A strange excitement seemed to seize upon Fleming Stone. Abruptly he left the room, and, flinging on his overcoat in the hall, he snatched his hat and went away, almost on a run. His steps took him to the garage and in a few moments he was in a swift little runabout being driven to the sanatorium where Estelle was still staying. After a call there, he hurried to Police Headquarters. Thence, after a rather long call, to a telegraph office, to one or two shops and then back to Garden Steps. Here he put several servants at work for him, packing his effects and such matters, then summoning Gray Haviland to the library, he said; "I'm sailing for Egypt this afternoon. May I ask you to make no further investigations till my return?" "Egypt!" gasped Gray. "Good Heavens, man! what for?" "In the interest of my work for you," returned Stone, gravely. "Rubbish! You're chasing Pauline! We'll never see either of you again!" Fleming Stone smiled. "I do love her, Haviland, I make no denial of that fact. And I do hate to have her alone in a strange land. So, if I can be of any help to her, an ocean or two to cross shall not keep me from her." "And your detective work?" "Will not suffer by my absence. I've been to the Police and to the District Attorney and they approve my plans as I've outlined them so far. The rest must wait my return." "Ah, and when will you be back?" "I don't know exactly, but I will keep you informed of my whereabouts. Say good-by to Miss Frayne for me, and please excuse me now, as I've heaps to do. By the way, where is that record of Miss Carrington's song that I have heard of? Play it for me, will you?" "Thought you were in such a hurry!" laughed Haviland, but granted the request. "Wonderful!" commented the Detective, as he heard it on the phonograph. "It is a perfectly-made record. If you don't mind, I'll take possession of it." "All right," said Gray, carelessly, and in another half hour Fleming Stone was on his way to the pier where the _Macedonia_ was making ready to sail. XXII PAULINE IN CAIRO On the first of March, about mid-afternoon, the _Catalonia_ steamed into the harbor of Alexandria. Pauline, at the rail, watched the clearing outlines of mosques and minarets, as the beautiful city became visible. It was a glistening, dazzling strip, between the deep blue of the sea and the azure of the sky, and, breathless with delight, she gazed at the shining sunlit picture.