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SO much for Jim's doings on his own while I kicked my heels in Cairo and waited for him. As for mine during that period, sufficient let it be said that I met She who must be Obeyed. And the rest of these chronicles are concerned with her, and that other She who completed Jim's half-section.

By rights, I suppose, with the advent of the ladies the course of our lives should have at once developed a certain tranquillity. Only things don't always happen according to order. Certain it is that the narrowest shave of all we had occurred through my She: a shave when for a brief space the curtain was lifted on dark and horrible things—things it is better to forget, though, once seen, they are unforgettable.

I know that to the man who catches the 8.30 train every morning and spends the day in his office in the City, the mere mention of such a thing as Black Magic is a cause for contemptuous laughter.

It is as well that he should think thus. And yet, surely to even the most prosaic of train-catchers, motoring maybe over Salisbury Plain, there must come some faint stirring of imagination as he sees the vast dead monument of Stonehenge. Can he not see that ancient temple peopled with vast crowds of fierce savages waiting in silence for the first rays of the rising sun to touch the altar? And then the wild-eyed priests; the human sacrifice; the propitiation of strange gods?

Thus it was in England two thousand years ago; thus it is today in places beyond the ken of England's train-catchers. Stamped out where possible, retreating always before advancing civilisation, there are still men who practise strange and dreadful rites in secret places.

Moreover, it is not good for a white man to dabble in those ceremonies. For they are utterly foul and evil. They are without every law, moral and social—and those who have dealings with them must pay a terrible price, even as Professor John Gainsford paid—Gainsford the celebrated Egyptologist.

Most people by now have forgotten his name, though at the time the case aroused great interest. It may be remembered that, as the result of information given to them, the authorities raided a certain house on the right bank of the Nile about half-way between Cairo and Luxor. They found it empty and deserted, but possessed of one very strange feature. In the centre of the house was a large pool—almost the size of a small swimming-bath. It was filled with slimy, stagnant water which stank. And when they had drained the water away they made a very sinister discovery. On the bottom of the pool, partially hidden in the filthy ooze, was a pair of spectacles. And the spectacles were identified as belonging to Professor Gainsford.

No other trace of that eminent savant was ever found, and finally his death was presumed.

We let it rest at that—for, you see, we knew. We talked it over, Jim and Molly Tremayne, the professor's niece, and, rightly or wrongly, we made our decision. Molly insists that it was just a sudden phase of dreadful madness; Jim maintains that Professor John Gainsford was of all vile murderers the vilest, and that the fact that he didn't succeed in his cold-blooded crime, but died himself, was no more than just retribution.

Be that as it may, I will put down now for the first time the real truth of what happened on that ghastly night. For Molly Tremayne is my She who was Obeyed then, and is now.

Professor Gainsford was the last man whom one would have considered capable of evil. His mutton-chop whiskers alone gave him an air of paternal benevolence, which was enhanced by the mild, blue eyes continually blinking behind his spectacles. At Shepheard's Hotel he was a familiar figure with his coat-tails flapping behind him whenever he moved, and a silk pocket- handkerchief hanging out of his pocket.

It was one night at dinner that the Professor first mentioned the subject. He had omitted to put on his tie, I remember, and Molly had driven him upstairs again to remedy the defect. I was dining at their table— it was not an unusual occurrence—and we started to pull his leg about it. As a general rule he used to take our chaffing in the mildest way, blinking amiably at us from behind his spectacles.

But on this particular night the Professor seemed strangely preoccupied, and our conversation grew a little desultory. He kept shooting little bird-like glances at Molly, and was, in fact, so unlike his usual self that once or twice we looked at one another in surprise.

It was towards the end of the meal that we found out the reason of his peculiar manner.

"I have had," he remarked suddenly, "an almost unbelievable stroke of luck this afternoon."

"Discovered a new beetle, Uncle John?" asked Molly with a smile.

"I have discovered," he answered solemnly, "that a secret cult thought by every Egyptologist to have become extinct centuries ago is still in existence. If it should prove to be the case, if this cult, which, as far as we know, came into being about the eighteenth dynasty, still lives, and has carried on intact from generation to generation the hidden secrets of the ages, then I shall have made a discovery of staggering magnitude."

