“And you’ve made out many an Egyptian hieroglyphic in your time.”
“Yes, and I hope to find out more,” said the professor.
“And will,” cried Frank.
“But,” said the doctor, “you are forbidden to go up the country—by the English and Egyptian authorities; and the Soudan is in the power of a savage and cruel impostor, who vows death to the white. How are you going up there to use those files?”
“Hah!” said the professor gravely; “whenever I have a difficult problem to solve I always put on my old red fez and have a thorough good think, and then the way seems to come.”
“Yes,” said the doctor, while Frank listened eagerly to what was said, “but—”
“Yes, but—” said the professor, taking him up sharply. “We’ve got our news, thank Heaven! and that’s enough for to-night.”
“And you can’t put on your old red fez,” said Frank, “because—”
“Exactly,” said the professor; “because it is at my rooms in Fountain Court.”