whole wide desert atmosphere in which to dissipate its noxious energies. A rustling sound dissolved my meditations. I glanced up and saw Miss Ottley bending over her father. I slipped out and sought the Arab's quarters. Soon I had a good fire alight and water on to boil. I rather spread myself that morning. I cooked some tinned asparagus, boiled a tinned chicken, and opened a jar of prunes. Breakfast spread on the lid of a brandy box looked and smelled very good. I carried it up to the pylon and whistled "Come into the garden, Maude." Miss Ottley appeared at once, round eyed with surprise. "Your father has already eaten," I observed. "In all likelihood he will sleep for hours yet. Kindly sit down. You'll excuse my novel breakfast call. It is the only invitational air I am acquainted with." She stared at me. "May one not be lighthearted when all goes well?" I asked. "One may," she answered. Then her eyes fell and she coloured painfully. "But not two. I slept at my post. Oh! how could I?" Her voice was quite despairing and bitterly contemptuous. I bit at the leg of a chicken which I held in my fingers. "After all, you are a woman, you know," I commented, with my mouth full. "This chick's prime--done to a turn." "How tired you must be!" "I'm not complaining. Nor do I grudge you the extra rest. You look better. Hungry?" "Y-yes," she admitted. "Then don't be a ninny spending time in vain regrets. Fall to and repair your waste tissues. In plain English--eat." She sat down on a ruined column and I handed her a plate. "You look--positively merry!" she said. "You are nursing some--pleasant--or profitable reflection." She considered the words with care. "I have discovered that I may have--told the truth to your father last night after all. By accident." "I beg your pardon." "I believe I have found your friend Ptahmes, Miss Ottley." The plate slid off her lap and broke. Chicken and gravy littered the pavement. But she had no idea of it. "Impossible!" she cried. I explained my examination of the sarcophagus and the result in detail. She sat gazing at me like a graven image. When she had finished she arose and vanished--without a word. I followed and found her standing beside the great lead coffin, my kerchief in her hand. She had reopened the chisel hole, and the cavern was already saturated with the infernal gas. I snatched my handkerchief away and once more blocked the vent. Then I exerted all my strength and with a prodigious effort placed the lid on the sarcophagus. With a woman's curiosity to reckon with, such a precaution seemed a vital safeguard. I found her standing in the pylon, breathing like a spent runner. "You might have taken my word," I said coldly. "You'd have saved yourself an ugly headache at the least."