Kāra seemed surprised by the question, and considered carefully his reply.
“At times,” said he, “when our needs are greatest, my grandmother will produce an ancient coin of the reign of Hystaspes, which the sheik at Al-Kusiyeh readily changes into piasters, because they will give him a good premium on it at the museum in Cairo. Once, years ago, the sheik threatened Hatatcha unless she confessed where she had found these coins; but my grandmother called Set to her aid, and cast a spell upon the sheik, so that his camels died of rot and his children became blind. After that he let Hatatcha alone, but he was still glad to get her coins.”
“Where does she keep them?”
“It is her secret. When she was ill, a month ago, and lay like one dead, I searched everywhere for treasure and found it not. Perhaps she has exhausted her store.”
“Had she anything besides the coins?”
“Once a jewel, which she sent by Tadros, the dragoman, to exchange for English books in Cairo.”
“What became of the books?”
“After we had both read them they disappeared. I do not know what became of them.”
They had shifted their seats twice, because the shadow cast by the palms moved as the sun drew nearer to the horizon. Now the patches were long and narrow, and there was a cooler breath in the air.
The Englishman sat long silent, thinking intently. Kāra was placidly smoking his third cigarette.