"But how did you find out about it, Uncle?" said Molly.

"By sheer accident," he remarked. "I was in the bazaar this afternoon haggling with that arch-robber Yussuf over a scarab, when there strode into the shop a native who was evidently not a Cairene. Being engrossed in the scarab, I paid no attention to him until suddenly I happened to glance up. And I saw him make a sign to Yussuf which instantly made me forget everything else. I could hardly believe my eyes, for the sign he made was the secret sign of the highest adepts of this almost forgotten cult.

"A glance at Yussuf confirmed my opinion that I was in the presence of an adept. He was cringing—positively cringing—and my excitement became intense, though needless to say no trace of it showed in my manner. Outwardly I remained perfectly calm."

I caught Molly's eye, and smothered a smile. The Professor's outward calmness when he thought he had made a find was strongly reminiscent of that of a wire-haired terrier confronted by a rat.

"And what did you do then, Uncle John?" asked Molly gravely.

"I waited until he left Yussuf's shop, and then I followed him. There was a risk, of course, that he might refuse to say anything. At first, in fact, he would say nothing, but gradually as he realised that I knew as much if not more than he did about the history of his sect, he grew more communicative."

The Professor's hands were shaking with excitement.

"There seems not the slightest doubt," he continued, "that there has been no break whatever in the priesthood for over three thousand years. Through all these centuries the cult has been kept alive. It is—What is it, child? What are you looking at?"

I swung round quickly. Molly was staring into the darkness beyond the tables with frightened eyes.

"What is it, Molly?" I asked.

"A man," she said, "a horrible-looking native, was glaring at me with the most dreadful look in his eyes. He's gone now, but he looked awful."

"I'll go and see," I cried, getting up, but the Professor waved me back.

"Tut, tut!" he said irritably. "The man hasn't done anything."

But it seemed to me that there was a nervous apprehension in the glance he threw at his niece.

"Sorry to be so stupid," she said. "Go on, Uncle John; tell us about your cult."

But I'm afraid I didn't pay much attention to what he said. I was too occupied in watching Molly, and a little later we rose and went into the lounge.

There was a small dance in the hotel that evening, and when the Professor, true to his usual custom, had retired to his room, Molly and I took the floor.

"I can't tell you what that man's face was like, Dick," she said. "His eyes seemed to bore right into my brain, and I felt as if he were dragging me towards him."

However, I soothed her fears, and after a while she forgot him. So did I, and the Professor's new cult, and most other things. Have I not said that Molly was She who must be Obeyed, and the idiocy of the irreparably landed fish had been my portion for some days. And it was not until much later that I remembered him again.

I had gone to bed, when suddenly there came an agitated knocking on my door, and I heard her voice:

"Dick! Dick!"

In an instant I had opened it, to find Molly outside. She was trembling all over, and before I knew what had happened she was in my arms.

"What is it, darling?" I cried. "What has frightened you?"

"That man—that awful native," she gasped. "He's in the hotel. Oh! Dick—I'm terrified. I'd just got into bed, when something made me get up and go to the door. I simply had to; I felt as if my legs weren't my own. I opened it, and there, standing in the passage just outside, was the man. I can't tell you the look in his eyes." She shuddered violently. "It was dreadful—horrible. He seemed to be gloating over me, and then all of a sudden he seemed to vanish."

"Vanish!" I said. "My darling—you've been dreaming. You've had a nightmare."

"But it wasn't a nightmare," she cried. "I tell you he was standing there in the passage."

I soothed her as best I could, and then I had to be firm. I admit that nothing would have pleased me better than to remain there with her in my arms for two or three hours or so. But this world is a censorious place, and the hour was well past midnight. So very gently I insisted that she must either go back to her room, or else spend the night with some woman friend in the hotel.

As luck would have it, the room of a little widow who was a pal of hers was almost opposite mine, and she had no objection to Molly sleeping with her. And to her Molly went, having first driven every coherent thought out of my mind by kissing me.

