Sir Robert interrupted me. "My daughter—Dr. Pinsent," he drawled in slow, passionless tones. "My daughter does not require any refreshment, thank you, Doctor."
"I am too excited," said a singularly sweet voice. "Father's discovery has put me into a fever. I really could not eat, and coffee would choke me. But if you could give me a little water."
I rushed into my tent and returned with a brimming metal cup. "The Arabs have broken all my glass ware," I said apologetically.
She lifted her veil and our eyes met. She was lovely. She smiled and showed a set of dazzling teeth. The incisors were inlaid with gold. I remarked the fact in a sort of self-defensive panic, for the truth is I am a shy idiot with pretty women. Thank goodness she was thirsty and did not notice my confusion. Two minutes afterwards I was mounted on my donkey, and we were off on the long tramp to the Hill of Rakh, the Arabs trailing behind us in a thin ill-humoured line. We maintained the silence of bad temper and excessive heat until the sun sank into the sand. Then, however, we wiped our foreheads, said a cheerful good-bye to the flies that had been tormenting us, and woke up.
"I am immensely obliged to you, Dr. Pinsent," said Sir Robert.
"So am I," said Miss Ottley.
"The boot is on the other foot," I replied. "It's kind of you to permit me to be present at your triumph. Is it a king?"
"No," said Miss Ottley, "a priest of Amen of the eighteenth dynasty."
"Oh, a priest."
Miss Ottley bridled at my tone. "No king was ever half as interesting as our priest," she declared. "He was a wonderful man in every way, a prophet, a magician, and enormously powerful. Besides, he is believed to have committed suicide for the sake of principle, and he predicted his own resurrection after a sleep of two thousand years."