take them with us. I certainly cannot leave without them."
"Sh—not so loud, not so loud!" he hissed. "You do not realize your danger. Spies are everywhere. No, we cannot take them—the risk is too great. You must come alone. Besides—well, perhaps they would not care to come with us anyway."
An unaccountable chill of horror swept over me at his words.
"What do you mean?" I whispered, turning quickly toward him. "They have not been harmed? They are still alive?"
The bearded Russian stared stupidly at me.
"Answer me!" I shouted, an awful fear rising at his silence. "What has been done to them? Are they alive?"
The man raised his hands in a frightened, imploring manner.
"For God's sake, Monsieur, be quiet!" he sobbed. "He will have us thrown into the pit! Oh, you do not know him. Yes, yes, your friends are alive. They are still alive, but" The sudden appearance of a descending black cut short his words.
The fellow's approach had been noiseless. A short, sickly-looking, repulsively ugly figure, his bloodshot eyes looked suspiciously at our startled faces.
"The great Pharaoh has commanded that I conduct the prisoner to his quarters, Captain Barakoff," he whined in a shrill voice, "and for you to report to him at once."
The Russian gave a feeble smile.
"Of course, Usanti," he faltered. "We—I—we were just leaving. Yes, of course. Come, Bryant."
As we mounted the steps, the eyes of Barakoff signaled a swift warning of silence. The man's fear of discovery was almost pathetic in his struggling efforts for a bearing of indifference. For my part, I said nothing, but that our planning had entirely escaped the ears of the black, I was doubtful.
On reaching the great corridors above, the Russian walked briskly toward the distant hail of pillars; while I, following the tiny black, was led once more to my allotted room.
13. I Talk with Atma
Standing on the tiny balcony that led from my luxurious chamber, I could look far over the terrace below where stood the swarthy raiders of Karamour. Numerous white-robed Arabs, standing singly or in small groups, smoked their strong tobacco as they talked in the lonely gardens. Intermingled with the chatting guests were several Negro slaves, their naked black bodies a strong contrast to the snowy garments of the idlers, who silently served in tiny cups the thick, hot coffee so loved by the dark sons of the desert.
A little apart from the general group, three old sheiks looked attentively at a tall, richly robed man, whose ringing voice and imperative gestures showed him to be one of importance. Far below, in the lazy sea, the Star of Egypt appeared as a white dot on a world of blue.
What purpose could have brought the war-like horde to this fair Eden? The care-free laughter and friendly manner of the blacks showed that the castle had not succumbed to attack. I had heard no shouts of conflict, nor did the giant soldiery of the throneroom issue forth to repel the invaders. Plainly they were allies and followers of the bodiless ruler.
As I stood watching the shouting horde of muscular nomads, a dull, familiar noise sounded far to the north. High in the lonely Sahara sky floated the dark outline of a tiny airplane, moaning dismally. Nearer and nearer it came, till directly over the castle it circled the giant for-