"When men call me darling," she murmured, "I always kiss them."

"How many men?" I began furiously.

And then the widow's door shut.

* * * * *

I mentioned the matter to the Professor next morning, and, somewhat to my surprise, he took it quite seriously, shaking his head when I said I thought it was merely a dream.

"Possibly, Leyton," he remarked, peering at me thoughtfully, "possibly not. But from what you say Molly seems to have been very upset. I think a change will do her good. What do you say to us all three going to investigate what I was talking to you about last night at dinner? This cult— this ancient religion—let us all start today and go to the place— the secret place—where it still flourishes."

"Have you any idea where it is, Professor?" I asked.

"Between here and Luxor," he answered. "We will take a dahabeah, and the exact place will be shown to me by the man I met in the bazaar yesterday."

"Nothing would give me greater pleasure, Professor," I said. "But do you think," I said, "that even if we find the place the priests will let you see anything?"

"Once we get to the Pool of the Sacred Crocodile," he answered, and his blue eyes were staring at me with almost uncanny brightness, "we shall have no difficulty. But Molly must come—you must see to that."

"I expect your niece would like the trip," I answered. "Anyway, here she is now."

And it was while he was outlining the plan to Molly that I looked up to see Jim Maitland strolling across the lounge.

"Hullo! Dick," came his cheerful voice. "I heard you were stopping here. How goes it?"

I murmured an excuse and followed him to a table a little distance away.

"Who's the girl, old man?" he asked. "She's a corker for looks."

"She's a corker in every way, Jim," I answered.

He grinned suddenly.

"So that's how it lies, is it?" he said. "My congratulations, old Dick. Or is it a little premature?

"It's not actually fixed yet," I said, a bit sheepishly, "but I'm hoping it will be very soon. We're going off today—if we can fix up a dahabeah—with the old bird. He's her uncle, and he's sane on all points except Egyptology. Come and be introduced."

I took him over to the Professor and Molly, and we sat down.

"I think it sounds a lovely trip, don't you, Mr. Maitland? My uncle wants to find some place with a most romantic name. It's called the Pool of the Sacred Crocodile."

Jim stared at her for a moment or two in silence; then, with a slight frown, he turned to the Professor.

"What on earth do you want to go there for, sir?" he asked quietly.

"Do you know it, Mr. Maitland?" cried the Professor eagerly.

"I know of it," said Jim. "I know of it as the headquarters of one of the most secret and abominable cults handed down from ancient Egypt. And I can assure you, Professor," he went on after a little pause, "that you will be wasting your time if you go there." I frowned at him horribly, but, strangely enough, Jim seemed very serious, and paid no attention. "No white man would ever be allowed inside their temple."

The Professor was blinking so fast that his glasses nearly fell off.

"I think I shall be able to arrange it, Mr. Maitland," he said, rubbing his hands together. "You see, I am acquainted with one or two points concerning the ancient history of the cult of which even one of their leading adepts seemed in ignorance. In return for—for what I can give them I am to be allowed to have a copy of the ritual which has been handed down intact for three thousand years."

"Well," said Jim grimly, "all I can say, Professor, is this: If one-tenth of the rumours I have heard is true, the best thing you can do will be to burn the book unread."

But the Professor seemed not to hear. His little, blinking eyes were fixed on Molly, and he was smiling gently to himself.

For a while the conversation became general, and it wasn't until an hour or two later that I was able to ask Jim what he had meant.

"You darned tactless blighter," I said, pushing a Martini in his direction. "What did you try and put the old man off for?"

"Dick," he answered quietly, "you know me pretty well by this time. You know that there aren't many things on two legs or four that I'm frightened of. But I tell you that no power on this earth would induce me willingly to have anything to do with the sect whose secret temple is at the Pool of the Sacred Crocodile. There are stories of unbelievable things which the natives whisper to one another; stories of black magic and devil worship which make one pinch oneself to see if one's awake. There are stories of human sacrifice carried out with the most appalling rites." I stared at him in amazement.

"But, good Lord, old man," I cried, "do you believe them?"

