To assure herself of her complete confidence in the arguments which she
had used to Freddy and of her own heart's happiness, as a thing widely
apart from her anxiety, Margaret dressed herself in her most becoming
frock that same evening for her first appearance at the hotel _table
d'hôte_. She sat at a little table by herself, in the enormous
dining-room. The season was far advanced; the tourists in Egypt had
all returned to Cairo, there to disperse to their various countries.
There were many fair and attractive women in the room, of widely varied
types--Americans, Austrians and English: that was how they took their
place in the scale of beauty in Margaret's opinion. Amongst them all
there was perhaps no one who was more commented upon and admired than
herself. Sitting by herself, for one thing, provoked curiosity, while
for another her claim to good looks had the high quality of
distinguished individuality; in an assembly of well-dressed women of
the world, Margaret, like Hadassah, could never be overlooked.
She had been out of the world of fashion and frivolity for so long that
the gay scene interested her and made it easy for her to temporarily
put aside her troubles. She had lived in the Valley, studying the
lives and customs of lost civilizations until they had become a part of
her own life. Now she found it amusing to be back again amongst the
men and women of to-day, people who were, as she reminded herself, in
their own little way creating history. They were as typical of the
world's evolution in the twentieth century as the Pharaohs in their
tombs and the painted figures of men and women and dancing girls on the
temple and tomb-walls were typical of the world's evolution three
thousand years ago.
After dinner she drank her coffee in the fine lounge of the hotel,
under tall palm-trees, while a Hungarian band played music which
stirred her blood and pulses. It made her feel very much alone and a
little desolate. She had been happier before the music began; it made
calls upon her heart, it gave re-birth to a thousand wants. Her sense
of loneliness increased as she watched more than one pair of lovers
gradually drift off and settle themselves down somewhere out of sight.
She heard one radiant couple making arrangements for going to see the
Pyramids by moonlight.
She had never seen the Pyramids or the Sphinx. Perhaps when she was
staying with the Iretons, they would take her to see them. She had
certainly no desire to make the excursion alone.
As she thought of the Pyramids, and Mike's association with them, a
wave of hate and rage spread over Margaret like a blush. She wondered
if any of the curious eyes of the tourists had noticed it; she had been
conscious of being freely criticized all the evening. She looked about
her quickly. The place had become almost devoid of young people; only
some elderly men and women were left, reclining in big chairs. With
the absence of youth, Margaret's spirits sank very low; it was not
bracing to her strained nerves and lonely condition to sit with the
elderly invalids and watch them passing the time away in a semi-dozing
condition until it was the recognized hour for going to bed.
To be true to Michael she must not allow herself to grow despondent.
Hadassah Ireton had gone through far greater trials and suffering than
she was facing, and what had been her reward? Margaret visualized her
married life, her expression of happiness as she greeted her, her pride
in the small son who was toddling at her side. It was a condition of
life well worth suffering and waiting for.
When the clock struck ten, Margaret rose from her retired seat. She
felt justified in going early to bed after such a long and trying day.
There was nothing better to do. As she entered the lift which was to
take her up to her floor, she suddenly found herself face to face with
Millicent Mervill.
She was so wholly unprepared for the meeting that she never afterwards
was able to understand why she did not lose her presence of mind. It
is on such occasions that the metal we are made of is put to the test.
The two women faced each other in silence. The next moment the lift
went swiftly up, and as it went, Margaret had but one clear
thought--that she would stop at the first floor and get out; she could
walk up the remaining flight of stairs. The next second she realized
that that would be a foolish and weak thing to do. It was her duty to
speak to Millicent and learn the cause of the scandal from her own
lips. She owed it to Michael. She must do the one thing which she
could to clear his name of the dishonour of which Freddy accused him.
Millicent was getting out at the first landing. The lift shot up so
quickly that the silence between them had been of the briefest.
Margaret left the lift at the same moment and again the two women stood
facing one another, as the gate closed behind them and the lift began
its downward journey.
