Having dictated this letter, and added the usual Arabic salutations, he signed it, and then, full of a fresh enthusiasm, he went off to mid-day prayers in the mosque, where with greater fervour than before he delivered his new message about the coming of the end. Helena was now alone, for the Dinka had gone in with Abdullah to eat and to rest. The signed letter lay before her, and she knew that her time had come. In great haste she made a copy of the letter, and without waiting to think what she was doing she added Ishmael’s name to it. Then, hiding the original in her bosom, she called for the Dinka, gave him the copy, and hurried him off to the train, which was leaving immediately. After that, with a sense of mingled shame and triumph, she wrote to the Consul-General. Her excitement was so great that she could hardly hold the pen or frame coherent sentences. This was what she wrote:— "DEAR LORD NUNEHAM.—You will remember that in the letter I wrote to you before I left Cairo I told you that I should write again, and that when I wrote, your enemy and mine and Gordon’s as well as England’s and Egypt’s would be in your hands. "I am now fulfilling my promise, and you shall judge for yourself whether I am justifying my word. Ishmael Ameer, at the instigation of the Ulema, is about to return to Cairo. His object is to organise a mutiny among the soldiers of the Egyptian army, so that a vast multitude of his followers, coming behind him, may take possession of the city. "This is to be done during the forthcoming festivities, and it is to reach its climax on the night of the King’s Birthday. Proof enclosed. It is the original of a letter to the Chancellor of El Azhar, a copy having been sent instead. "Ishmael will travel by train—probably within a week—and he will wear the disguise of a Bedouin Sheikh. I leave you to wait and watch for him. "Did I not say I was not idly boasting? In haste,— "HELENA GRAVES. "_P.S._—I send this by my boy Mosie. Please keep him in Cairo until you hear from me again." When she had finished her letter she paused for a moment and looked fixedly before her. Although she said nothing her lips moved as if she were interrogating the empty air. She was asking herself again, "Am I cruel and revengeful and vindictive?" And she was replying to herself as she had replied before: "If so, I cannot help it. I have lost my father and I have lost Gordon and I am alone and my heart is torn." Strengthened by this thought she took Ishmael’s letter from her bosom and folded it inside her own. But while she was in the act of putting both into an envelope she paused again, for a new and more startling memory had flashed upon her. It was the memory of the marks upon her father’s throat, and of the missing finger-print which had somehow formed so fatal an evidence of Ishmael’s guilt.