Not half an hour after the first word from Bronson, came another hurried note. An unexpected obstacle had cropped up. So confident had he and Mrs. Bronson been of their friends' cooperation, that rather than put such important matters on paper, they had waited to explain by word of mouth. The owner of the villa was a rich Syrian with a French-American wife. He was a Copt in religion, hating Mohammedanism in general and the father of Rechid Bey in particular. This had seemed to the American Consul a providential combination: but to his disgust he found that there had been a reconciliation between the families. Dimitrius Nekean would not betray the Bransons' confidence, but he could not allow his roof to be used as a shelter for Rechid's runaway wife—no, not even if Rechid had three other wives in his harem.
Here was a situation! And as Monny remarked, in neat American slang, we were "right up against it." She thought that, if Antoun and I "put our heads together," maybe we could think of "some way out." So we did, almost literally put our heads together across a table no bigger than a handkerchief, in my cabin: and decided that the visit to Rechid Bey's harem must be made by Brigit and Monny in the late afternoon. They must time their departure from the house at about the hour when the Set would arrive at the Temple of Mût. "Antoun" would be waiting for them, and they would drive in a closed arabeah to the temple, where Mr. and Mrs. Bronson would happen to be "sightseeing." If Mabella Hânem had been rescued, she would then be put in charge of the American Consul, whose very footprints created American soil around him as far as his shoes could reach. Rechid would be unlikely to search at the Temple of Mût, nor could he induce any Arab servant to accompany him there after sundown. We would escort Mabel and her two protectors to the town, and to the train for Cairo, Mr. Bronson promising to take the girl to Alexandria, whence she could sail for "home."
It was the best plan we could think of in the circumstances, and Monny approved it, though her patience was tried by having to wait through nearly all of another day. Mabel must have begun to believe that we had ignored her prayer and meant to do nothing. I argued that the girl would believe we were working for her in our own way. I said, too, that if Rechid were spying, his suspicions would be disarmed by seeing us go the ordinary round of tourists. Every one came to Luxor. We had come, leisurely, by river, and were sightseeing every moment. Even Bedr, if he were on the spot, intending to finish his revenge as neatly as it had been begun, could have noticed nothing suspicious in our actions. The mention of Bedr in this connection seemed to startle Biddy, and I was sorry I had let his name slip. But, as I had said, every one came to Luxor. Bedr had with apparent frankness explained that he was travelling up the Nile by rail with his two clients: and if that were true, he would arrive at all our destinations in advance of us. Probably it would depend on "the clients" whether they lingered at Luxor long enough for us to run across them again.
"What are you afraid of," I asked Biddy when I had a chance with her alone, "even if Bedr is a spy? Surely you kept your promise and left that chamois-skin bag in a Cairo bank?"
"It wasn't a promise," she reminded me. "I only said I'd think about it. Well, I did think about it, and I couldn't put it in a bank. I told you it was the sort of thing one doesn't put in banks."
"You didn't tell me what it was—I mean, what was in it besides money."
"No, I couldn't."
"Will you now?"
"Oh, no!"
"Well, then, will you give it to me to keep till we get back to Cairo?"