She was just putting on the night robe that had been left for her when her father entered the chateau.
“Have a good time?” he asked.
“Best ever.”
“That’s splendid! I wish you were to be here a week.”
“I don’t,” was the quick reply. “I love duty, and, I’m ashamed to say it, danger. But, Dad, I don’t see this papyrus business. Why should I take that roll to America?”
“Why shouldn’t you?”
“It might be dangerous.”
“There’s scarcely a chance. In the first place, I know that Arab. He seems an honorable old man. In the second, I shall place your overnight bag in your plane the moment before you start—”
“And the roll will be in that bag?”
“Exactly. Once you are in the air, the roll cannot possibly get you into trouble. When you arrive at your destination there is not a chance in a thousand that anyone there will know about that papyrus—or any papyrus, for that matter.