He told them to go—so they went! A change, this, for the Gilded Rose. She spoke at the moment like an obedient little girl.
"If he told you to go—it was all right, you may be sure," I said encouragingly. But despite my faith in Anthony as a fighting man, I felt—well, somewhat dismayed at the picture called up. "Rechid and anyhow three men!" It was rather a large order. If with a wish I could have sent every member of the Set back to their peaceful homes in England and America, and thus rid myself of them in a second, they would all have found themselves walking in at their respective front doors.
I wished this wish, but having a mere smoking candle in my hand, and not Aladdin's lamp, it didn't work. There they inconveniently remained in the Temple of Mût, looking twice as large as life.
"What if I tell them they've seen everything?" I muttered. "They haven't, but that's a detail. If I could rush 'em all back to the boat —and you with them, of course, and get Mabella Hânem and the Bronsons off safely, I could go look for Anth—for Antoun. Of course we were to wait for him, but I don't like the picture you've painted—"
"Oh, do look for him!" broke in Monny. "Leave us to take care of ourselves. I'm sure we can. There are enough of us. And Mr. Bronson is a Consul. Go and get the police."
"I can't leave you," I said. "Antoun would be the last one to forgive me if I did that. But I'll start off the party, now. The arabeahs and donkeys are waiting. Listen to the stentorian voice of the Conductor, announcing—"
I tried to speak gayly; but the announcement, which I opened my mouth to roar through the temple, was never made. There came instead, at that instant, a rival roar from outside. Mine would have been the roar of a sucking dove. This other was a wild bull roar of rage. What it was for, who was making it, and whether it concerned us, we did not know; but it was the sound of many voices, and flowing to us on the wind, driving nearer out of distance, it was startling and caused the heart to miss a beat.
Suddenly the thought sprang into my mind that this was like something in a theatre. We were on the stage, in a play of Ancient Egypt, and a mob of supers was yelling for our lives in the wings. They would pour out upon the stage and attack us. Only the hero and heroine would be saved. All the villains and other unnecessary people would be polished off.
Everybody had stopped talking. Involuntarily groups drew together. We looked over our smoking candles, past the standing statues and the fallen statues, away toward the columns of the temple entrance.
Mr. and Mrs. Bronson, and the girl in Biddy's veiled hood and cloak, walked across the court and joined our party of three. Neill Sheridan was at a distance. His prophetic soul told him nothing. "I hope that fellow Rechid Bey hasn't worked up any trouble against us," the American Consul from Asiut said in a low, somewhat worried tone.