He didn't answer; he was looking over my shoulder.

"Something has happened to Miss Tremayne," he said quietly, and the next instant Molly was beside me.

"Dick," she almost whispered, "he's in the hotel. That native. He was standing outside the door of my room again—just now—as I was packing. I looked out into the passage, and there he was,' staring, just the same as last night."

"I'll go and see if I can find the scoundrel," I cried, and dashed upstairs.

But the passage was empty. And I was just going down again, when the door of the Professor's room opened and he peered out.

"Hullo!" I said. "I thought you were out making arrangements for a dahabeah."

"I have made them," he answered curtly. "We start this afternoon."

He shut the door again abruptly, and I went down to the bar feeling very thoughtful. For over the Professor's head, reflected in a mirror on the other side of the room, I had seen a native. For a moment our eyes had met, then he had vanished. And a vague fear took possession of me. I felt as if I were moving in deep waters, and a sudden distaste for the proposed trip filled my mind.

It was just before we left that Jim took me on one side.

"Whatever you do, Dick," he said gravely, "don't let Miss Tremayne out of either your sight or her uncle's once you get to your destination. One of you must always be with her."

"What on earth are you frightened of, Jim?" I demanded. "I don't know, old man," he answered. "That's the devil of it—I don't know."

The boat was a comfortable one, and for two days we went slowly towards Luxor, tying up at night. We hardly saw the Professor, except at meals, and then he barely spoke. He sat sunk in thought, shooting strange little bird-like glances at Molly until she got quite annoyed with him.

"Uncle John, I do wish you wouldn't keep looking at me like that," she cried. "I feel as if you were a canary, and I was a bit of bird-seed."

There was no disguising the fact that the Professor was in a very queer mood. It was towards the evening of the second day that he appeared on deck with a pair of field-glasses. His hands were trembling with excitement as he searched the left bank of the river.

"We are there," he shouted. "We have arrived."

He gave a frenzied order to 'the Captain, who swung his helm over and steered towards a small landing-stage. Behind it the outlines of a house could be seen partially screened by a small orange grove, and on the landing- stage itself there stood a native, motionless as if carved out of bronze.

I suppose we must have been still a hundred yards away when we heard a frantic commotion amongst the crew. They were jabbering wildly together, and seemed to be in a state of the utmost terror. In fact, we bumped that landing-stage badly, as the men, huddled together forward, refused to use a boat-hook or make her fast. It was left to the Captain and me to tie her up, and it struck me that the Captain himself had no liking for his berthing place.

His eyes continually came round to the tall native who had stepped on board the instant we came alongside. A few yards away the Professor and the native were talking earnestly together, and Molly slipped her hand through my arm.

"Dick," she whispered, "I'm frightened. Don't leave me. That man has been looking at me just like that brute did at Shepheard's. I wish we'd never come."

I soothed her, though I didn't feel too happy in my own mind. Suddenly the Professor came over to me.

"We are in luck," he said, and his eyes were gleaming. "We are to be allowed to see the sacred crocodile at once." Molly drew back.

"I don't think I want to, Uncle John," she said. "You go—and stop here with Dick."

"Don't be ridiculous, child," he snapped. "It is what we have come here for. You will see a sight that no white woman has seen for a thousand years; the inner temple of one of the sister cults of Ammon Ra. Come at once."

He led the way, and after a moment's hesitation Molly followed.

"We'd better humour him, Dick," she whispered.

The native who had awaited us on the landing led the way towards the house half hidden in the trees, with the Professor shaking with excitement just behind him, and Molly and I bringing up the rear. She was still clinging to my arm, and I could feel that she was trembling.

Our guide stalked slowly on towards the house. He knocked three times on the door and it swung open, slowly, of its own accord and he stood aside to let us enter. In front lay a long stone passage, lit with innumerable lamps and hung with tapestries which even to my inexperienced eye were literally without price.

Braziers sent forth choking clouds of incense which almost stifled one, but in spite of the overpowering fumes there was another smell which assailed one—a cloying, horrible smell. At first I couldn't place it: then I realised that it was the odour of musk.

