"That depends on what you call 'tormenting.' If I'm to be made a spoil-sport for Fenton and Miss Gilder, a kind of live scarecrow, I mean to get something out of it for myself."
There was no time for more. We had arrived at the foot of the long flight of stone steps which lead up to the rocky plateau of the Great Temple. In the east, a golden fire below the horizon was sending up premonitory flames, and the procession must bestir itself, or be too late. The whole object of arriving at this unearthly hour would be defeated, if, before the sun's forefinger touched the faces of the altar statues, we were not in the sanctuary. No time to study the features of the Colossi, or to search for the grave of Major Tidwell. These things must wait. The dark-faced guardian examined our tickets, and let us file through the rock-hewn doorway, whose iron grille he had just opened. As we passed into the cavernous hall of roughly carved Osiride columns, the huge figures attached to them loomed vaguely out of purple gloom. There was an impression of sculptured rock walls, with splashes of colour here and there; of columns in a chamber beyond, and still a third chamber, whence three rooms opened off, the side doorways mere blocks of ebony in the dimness. But already the sun's first ray groped for its goal, like the wandering finger of a blind man. We had only time to hurry through the faintly lit middle doorway, and plaster ourselves round the rock walls of the sanctuary, when the golden digit touched the altar and found the four sculptured forms above: Harmachis, Rameses, Amen and Ptah. Night lingered in the temple, a black, brooding vulture. But suddenly the bird's dark breast was struck by a golden bullet and from the wound a magic radiance grew. The effect, carefully calculated by priests and builders thousands of years ago, was as thrilling to-day as on the morning when the sun first poured gold upon the altar. The sightless faces of the statues were given eyes of an unearthly brilliance to stare into ours, and search our souls. But with most of the party, to be thrilled for a minute was enough. As the sun's finger began to move, they found it time to move also. There was the whole temple to be seen, and then the walk back to the boat before dressing for breakfast.
Soon Biddy and I had—or seemed to have—the sanctuary to ourselves. Even the sun's ray had left us, mounting higher and passing above the doorway of the inner shrine. The momentarily disturbed shadows folded round us again, with only a faint glimmer on the wall over the altar to show that day was born.
"Did you notice that Monny wasn't with the others?" asked Brigit, in a low voice. "She lingered behind, I think, and never came near us. I wasn't sure till I watched the rest filing out of this room. Then I saw she wasn't among them. Neither was Captain Fenton."
"If they're together, it's all right," I assured her.
"Yes, but are they? That affair of the typewritten note has worried me."
"You're very nervous, darling. But no wonder!"
"You mustn't call me 'darling.'"
"Why not? It's no worse than Duffer. I like your calling me that."
"I wonder if we ought to go, as she never came—or stay and wait?"