ever given her. And we smoked for a while in that silence which is better than speech; then:
“I saw something queer,” said Rima suddenly, “while you were away with Mr. Weymouth. Are you too weary—or do you want me to tell you?”
Her tone was peculiar, and:
“Yes—tell me what you saw,” I replied, looking into her eyes.
“Well,” she went on, “Captain Hunter came along after you had gone. Naturally, he was as restless as any of us. And after a while— leaving the hut door open, of course—I went and stood outside to see if there was any sign of your return…”
She spoke with unwonted rapidity and I could see that in some way she had grown more agitated. Of course I had to allow for the dreadful suspense she was suffering.
“You know the path, at the back of the small hut,” she continued, “which leads up to the plateau.”
“The path to Lafleur’s Shaft?”
Rima nodded.
“Well, I saw a woman—at least, it looked like a woman—walking very quickly across the top! She was just an outline against the sky, and I’m not positive about it at all. Besides, I only saw her for a moment. But I can’t possibly have been dreaming, can I? What I wondered, and what I’ve been wondering ever since is: What native woman—she looked like a native woman—would be up there at this time of night?”
She was sitting at my feet now, her arm resting on my knees. She looked up at me appealingly.
“What are you really thinking?” I asked.
“I’m thinking about that photograph!” she confessed. “I believe it was—Madame Ingomar! And, Shan, that woman terrifies me! I begged Uncle not to allow her to come here—and he just laughed at me! I don’t know why he couldn’t see it… but she is dreadfully evil! I have caught her watching you, when you didn’t know, in a way…”
I bent down and rested my head against her tangled curls.
“Well?” I said, my arm about her shoulders.
“I thought you… found her attractive. Don’t get mad. But I knew, I knew, Shan, that she was dangerous. She affects me in the same way as a snake. She has some uncanny power…”
“Irish colleens are superstitious,” I whispered.
“They may be. But they are often wise as well. Some women, Shan—bad women—are witches.”
“You’re right, darling. And it was almost certainly Madame Ingomar that you saw!”
“Why do you say so?”
Then I told her what had happened in the tomb, and, when I had finished:
“Just as she disappeared,” Rima said, “I heard footsteps—quick, padding footsteps—on the other side of the wâdi. I called out to Dr. Petrie, but the sound had died away… I’d had one glimpse of him, though—a man running.”
“Did you recognize him?”
“Yes.”
Rima looked up at me reflectively, and:
“Do you remember an Arab who came into camp some days ago and insisted that he must see Uncle?”
I nodded.
“I think I know the man you mean—the chief asked me to find out what he wanted?”
“Yes.”
“A gaunt-faced fellow—steely piercing eyes? Spoke very queer Arabic and denied all knowledge of English. Told me quite bluntly he had nothing whatever to say to me, but must see Sir Lionel. I finally told him to go to the devil. Why, good heavens, Rima… that was the evening before the tragedy!”
“Well,” said Rima in a very low voice, “this was the man I saw running along the ridge tonight!”
“I don’t like the sound of it,” I admitted. “We have trouble enough already. Did he see you?”
“He couldn’t have done. Besides, he was running at tremendous speed.”
Even as she spoke the words, my heart seemed to miss a beat. I sprang up. Rima clutched me, her beautiful eyes widely opened.
Racing footsteps were approaching the tent!
I didn’t know what to expect. My imagination was numb. But when the flap was dragged aside and Ali Mahmoud unceremoniously burst in, I was past reprimand, past any comment whatever.
“Effendim! Effendim! Quick, please. They
“I saw something queer,” said Rima suddenly, “while you were away with Mr. Weymouth. Are you too weary—or do you want me to tell you?”
Her tone was peculiar, and:
“Yes—tell me what you saw,” I replied, looking into her eyes.
“Well,” she went on, “Captain Hunter came along after you had gone. Naturally, he was as restless as any of us. And after a while— leaving the hut door open, of course—I went and stood outside to see if there was any sign of your return…”
She spoke with unwonted rapidity and I could see that in some way she had grown more agitated. Of course I had to allow for the dreadful suspense she was suffering.
“You know the path, at the back of the small hut,” she continued, “which leads up to the plateau.”
“The path to Lafleur’s Shaft?”
Rima nodded.
“Well, I saw a woman—at least, it looked like a woman—walking very quickly across the top! She was just an outline against the sky, and I’m not positive about it at all. Besides, I only saw her for a moment. But I can’t possibly have been dreaming, can I? What I wondered, and what I’ve been wondering ever since is: What native woman—she looked like a native woman—would be up there at this time of night?”
She was sitting at my feet now, her arm resting on my knees. She looked up at me appealingly.
“What are you really thinking?” I asked.
“I’m thinking about that photograph!” she confessed. “I believe it was—Madame Ingomar! And, Shan, that woman terrifies me! I begged Uncle not to allow her to come here—and he just laughed at me! I don’t know why he couldn’t see it… but she is dreadfully evil! I have caught her watching you, when you didn’t know, in a way…”
I bent down and rested my head against her tangled curls.
“Well?” I said, my arm about her shoulders.
“I thought you… found her attractive. Don’t get mad. But I knew, I knew, Shan, that she was dangerous. She affects me in the same way as a snake. She has some uncanny power…”
“Irish colleens are superstitious,” I whispered.
“They may be. But they are often wise as well. Some women, Shan—bad women—are witches.”
“You’re right, darling. And it was almost certainly Madame Ingomar that you saw!”
“Why do you say so?”
Then I told her what had happened in the tomb, and, when I had finished:
“Just as she disappeared,” Rima said, “I heard footsteps—quick, padding footsteps—on the other side of the wâdi. I called out to Dr. Petrie, but the sound had died away… I’d had one glimpse of him, though—a man running.”
“Did you recognize him?”
“Yes.”
Rima looked up at me reflectively, and:
“Do you remember an Arab who came into camp some days ago and insisted that he must see Uncle?”
I nodded.
“I think I know the man you mean—the chief asked me to find out what he wanted?”
“Yes.”
“A gaunt-faced fellow—steely piercing eyes? Spoke very queer Arabic and denied all knowledge of English. Told me quite bluntly he had nothing whatever to say to me, but must see Sir Lionel. I finally told him to go to the devil. Why, good heavens, Rima… that was the evening before the tragedy!”
“Well,” said Rima in a very low voice, “this was the man I saw running along the ridge tonight!”
“I don’t like the sound of it,” I admitted. “We have trouble enough already. Did he see you?”
“He couldn’t have done. Besides, he was running at tremendous speed.”
Even as she spoke the words, my heart seemed to miss a beat. I sprang up. Rima clutched me, her beautiful eyes widely opened.
Racing footsteps were approaching the tent!
I didn’t know what to expect. My imagination was numb. But when the flap was dragged aside and Ali Mahmoud unceremoniously burst in, I was past reprimand, past any comment whatever.
“Effendim! Effendim! Quick, please. They
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