Danbazzar and Hassan es-Sugra had contrived the transport of Zalithea from the camp in the _wâdi_ to a carefully chosen suite at a Luxor hotel without provoking comment. John Cumberland’s bank account had silenced any criticisms regarding the nature of his interest in the heavily veiled Moslem lady for whose accommodation he had arranged. The thing had run on oiled wheels, dollars being the lubricant; but since there is more grit in the world than there are dollars, this smooth running inevitably couldn’t last. Barry, whose dream woman had miraculously come to life, found himself in a frame of mind which he was sane enough to recognize as unique. The Zalithea he knew, the adorable, winning, childish, petulant, sometimes frightening girl, he was learning to worship. The Zalithea of the papyrus, the princess of unknown origin who had been captured by the troops of Seti in an unimaginable past, he fought to forget. Advance guards of the Thomas Cook army had already established themselves in Luxor. A German party, some days earlier, and on the eve of striking camp, had penetrated to the _wâdi_. Their insatiable Teutonic curiosity was their only guide; Danbazzar’s lurid profanity their only reward. Even the donkey boys had blushed. But the incident had gone to prove that they had achieved their purpose only just in time. It was the tourist invasion which had checked Danbazzar a year before. That remarkable man, whose resourcefulness knew no bounds, had long since set out, accompanied by Hassan es-Sugra, two camel drivers and a large sum of ready money, for the Great Oasis. Here he had arranged to meet a certain sheik of the Shorbagis from Dakhla and to obtain from him a document, suitably witnessed, authorizing John Cumberland to escort the sheik’s daughter, Zalithea, to America for neuropathic treatment prescribed by Professor Blackwell. “The Senussi,” Danbazzar had admitted, “are the most dangerous fanatics in Africa. One of that bunch would be about as likely to send his daughter to America as to burn his whiskers for firewood. But nobody here will be any wiser, never having been to those parts, and the American consul, who is a Greek from Alexandria, doesn’t know an Arab from an onion. We’ll get her passport without any trouble.” Zalithea’s balcony overlooked the Nile. Here she spent many hours every day, watching the varied life of the river front. Her bewilderment Barry found at once pathetic and delicious. The dragomans, who were now beginning to put in an appearance, she mistook for priests. The strangely garbed tourists she assumed to be foreign captives! The advent of the first steamer from Cairo aroused such terror that Barry grew alarmed. He found himself utterly incapable of explaining this mystery, handicapped as he was. Automobiles, for some reason, frightened her but little. Indeed, she managed to make him understand at last that she wished to ride in one!