a hunt for some traces of Amenhotep and Araxes."

He strolled down the terrace, and Lady Chetwynd Lyle, turning her
back on "old" Lady Fulkeward, went after her "girls," while the
fascinating Fulkeward herself continued to recline comfortably in
her chair, and presently smiled a welcome on a youngish-looking
man with a fair moustache who came forward and sat down beside
her, talking to her in low, tender and confidential tones. He was
the very impecunious colonel of one of the regiments then
stationed in Cairo, and as he never wasted time on sentiment, he
had been lately thinking that a marriage with a widowed peeress
who had twenty thousand pounds a year in her own right might not
be a "half bad" arrangement for him. So he determined to do the
agreeable, and as he was a perfect adept in the art of making love
without feeling it, he got on very well, and his prospects
brightened steadily hour by hour.

Meanwhile young Fulkeward was escorting Armand Gervase through
several narrow by-streets, talking to him as well as he knew how
and trying in his feeble way to "draw him out," in which task he
met with but indifferent success.

"It must be awfully jolly and--er--all that sort of thing to be so
famous," he observed, glancing up at the strong, dark, brooding
face above him. "They had a picture of yours over in London once;
I went to see it with my mother. It was called 'Le Poignard,' do
you remember it?"

Gervase shrugged his shoulders carelessly.