"Good evening," Millicent said gaily. "I never expected to have the
pleasure of seeing you in Cairo." A smile which might have hidden any
meaning lit up her eyes and showed the perfection of her mouth and
teeth. But even at that critical moment, Margaret was conscious that
her beauty had lost something of its radiance. Had her youth, which
had seemed eternal, vanished at last? Had it left her as rats leave a
sinking ship? Had the gods recalled what had already tarried too long?
"Good-evening," was all that Margaret managed to say. Her heart was
floundering in a sea of anger; her mind was struggling for wise words,
words which would drag the truth from the pretty lips, playing over
still prettier teeth. She was determined not to let the opportunity
slip.
But Millicent was too quick. She left Margaret no chance to take the
lead in the conversation; she seized and kept it to the end. Margaret
should know just as much as she, Millicent, wished her to know, and no
more. She meant to enjoy herself; the devout Margaret was going to
receive some nasty knocks.
"How is our mystic?" she asked lightly.
The word "our" instantly deprived Meg of her resolution to speak
tactfully and even hypocritically, if it was necessary. Millicent did
not wait for her tardy answer. Meg's expression had flamed the devil's
fire of mischief in her callous heart.
"Have you heard from him since I left him?"
Here Margaret's pride helped her. She threw up her chin; a trick with
her when her fighting spirit was roused.
"I really don't know. I forget how long ago it is since you saw him."
"I left him almost within sight of his promised land, of his King
Solomon's mine. Has he found it? Were the jewels very wonderful?"
The woman's audacity amazed Margaret, while it infuriated her, but
thanks to the blood of her ancestors, a fight always braced her nerves
and quickened her wits; it was tenderness which brought tears. She was
not going to allow the brazen little beast to know or see what her
words meant to her; she was not going to tell her of Michael's
disappointment. If she had betrayed him and robbed him of Akhnaton's
treasure, she was not going to let her batten on the suffering she had
caused, so she said:
"My brother has just heard that information of the discovery has come
to the Minister of Public Works. The Government has sent out some men
to make the preliminary excavations, so I suppose it is all right."
Millicent's eyes gleamed. Something like sympathy pleasure beautified
them; for a moment her desire to wound the girl who had robbed her of
the lover she desired was forgotten; it was lost in surprise.
"Then Mike was right? He has really discovered his precious treasure,
his legacy of Akhnaton? I'm so glad!" She paused. "I never really
believed he would, did you? It seemed to me mere moonshine, a
delightful excuse for a desert romance."
Margaret was still more amazed. What an actress the woman was! If she
had not known her true character, she would have believed that she was
innocent of the base treachery of which she was guilty.
"Yes, it would appear so," she said coldly. "But we know very
little--we have only had the official news of the discovery. His
letters will tell us more. Does the news surprise you?"
Millicent looked at Margaret keenly. Their eyes met as bitter
antagonists. Millicent supposed that Margaret thought that Michael
would have written to her and told her the news; she answered
accordingly.
"His breathless letters--you know how he writes--are probably resting
in some desert village. They'll come along all right. But I'm awfully
glad the dear man hasn't found a mare's nest, aren't you?" She spoke
again quickly, before Margaret had time to answer. "What does your
brother say about it? Isn't he surprised? He thought it was all
tommy-rot, didn't he? How different they are!"
"It is always difficult to tell what Freddy thinks," Margaret said.
"He is a very reserved person. If the whole thing turns out as Michael
expected, he will be delighted and interested."
"If there is anything there at all," Millicent said, "that ought to be
sufficient proof of the seer's powers--I mean, things of Akhnaton's
period. The portable treasure might have been stolen--it probably was.
If the saint had discovered it, why not others?"
"I have had no particulars," Meg said coldly. She felt certain that
Millicent was pumping her for her own pleasure.
"Your brother never mentioned the King Solomon's mine of gold and the
jewels," Millicent said laughingly; "yet even my men were talking about
it quite openly on my homeward journey. Mike and I were so careful--we
never mentioned a word about it. To all outward appearances we were
merely journeying in the desert for pleasure; our objective was to be
the tomb where Akhnaton's body was buried. They must have learned all
about it from the holy man--tents have ears. You have heard all about
our meeting with the 'child of God,' of course?" She searched
Margaret's eyes as she spoke and then added lightly: "I should like to
have seen Mike in his strange counting-house, counting out his money,
shouldn't you?"
