“Confederates!” said a man in the row behind. “Now they go round to the back and take part in the next scene.”
“I wish we did,” said Robert.
“Confederate yourself!” said Cyril. And so they got away, the audience applauding to the last.
In the vestibule of St George’s Hall they disguised Rekh-marā as well as they could, but even with Robert’s hat and Cyril’s Inverness cape he was too striking a figure for foot-exercise in the London streets. It had to be a cab, and it took the last, least money of all of them. They stopped the cab a few doors from home, and then the girls went in and engaged old Nurse’s attention by an account of the conjuring and a fervent entreaty for dripping-toast with their tea, leaving the front door open so that while Nurse was talking to them the boys could creep quietly in with Rekh-marā and smuggle him, unseen, up the stairs into their bedroom.
When the girls came up they found the Egyptian Priest sitting on the side of Cyril’s bed, his hands on his knees, looking like a statue of a king.
“Come on,” said Cyril impatiently. “He won’t begin till we’re all here. And shut the door, can’t you?”
When the door was shut the Egyptian said—
“My interests and yours are one.”
“Very interesting,” said Cyril, “and it’ll be a jolly sight more interesting if you keep following us about in a decent country with no more clothes on than that!”
“Peace,” said the Priest. “What is this country? and what is this time?”