Fatuously, net and basket in hand, I stood looking after her. The idea of pursuit came to me certainly; but I doubted if I could outrun her. For Karamaneh ran, not like a girl used to town or even country life, but with the lightness and swiftness of a gazelle; ran like the daughter of the desert that she was. Some two hundred yards she went, stopped, and looked back. It would seem that the sheer joy of physical effort had aroused the devil in her, the devil that must lie latent in every woman with eyes like the eyes of Karamaneh. In the ever-brightening sunlight I could see the lithe figure swaying; no rags imaginable could mask its beauty. I could see the red lips and gleaming teeth. Then--and it was music good to hear, despite its taunt--she laughed defiantly, turned, and ran again! I resigned myself to defeat; I blush to add, gladly! Some evidences of a world awakening were perceptible about me now. Feathered choirs hailed the new day joyously. Carrying the mysterious contrivance which I had captured from the enemy, I set out in the direction of my house, my mind very busy with conjectures respecting the link between this bird-snare and the cry like that of a nighthawk which we had heard at the moment of Forsyth's death. The path that I had chosen led me around the border of the Mound Pond--a small pool having an islet in the centre. Lying at the margin of the pond I was amazed to see the plate and jug which Nayland Smith had borrowed recently. Dropping my burden, I walked down to the edge of the water. I was filled with a sudden apprehension. Then, as I bent to pick up the now empty jug, came a hail: "All right, Petrie! Shall join you in a moment!" I started up, looked to right and left; but, although the voice had been that of Nayland Smith, no sign could I discern of his presence! "Smith!" I cried. "Smith!" "Coming!" Seriously doubting my senses, I looked in the direction from which the voice had seemed to proceed--and there was Nayland Smith. He stood on the islet in the centre of the pond, and, as I perceived him, he walked down into the shallow water and waded across to me! "Good heavens!" I began. One of his rare laughs interrupted me. "You must think me mad this morning, Petrie!" he said. "But I have made several discoveries. Do you know what that islet in the pond really is?" "Merely an islet, I suppose." "Nothing of the kind; it is a burial mound, Petrie! It marks the site of one of the Plague Pits where victims were buried during the Great Plague of London. You will observe that although you have seen it every morning for some years, it remains for a British Commissioner lately resident in Burma to acquaint you with its history! Hullo!"--the laughter was gone from his eyes, and they were steely hard again--"what the blazes have we here?" He picked up the net. "What! A bird-trap!" "Exactly!" I said. Smith turned his searching gaze upon me. "Where did you find it, Petrie?"