He had dashed ahead, though we had had the start and were running fast. Rounding a group of statues, erect and fallen, I saw a candle-lantern on the floor, and knew that Monny—and perhaps Biddy—had not obediently followed the procession to the sanctuary, after all. They had waited to watch and listen, hiding behind the black statues of Sekhet, and men who had crept in by another way—doubtless by the small Ptolemaic gate opening on the lake—had taken them by surprise.
Anthony had got to the shadowy mass, which, moved like black, wind-blown clouds, vague and shapeless, before Bronson and I were near enough to distinguish one form from another. As for our eyes, his tall figure blended with the waving shadows; two revolver shots exploded with thunderous reverberations. We did not know if he, or another, had fired; but almost simultaneously with the second shot two black shapes separated themselves from the rest, fleeing into darkness. They took the way by which they must have come, the way leading toward the gate on the lake.
Three seconds later we were on the spot; and the only shadows left resolved themselves under my candle light into the forms of Brigit O'Neill, Monny Gilder, Anthony Fenton, and Mrs. East somewhat in the background.
Monny's hat was off, and Biddy's was apparently hanging by a hatpin. Their hair was in disorder, a rope of Biddy's falling over one shoulder, a shining braid of Monny's hanging down her back. Monny seemed to be more or less in the arms of Antoun, but only vaguely and by accident. Dimly I gathered that she had stumbled, and he had saved her from falling. Biddy was fastening up the front of her gray chiffon blouse, which was open, and torn. Her hands trembled and I could see that her breast rose and fell convulsively; for, though the light was dim, I was looking at her, while I merely glanced at the others. Mrs. East was crying. But Brigit and Monny had smiles for Bronson and me as we came blundering along, stumbling over unseen obstacles.
"Some one stole up behind with an electric torch, and tried to drag me away," said Monny, in a weak little voice, scarcely at all like her own. It sounded as if a ventriloquist were imitating her. "Some one called me Esmé O'Brien—whispered right in my ear. And I screamed, and fought, and Antoun came. I think then the man pushed me down as he ran away. Anyhow I fell, and Antoun picked me up. Oh, Biddy, are you safe? Why, your dress is torn!"
"Yes, but I'm safe," answered another small, weak voice. "I fought, too. I—I think they wanted to rob me. Thank goodness, I didn't have it on."
"The bag, dearest?"
"Yes, darling, the bag. I thought I wouldn't wear it to-day."
Out in the night the yells had subsided since the Hadji's harangue, if not wholly because of it.
"The police have come," said Anthony. "It occurred to me that Rechid and some friends of his were cooking up a plan, and while I was getting into my clothes in the village it jumped into my head what it might be. So on my way out to the temple I stopped and left a warning. We're all right now. And I don't think the Arab lot would have dared venture in anyhow. These chaps who sneaked in at the back and attacked the ladies were dressed like the rest, but I doubt they were Arabs."