room. Perhaps it would mean another lengthy oration by the bodiless Karamour. If so, I would doubtlessly meet my fellow prisoners. I longed to see Carol, to talk to her, to hear from her own lips that she was still unharmed.
Presently we were joined by the garrulous Zola. The sleek Frenchman, immaculate in white flannels, seemed in excellent spirits as he laughed and chatted with the guards and tribesmen. How I hated that cultured fiend!
At length his wandering gaze fell upon me, and with a loud exclamation of pleasure he strode quickly forward.
"Ah, Monsieur, but this is a surprize! A glorious treat for us undeserving mortals. As well as the leading sheiks and tribesmen, Monsieur Bryant honors us with his presence. He wishes to be a witness during the process of justice? Or can it be that he is a bit alarmed as to what fate might befall an accomplice of treachery?"
A disinterested yawn had no effect on the mock politeness.
"The brave Monsieur could hardly consider himself dealt with unfairly if a sentence of twenty lashes or the loss of one eye was inflicted on his own person. After all, his conduct on the Star of Egypt was hardly that which would cause his countrymen to cheer."
I looked squarely into the mocking face.
"Some day we are going to be alone," I told him softly. "Alone, where there will be no surrounding guards or swordsmen to put you at an advantage. We will then see if your conduct is such that it would cause cheers. Cheers, Doctor Zola—or will it be jeers?"
The booming crash of a giant gong cut short whatever retort he might have given. As though awaiting this deafening signal, the massive doors at the far end of the hall were suddenly flung open from within, and we were ushered into the great throneroom of Karamour.
On either side of the enormous chamber were long tiers of seats. Toward these we were motioned by the black doormen, to sit in a strained, silent suspense; and presently from a dark passageway beyond the throne, a tall figure emerged from the cavernous depths beneath the room.
As he came into the brilliant glare of the chandeliers, with a thrill of horror I recognized him. It was he—the dark cruel head that had talked from the great bowl—Karamour, the masterful Prince of Egypt!
Silently the inmates of the room stood at attention, while the athletic figure mounted the jewel-inlaid seat beneath the canopy.
"Followers of Karamour," he began, "you see before you the blood of the Oekheperkere, a survivor of that golden age that was Egypt's—the Eighteenth Dynasty. Surely the Gods in granting my rebirth have given sufficient proof that Osiris smiles on our plans of eternal supremacy for the earth's oldest civilization.
"This morning after the early sacrifices in the temple, as I stood on the high tower of Horus to greet the rising Ra, I was once more assured of the great cause. 'Destroy all others but the chosen,' whispered the desert winds. 'Slay if you must, but make Egypt supreme,' cooed a snow-white dove that descended from the blue. Surely this was the departed spirit of Den-Setual. And then, as I waited and thrilled at these heavenly omens, the flaming God himself wrote five golden words in the sky: 'For You An Eternal Kingdom.'"
The watching Arabs, impressed by the wild words, nodded in silent assent.
"Some six months ago you were summoned to this great fortress. At that time I knew the end of the great curse was at
