"Whatever wrong Mrs. Haxton may have done in the past, I refuse to believe that she was swayed by some merely selfish consideration in leaving us as she did," said Irene softly, and her grandfather thanked her with a look as he quitted the tent. Stump shook his head. "She's as artful as a pet fox," he growled; but he had no listeners. Dick and Irene were far too much occupied in gazing at each other. Mr. Fenshawe returned speedily. He spread out ten photographs on the table in front of Royson. With them was a typewritten document divided into ten sections. "That is the English translation," he explained. "Each numbered division corresponds with a similar number on a photograph. It simplifies reference." Dick examined the translation eagerly. The first slip of papyrus read: "In the seventh year of the reign of the renowned Emperor, C. Julius Caesar Octavianus, I, Demetriades, son of Pelopidos, merchant of Syracuse, being at that time a trader in ivory and skins at Alexandria, did foolishly abandon my wares in that city, and join the legion sent from Egypt to subdue the people of Shaba." He saw that the letters in the word "seventh," though writ in archaic Greek, bore the same space relation to the neighboring characters as did all others in the script. Reading on carefully until he came to the first leaf of the papyri in which the "Five Hills" were named, he observed Instantly that the word "pente," five, had its letters crowded together. Now the Greek for seven, _hepta_, has only four characters, the aspirate being marked over the initial vowel. This same crowding of "pente" was discernible each time it occurred in the text. It was a coincidence that was too intrusive. The obvious explanation was that "hepta" had been deleted and "pente" substituted in every instance, and the fraud had not been detected because the rest of the Greek writing was absolutely genuine. The hieroglyphs in cartouches, which von Kerber had admittedly tampered with, were beyond Royson's ken. He was so taken up with this confirmation of his views, and so eager to make clear the queer chance that led Abdur Kad'r to explain the name of the Well of Moses, that he was blind to the growing wrath in Mr. Fenshawe's face until he happened to catch the indignant note in the older man's voice as he bade a servant summon the sheikh. Then a single glance told him what he had done. The wounded vanity of the famous Egyptologist had risen in its might, and swept aside all other considerations. The man of wealth could permit his charitable instincts to govern the scorn evoked by the Austrian's petty tactics, but the outraged enthusiasm of the collector was a torrent that engulfed charity and expediency alike in its flood. Nothing short of the most painstaking personal examination of the oasis at the Well of Moses would now convince the millionaire that von Kerber had not tricked him at the eleventh hour.