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poisoned our camels. This time--" "Professor!" Nefret jumped to her feet. "Excuse me. But could we, for once, stick to the point instead of arguing? Aunt Amelia has asked a sensible question. Merasen--what is the danger that threatens Tarek?" "It is a strange sickness. Not one of our priests can cure it. It comes and goes away, and each time it leaves the sick one weaker. Two times Tarek has fallen ill. He is a strong man and it will take long to kill him, but now the child is sick too. He is Tarek's heir, his only true son. It is for him Tarek sends to you." "Good Lord," Nefret gasped. "The little boy can't be more than ten years old. We must go, of course." "Let's hear a little more about this," Ramses said coolly. "How long has it been since you left the Holy Mountain? Surely you did not cross the desert in the heat of summer." I understood what he was getting at. The journey must have taken weeks, if not months. It might be too late for Tarek and his child. Nefret understood too. Her face paled. "What difference does it make?" she asked passionately. "There is a chance we might be in time, a chance we must--" "I am not denying your premise." Ramses's voice was like icy sleet on flame. "But we need to learn all we can before we decide what to do. Tell us about your journey, Merasen." It was a riveting narrative, for the boy spoke with considerable eloquence. He had left the Holy Mountain in the season of Peret-- winter--with only six companions. It was a small force to face the peril of the desert, but no more could be spared, for they went in secret, braving the old law of the Holy Mountain that forbade contact with the outside world on pain of death. The others were members of the royal bodyguard, strong men, armed with swords and bows. They had been on their way for several days when they met the caravan--thirty men and as many camels, driving a forlorn line of bound captives. Slavery had been officially abolished and the trade vigorously suppressed--to the credit of Britain let it be said! But as we all knew, the caravans still crossed the desert with their miserable human cargo, bound for the slave markets of Khartoum and Wadi Haifa and the Egyptian oases. The villains knew that if they were caught it would go hard with them. They had immediately fired upon the small band of strangers. "The others they killed," the boy said calmly, "but me they took alive." Yes, I thought sickly, they would. Most of the slaves were women and children and youths of both sexes. He was a handsome boy, and well-made. The older men would not bring so high a price, and they might be dangerous to their captors. So was Merasen, as they were to learn. When they searched his camel bags they found the rings of gold Tarek had given him to pay his way to England, and beat him to make him tell where he had gotten them. Though injured and frightened, he had wits enough to invent a convincing lie. He and his companions were treasure hunters, looters of ancient tombs. They had found this cache in a crumbling ruin far to the south, but there was nothing else there, they had taken it all. So the slavers left off beating him for fear of spoiling the youthful good looks that would bring a high price in the market, and ordered one of the women in the caravan to tend his wounds. He pretended weakness and meekness, biding his time until his wounds had healed and he had learned enough of their whereabouts and their destination to make escape feasible. The woman knew a little English and helped him to learn some Arabic. It was she who told him of the soldiers of England who fought the slavers and of the town on the Great River where they were stationed. By one means or another (and I thought I could guess one of those means), he persuaded her to help him get away, promising that if he found the soldiers he would guide them back and win freedom for her and the others. She passed on to himall she could learn from those who knew something of the region; and on a