Mr. Fenshawe was stirred out of his studied calm by the seeming absurdity of the interruption. "Useless!" he exclaimed, and his brow seamed with anger, "that is a strange word to apply to the only evidence of your story that you have ever produced." "I always feared Alfieri," said the other, throwing his hands out as if he were pushing away a threatening phantom. "He was spiteful, and jealous, and he knew enough to drive him mad with desire. But I would allow no one to interfere with me, yes? When I was sure of my ground, when I had secured translations of each piece of the papyrus, I altered it." "Altered it!" Incredulity and hope were oddly mixed in the cry which came simultaneously from the lips of two of his hearers. Even Irene and Dick, less wrapped up in the dream of finding the Sabaean hoard, awaited von Kerber's next utterance with bated breath. The man was too unnerved to feel any triumph at the sensation he had created. "Yes," he said, sinking wearily into a chair, though his voice almost cracked with excitement. "I changed the distances in every instance permitted by the text. As it stands now, the papyrus is utterly worthless. I acted for the best, yes? A secret known to more than one ceases to be a secret. But I am tired of pretense, and you shall have the truth, though it carries with it a confession of ghastly failure. I do not know what good fortune Alfieri has blundered into at Suleiman's Well, and I admit that the place offered my own last chance. Yet, if he has found the treasure, it was not because of the papyrus, but despite it. Here are photographs of every section in their present form," and he produced some prints from a pocket-book. "You were taught some Greek at school, Mr. Royson? Very well. Look at the passages which are faintly underlined, and you will, see where I have altered whole phrases, converted tens of miles into hundreds, and hundreds of paces into thousands. And that is the document which Alfieri obtained at Marseilles. He would recognize it as the original, though it is now quite misleading. If he is digging at the right place by reason of the directions given there, it is something beyond belief, yes?" "You speak of Alfieri recognizing the papyrus. Evidently, then, he had seen it earlier. In what manner was he connected with its discovery?" Mr. Fenshawe's coldly direct question came in sharp contrast with the Austrian's impassioned outburst. Von Kerber did not reply. With his elbows resting on his knees, and supporting his chin between clenched fists, he looked through the open door of the tent with eyes that stared into vacancy. The man was in a frenzy of despair. He saw the chance of his life slipping away from him, but he could urge no plea in his own behalf. It was Mrs. Haxton who answered, and her composure was oddly at variance with von Kerber's distress.