Our guide stalked slowly on, while the Professor darted from side to side staring at the hangings on the walls. And then another door opened slowly, and Molly and I stopped with a gasp of disgust.

For in an instant the smell of musk had become an overpowering stench. And once again the guide stood on one side to let us pass through. It was the actual pool itself that lay in front.

It was hewn out of a sort of sandstone rock. A gallery some two yards wide stretched right round the walls at the same level as we were standing; while directly opposite us, on the other side of the pool, a heavy curtain concealed what appeared to be another door.

In each corner there sat a motionless priest, cross-legged, in front of a burning brazier; and swinging from the centre of the roof was a marvellous old lamp which provided the only light. Cut into the walls were various Egyptian designs, which roused the Professor to the verge of frenzy in his excitement. And, finally, just in front of us there stuck out over the pool a thing that looked like a diving-board. It shone yellow in the light, and with a sort of dull amazement I realised that it was solid gold.

"The actual platform of death," whispered the Professor in my ear. "Thousands of victims have stepped off that into the pool. And to think that we are the first white people to see it."

"Good God!" I muttered. "Human sacrifice."

But the Professor was engrossed in some hieroglyphics on the wall. And the next instant I heard Molly give a shuddering gasp beside me.

"Look, Dick, look! Over there in the corner."

Just rising above the surface was a thing that looked like a motionless baulk of wood. Suddenly, clear and distinct, a bell chimed out. As if in answer to a signal there was a swirl in the black, oily liquid of the pool, a vast head and snout showed for a moment above the surface, and I had a glimpse of the most enormous crocodile I have ever seen. And the baulk of wood was no longer there.

With an effort I took my eyes away from the pool and looked up. The curtain opposite had been pulled aside, and a man was standing there staring at Molly. He was clad in some gorgeous garment, but it was not at his clothes that I was looking, it was at the sinister, evil face.

And as I looked I heard Molly's voice as if from a distance. "Take me away, Dick, take me away! There's that awful native again, who haunted me at Shepheard's."

And it was also the native whom I had seen reflected in the mirror in Professor John Gainsford's room.

He disappeared as suddenly as he had come and Molly gave a sigh of relief.

"Let's get out, Dick, for goodness' sake," she said urgently.

I was only too glad to agree. The door behind us was open, and through it we went, intent only on escaping into God's fresh air. Not until we were clear of the entrance door, with the scent of the orange trees around us, did we breathe freely again.

"Dick—what an awful house!" said Molly, drawing in great gulps of fresh air.

"It was pretty fierce," I agreed. "By the way, where is the Professor?"

Molly laughed.

"It would take more than a bad smell to get him away. But nothing on this earth would induce me to go inside again—nothing. Did you see that man, Dick—the one on the other side of the pool?"

"I saw him," I answered briefly.

"What was he doing in Cairo? And why is he here dressed like that?" She gave a little shudder, and stared across the Nile. "Dick, you may think it fanciful of me and silly, but inside that house just now I felt as if I were in the presence of something incredibly evil. I felt it before that man came in—but I felt it a thousand times more as he stood there."

I nodded gravely.

"If half the rumours I've heard, dear, are true, I'm not surprised. Personally, I couldn't get beyond the smell, but some pretty dreadful things have happened in that house. You saw that gold inlaid board in front of you stretching out over the pool? Well, that is the identical board, according to your uncle, from which human victims have been sacrificed to the crocodile."

"Dick—it can't be true," she whispered, her eyes dilating with horror.

"Incredible as it may seem, darling, I believe it is true." She shuddered again and I slipped my arm round her waist.

"Don't worry your head about it any more, sweetheart," I said gently. "Let's go on board and get something to wash this filthy taste out of our mouths."

We walked down to the little landing-stage and stepped on to the dahabeah. The boat seemed strangely quiet and deserted, but it was only after I had pressed the bell in the little dining-room three times without any result that I began to feel uneasy. I went into the pantry and kitchen, and there was no sign of either cook or steward. I went on deck again to find the Captain, and his cabin was empty. Finally I went to the crew's quarters and peered in; there was not a soul to be seen. The crew had deserted the boat, lock, stock, and barrel.

