired him to me.…” CHAPTER XXIV. THE RETURN TO LUXOR Work in the valley was ended. The tomb, stripped of its contents, had been reclosed so that even Mr. Howard Carter could not have found it. The workmen, well paid and happy, had dispersed to their homes. Most of them were men of the Fayyum.