he might hope to have given him!

Yet never, from the day when Heraklas spied Athribis watching the
reading of the roll, had the slave, with all his contriving, been
able again to catch sight of the papyrus. It was no longer kept in
its secret hole behind the bricks. Athribis had looked.

Where else had he not looked? He had hunted the house through as
thoroughly as he had been able, snatching a hasty opportunity here
and there. If only he could lay hands on that very papyrus! If he
could have time to show it to somebody who could read! Deeply had
Athribis regretted that he had not been more cautious in his first
spying. But now, what hope was there? Athribis had set some of the
other slaves of the house to watch, but they had discovered nothing
save the old papyri that bad been in the house for years. Some of
the slaves could read, and they were sure this was so.

Out on the docks, Athribis stared now at the large mast of the ship,
and at the ship's painted eye, and at the sculptured figure of the
goddess Isis on the visible side of the ship's bow, both eye and
figure, as Athribis knew, being duplicated on the bow's other side.
A small boat belonging to the large ship lay floating in the water,
but connected with the ship by a rope.

Athribis dared not tarry longer. He hastened home again.

Closer than ever, as he went his morning round of duties, did
Athribis watch, but Heraklas was invisible.

"He is not at home. He went away three hours ago," cautiously