Before I could inquire who the person might be whom he was expecting, the man I have just described had reached the deck, and, after looking about him, approached the spot where Pharos was standing. Accustomed as I was to the deference shown by the Arabs toward their superiors, I was far from expecting the exhibition of servility I now beheld. So overpowered was the new-comer by the reverence he felt for Pharos that he could scarcely stand upright.
"I expected thee, Salem Awad," said Pharos, in Arabic. "What tidings dost thou bring?"
"I come to tell thee," the man replied, "that he whom thou didst order to be here has heard of thy coming, and will await thee at the place of which thou hast spoken."
"It is well," continued Pharos. "Has all of which I wrote to thee been prepared?"
"All has been prepared and awaits thy coming."
"Return then and tell him who sent thee to me that I will be with him before he sleeps to-night."
The man bowed once more and made his way to his boat, in which he departed for the bank.
When he had gone, Pharos turned to me.
"We are expected," he said, "and, as you heard him say, preparations have been made to enable us to carry out the work we have come to do. After all his journeying Ptahmes has at last returned to the city of his birth and death. It is a strange thought, is it not? Look about you, Mr. Forrester, and see the mightiest ruins the world has known. Yonder is the Temple of Luxor, away to the north you can see the remains of the Temple of Ammon at Karnak; five thousand years ago they were connected by a mighty road. Yonder is the Necropolis of Thebes, with the tombs that once contained the mortal remains of the mighty ones of Egypt. Where are those mighty ones now? Scattered to the uttermost parts of the earth, stolen from their resting-places to adorn glass cases in European and American museums, and to be sold at auction by Jew salesmen at so much per head, the prices varying according to their dates and state of preservation. But there, time is too short to talk of such indignity. The gods will avenge it in their own good time. Let it suffice that to-night we are to fulfil our errand. Am I right in presuming that you desire to accompany me?"
"I should be sincerely disappointed if I could not do so," I answered. "But if you would prefer to go alone I will not force my presence upon you."