He would have doubted still more, if he had known all that I knew. But the one secret I'd kept from him was Biddy's secret. The words "Esmé O'Brien" whispered to Monny, as yet meant nothing save bewilderment to Fenton.
"The fifteen minutes are up, and no signal yet for your famous surprise," called out Sir John Biddell's complaining voice, from the end of a dark passage. "Has anything gone wrong?"
"Oh, I was going to give you a Bengal fire illumination of the temple, for a climax," I explained, coming suavely forward to meet him with my candle. "But the beastly stuff—er—sort of went off by itself, and it's all used up. I was—er—just going to call you."
"Well, not much harm done," said Sir John. "We've seen the sanctuary, such as it is. A little disappointing, perhaps, especially as Mr. Sheridan found a friend with Mrs. Bronson, the Consul's wife, and preferred talking with her to giving out information to us, from his stores of knowledge. But luckily not more than twenty minutes wasted. By the way, what's become of the row outside? Seems to have fizzled down while we were away, like your red fire."
"Yes, a great man of some sort was addressing the crowd. But the police came along and made it move on. There's been a bit of native grumbling in these Nile towns lately—you may have read some paragraph about it in the Cairo papers? So the police are rather quick to break up meetings."
"Why should men meet near the Temple of Mût?" inquired Sir John. "I shouldn't think of doing it."
"Perhaps in the beginning they hoped to get something out of the Europeans," said I lightly. "But they've given that up, evidently."
"I hope they haven't seduced our donkey-boys and arabeah drivers!" exclaimed Sir John. "I'm hungry. And I'm in a hurry to get home."
"Not they. Donkey-boys and arabeah-men aren't easily seduced when there's a question of baksheesh. They're all right! I'm only sorry about the Bengal fire."
"Well, it was a good idea, anyhow," Sir John patronized me.