“Besides,” said Rekh-marā, who had turned very white indeed under his natural brownness, “I was only going to say that though there isn’t any name under—”
“There is,” said the Psammead threateningly.
“Well, even if there wasn’t, I will be bound by the wordless oath of your strangely upright land, and having said that I will be your friend—I will be it.”
“Then that’s all right,” said the Psammead; “and there’s the tea-bell. What are you going to do with your distinguished partner? He can’t go down to tea like that, you know.”
“You see we can’t do anything till the 3rd of December,” said Anthea, “that’s when we are to find the whole charm. What can we do with Rekh-marā till then?”
“Box-room,” said Cyril briefly, “and smuggle up his meals. It will be rather fun.”
“Like a fleeing Cavalier concealed from exasperated Roundheads,” said Robert. “Yes.”
So Rekh-marā was taken up to the box-room and made as comfortable as possible in a snug nook between an old nursery fender and the wreck of a big four-poster. They gave him a big rag-bag to sit on, and an old, moth-eaten fur coat off the nail on the door to keep him warm. And when they had had their own tea they took him some. He did not like the tea at all, but he liked the bread and butter, and cake that went with it. They took it in turns to sit with him during the evening, and left him fairly happy and quite settled for the night.
But when they went up in the morning with a kipper, a quarter of which each of them had gone without at breakfast, Rekh-marā was gone! There was the cosy corner with the rag-bag, and the moth-eaten fur coat—but the cosy corner was empty.
“Good riddance!” was naturally the first delightful thought in each mind. The second was less pleasing, because everyone at once remembered that since his Amulet had been swallowed up by theirs—which hung once more round the neck of Jane—he could have no possible means of returning to his Egyptian past. Therefore he must be still in England, and probably somewhere quite near them, plotting mischief.