Margaret very nearly said, "You little liar, get out of my sight!" The
sudden temptation to shake her was almost past enduring; it was all she
could do to keep her hands off her and remain silent. She had heard
from the woman's own lips what she had told Freddy she never would
hear; her promise to him flashed through her mind. Her doom was
sealed. The psychological and archaeological interest of what
Millicent had told her did not penetrate her brain; even her reference
to their meeting with a "child of God" fell on deaf ears. Millicent
had asked her if she had shared Michael's beliefs in the occult and
mystic interpretation of the discovery, in tones which implied that she
did not expect Margaret to understand or sympathize with that side of
Michael Amory's character.
Margaret managed to keep her wits about her. The agony which she was
enduring must at all costs be hidden from her enemy.
With a calm that surprised her own ears, she said. "Did you enjoy your
time in the desert? Why did you return before the eventful discovery?
If you had waited, you would have seen Mr. Amory wading in the historic
jewels."
Millicent was very quick. She had arranged in her own mind how much
and how little she was going to tell Margaret. It was to be enough to
ruin her happiness and trust in her lover, enough to rob Michael of the
woman who had robbed her of him; but not enough to let her know why
she, Millicent, had flown from the camp.
"Oh, we both loved it!" she said. "We had some unique and strange
experiences, things we shall never forget. But I had to come back, my
time was up. I am leaving for England on the twenty-eighth--I have so
much to pack and collect."
"It is getting very warm," Margaret said. "The tourists are all going
back."
"Oh, I never mind the heat--I like it--but unfortunately I have to go
home--money matters. I've been rather lucky, in a manner--a rich
relation in Australia died a few months ago and I have just heard that
he has left me a nice little bit."
Millicent's words instantly confirmed Margaret's suspicions. The
unscrupulous woman had secured at least a part of the buried gold.
Margaret wondered if it would be wise to attack her on the subject.
She refrained; instinct cautioned her. With Margaret it was always a
case of--When in doubt, hold your tongue.
"What a fortunate coincidence!" she said coldly. "How very odd!"
Millicent looked at her sharply. What did her words mean? What was
she driving at? Margaret never spoke unthinkingly.
"I don't understand what coincidence you refer to, but certainly I've
been lucky as regards legacies and money. I've always been fortunate
about money, but there is a saying that money goes where money is, and
that if you get one legacy you will get three. I really could have
done without the last windfall. I have enough of this world's goods
for a lone woman--if I had some babies it would be different."
There was a note of sadness in Millicent's words which would have
appealed to Margaret if she had not known what a perfect actress the
woman was. How was she to believe anything she said after what she had
done?
"You needn't let it be a burden to you." Margaret pretended to laugh.
"There are other people's babies who have none. There are plenty of
ways of disposing of super-wealth. Why not pay for the costs of some
of the Egyptian exploration work next autumn? It would interest you
and . . ." Margaret paused. ". . . it would be a suitable way of
spending the gold. It would repay Mr. Amory."
In saying these words, Margaret felt that she was going as near to the
point as she dared. As she said them, Millicent's eyes hardened. She
had spoken with sincerity when she said that she could have done
without her uncle's fortune, for there were moments when she deceived
herself into believing that if her grand passion for Michael had been
returned, that if she had ever been loved as greatly as she felt that
she herself could love, or if she had had any children, she would have
been a good and noble woman. No chance of goodness had ever come her
way, and she had never stepped aside to look for it.
"I don't know about repaying Mike," she said coldly. "There are some
things which can never be repaid or bought."
Meg certainly got as good as she had given. "I never meant to suggest
that I had so much wealth that it would be a burden to me. I think I
shall find some way of spending it enjoyably." She turned to the left
wing of the corridor; her bedroom lay there. "Now I must say
good-night," she said, still more coolly. "I have a great deal to do."
