“Oh, nothing! But the Princess Ziska spoke of him as a great warrior in the days of Amenhotep,—and she seems to be a great Egyptologist, and to know many things of which we are ignorant. Then you know last night she adopted the costume of a dancer of that period, named Ziska-Charmazel. Well, now it appears that in one part of this fresco the scene depicted is this very Ziska-Charmazel dancing before Araxes.”
Gervase listened with strained attention,—his heart beat thickly, as though the Doctor were telling him of some horrible circumstance in which he had an active part; whereas he had truly no interest at all in the matter, except in so far as events of history are more or less interesting to everyone.
“Well?” he said after a pause.
“Well,” echoed Dr. Dean. “There is really nothing more to say beyond that I want to find out everything I can concerning this Araxes, if only for the reason that the charming Princess chose to impersonate his lady-love last night. One must amuse one’s self in one’s own fashion, even in Egypt, and this amuses me.”
Gervase rose, feeling in his pocket for his cigarette-case.
“Come,” he said briefly, “I will show you my picture.”
He straightened his tall, fine figure and walked slowly across the room to the table where Denzil Murray sat with his sister and friends.
“Denzil,” he said,—“I have made a strange portrait of the Princess Ziska, and I’m going to show it to Dr. Dean. I should like you to see it too. Will you come?”
Denzil looked at him with a dark reproach in his eyes.
“If you like,” he answered shortly.