Khamsin--the hot wind from the desert--had been blowing several weeks now, and as Ferris said, it was hard to bear. It was oppressive and unhealthy in the extreme, and every one began to chafe at the delay. The sweltering days and nights made them hot and impatient, but until now no one had spoken out his discontent. The chief laughed good-naturedly at the complaint of Ferris. “You are right, Ferris. The Khamsin is hard to bear,” he said. “One seems to scorch and shrivel in the intense heat. I cannot imagine what detains John Armstrong so long. We expected he would have joined us several weeks ago. If he does not put in an appearance by to-morrow, I think we shall have to give him up and cut the country as you say. We cannot remain but a short while longer any-way, for it will soon be the season for the annual inundation of the country by the over-flow of the Nile.” “You cannot get away too soon to please me!” growled Ferris. And the good-natured Wilson said again, “We will wait until to-morrow anyway,” and dropped the subject. It was late when they retired that night, and before any one had closed his eyes in sleep a piercing cry of horror startled the camp. In an instant every man had sprung from his rude camp-bed to the ground. “What is it?” they began to exclaim, and some one answered, quickly: “It was Strangemore that shouted. Let us see what ails him.” Pale as a ghost and shivering with horror, Talbot was standing by his couch holding one end of the coverlet clutched in his hand. He turned his burning eyes upon them. “There was an asp in my bed--see!” he said, hoarsely. And there, sure enough, upon the white bed lay the famed serpent that brought welcome death to beauteous, conquered Cleopatra--but this one was dead--slain in all its deadly power by a heavy blunt instrument that Talbot still held mechanically in his hand. “Great God, how did it come there?” Wilson cried, excitedly, and then he suddenly saw a small, strong wooden box protruding from the pillow. He snatched it hurriedly out. “Why this is my own box,” he said. “The box where I had placed a specimen of the deadly asp, _naya haye_, in order to take it to a museum in England. It is empty. A hole has been drilled in the side and lightly covered with thin pasteboard through which the serpent has made its way. Great heavens, it looks like a premeditated deed! What does it mean, Strangemore?” “Some one has tried to kill me,” Talbot answered, hoarsely. “When I threw back the cover the asp lay coiled in my bed. Fortunately the moonlight was so clear and brilliant that I distinguished the horrible serpent and quickly snatched up this heavy bolt and dispatched him.” He was shuddering with horror. The shock to his nerves had been great, and his eyes gleamed wildly out of his marble white features as he looked around upon their horror-struck faces. He saw that only one was missing. Suddenly Wilson exclaimed: