A palace attendant approached across the paved roof and bent before the
scribe.

"A summons from the Son of Ptah, my Lord," he said.

"At this hour?" Hotep said in some surprise as he arose. "I shall return
immediately," he told Kenkenes.

"Nay," the sculptor observed, "my time is nearly gone. Let me depart
now."

"Not so. I would go with thee. This will be no more than a note. If it
be more I shall put mine underlings to the task."

He disappeared in the dark. Kenkenes lay back on the divan and thought
on the many things that the scribe had told him. But chiefly he pondered
on Har-hat and the Israelite.

When Hotep returned he carried his cowl and mantle, and a scroll. "I
too, am become a messenger," he said, "but I am self-appointed. This
note was to go by a palace courier, but I relieved him of the task."

The pair made ready and departed through the still populous streets of
Thebes to the Nile. There they were ferried over to the wharves of Luxor.

At the temple the porter conducted them into the chamber in which the
ancient prelate spent his shortening hours of labor. He was there now,
at his table, and greeted the young men with a nod. But taking a second
look at Hotep, he beckoned him with a shaking finger.