She looked down at her dress. "My luggage has never come on from
Luxor--it's such a nuisance. I had to wear a 'dug-out' to-night, a
blouse and skirt I wore in the desert. They have lain packed all that
time--I never thought I should have to wear them again." As she spoke,
she visualized her last evening in the camp, when she had given Hassan
her instructions for their flitting. She had worn the blouse that same
evening.
"It looks very nice," Margaret said carelessly.
"Oh, it's terrible! I didn't venture to come down to _table d'hôte_ in
it--I dined in my room. Good-night."
"You still wear your eye of Horus?" Margaret said; she had noticed the
amulet the moment she saw Millicent in the lift.
"Of course! It is my most treasured possession."
Margaret longed to tell her that she knew where the bit of blue faience
had been found on the day when it was lost in the hut. She burned to
say, "You little prying cat, you read my diary!" instead of which she
said, quite calmly:
"The Divine Eye ought to have known better than to be the cause of
Mohammed Ali's telling one of his finest lies."
"What do you mean?" Millicent asked. But even as she spoke, her face
paled a little. "Your language has become quite cryptic--the result, I
suppose, of your work in the tombs!"
"Probably," Margaret said. "Life in the Valley has taught me many
things--but first and foremost, above all others, it has shown me the
power and the danger of _baksheesh_. Good-night," she added quickly.
"I've been keeping you."
Millicent looked at her with steely eyes. Meg's words were not too
cryptic for her comprehension. "Good-night," she said. "When I hear
from Mike, I'll let you know."
When Margaret reached her room, she flung off her self-restraint.
Catching up a sofa-cushion, she flung it at an imaginary Millicent; two
more went flying in the same direction.
"Oh, you beast, you hateful little beast!" she cried. "I believe you
have won, after all! I wanted to find out if Michael was to blame, I
wanted to make you confess that you trapped and followed him into the
desert! And all I succeeded in doing was to hear from your own lips
what all the hateful tongues in Egypt have been screaming and shouting
in my ears for weeks past!" She sank down on the low sofa. "My pride
spoilt everything. I wouldn't let you know that I cared, that I didn't
know a word about anything, that I have never heard a line from
Michael." Her mind stood at attention; a new thought held it. The
holy man! Millicent had spoken of the holy man. Was he the "child of
God" who was to lead Mike to the hidden treasure? She groaned. Oh,
why had she not questioned her, why had she not controlled her own
anger and her pride, and learnt from Millicent a thousand things she
longed to know? She had not even asked her at what definite place in
the desert she had left Michael! She had asked her absolutely nothing
which would help her to find him. She had only gleaned from her the
one fact, the fact which made it absolutely imperative for her to
return at once to England. Her pride was so cruelly injured that she
accepted that fact as absolute. Even if Michael was entirely innocent
of any dishonour to herself, it was impossible not to feel wounded and
hurt to the quick by his silence. She had sworn to trust him, but was
he not asking too much of human nature? Might he not have given a
thought to the fact that Freddy and all the world would condemn him?
Of Michael's health Millicent had told her nothing. She had spoken in
a manner which suggested that she had left him in the enjoyment of
perfect health. Her excuses for him to Freddy had melted into thin
air. How was she to tell Hadassah Ireton? Hadassah, whose complete
trust had made her ashamed of Freddy.
* * * * * *
She had gone to her room early, but it was far into the night before
she began to undress and get ready for bed. She was tired and unhappy
and for once she allowed herself to accuse Michael. She began by
saying that he had been thoughtless and neglectful, that he ought to
have managed somehow to get a letter through to her as soon as
Millicent appeared on the scene. She felt convinced that she would
have contrived to let him hear under similar circumstances it . . .
well, if she had wanted him to hear, if she had had a satisfactory
explanation to offer. It was the horrible "if" which kept Margaret
awake. That mustard-seed of suspicion grew and grew until its flowers
of evil covered her whole world. Thought can make our heaven or our
hell. Margaret's thoughts that night created no divine vision, no fair
City of the Horizon.
If Millicent had come back to Cairo, because of business, surely
Michael could have sent a letter by her servants, even if he had not
cared to entrust it into her own hands. That was the thought which
triumphed--it shed its darkness over the things of light.