A step behind me on the deck made me look round. Molly was coming towards me with a letter in her hand.

"It was on the sideboard, Dick," she said. "Addressed to you."

I glanced at it; to my amazement the handwriting was Jim's. And the note inside was laconic and to the point:

"Get out of this at once. Don't spend the night here on any account."

"What is it, Dick?" she asked, looking at me steadily.

I handed her the slip of paper without comment.

"It's from Jim Maitland," I said, when she had read it. "And when Jim tells you to do something, there is generally a pretty good reason for doing it. Unfortunately, the whole crew—including the precious Captain—have chosen this moment to depart."

Molly heard the news without turning a hair.

"I wonder where Mr. Maitland is," she said thoughtfully. "He must be somewhere about to have left that note. What are we going to do, Dick?"

"That's just the point, darling; what are we going to do? Your uncle will never..."

The same thought occurred to both of us simultaneously.

"I'll go and look for him, darling," I said, with a great deal more assurance than I really felt. "He's probably forgotten that we even exist."

"Then I'm coming too," she said quietly, and nothing I could say would dissuade her.

But this time our fears proved groundless. Hardly had we entered the orange grove on the way to the house, when we saw the Professor coming towards us. He was muttering to himself, and under his arm he carried a large book.

"We thought you were lost, Professor," I said, as he came up to us.

He peered at us vaguely, as if he hardly recognised who w were. Then, without even answering, he went past us, and we saw him go below. And in the still evening air we heard the sound of a door shutting.

"'You were right, Dick," said Molly. "We simply don't exist at the moment."

"I'm afraid we've got to," I said gravely. "I can't help it if I do incur your uncle's wrath, my dear, but he must be told about the state of affairs. I'm going to have it out with him."

I went below to his cabin and knocked at the door.

"Professor," I cried, "I must have a talk with you. A very serious thing has happened."

I heard him muttering to himself inside, and after a while the door opened about two inches and he peered out. "Go away," he said irritably. "I'm busy."

"Then it's got to wait," I said sternly, and put my foot behind the door to prevent his shutting it. "You've got the rest of your life in which to study that book; but what the duration will amount to unless you listen to me, I can't say."

I intended to frighten him, and apparently I succeeded, for he opened the door and I stepped into his cabin. "What do you mean?" he said nervously.

"Well, in the first place, the whole of the crew and the Captain have deserted."

"Oh! I know—I know," he cried peevishly. "They'll all come back tomorrow."

"How did you know?" I said, staring at him in surprise. He blinked at me for a second or two, and then he looked away.

"One of the priests told me that they had gone," he said at length.

In an instant all my worst fears came crowding back into my mind.

"Now, look here, Professor," I said quietly, "please pay attention to me, and very close attention. But you've got to remember that we have on board here a girl who is your niece, and who is going to be my wife. Now I have the best of reasons for believing that the very gravest danger threatens us tonight. I believe that the desertion of the crew is all part of a deep-laid scheme concocted by the priests up in that house to keep us here tonight. I suggest, therefore, that we should cast off, and drift down stream. We shall go aground sooner or later; but, at any rate, we shan't be sitting at these people's front door."

"Quite impossible, Leyton," he cried angrily. "Out of the question. I'm amazed that you should even suggest such a thing. The most ancient ritual of the cult is being given tonight for my special benefit. Do you suppose "—and he lashed himself into almost a fury—"that I have gone to the expense of hiring a dahabeah, and coming all the way from Cairo, just to let the boat drift on to a sandbank? What danger are you frightened of? You talk like an hysterical girl."

And Jim's words spoken in Cairo came back to me.

"I don't know, old man. That's the devil of it; I don't know."

And now, confronted by the excited little man, I felt the most infernal fool. If only I had had one definite thing to go on. But I hadn't— with the solitary exception of the crew's desertion. That, and Jim's roughly scrawled note. And to both of them the Professor turned a deaf ear.

"Ridiculous," he snorted. "The Captain was allowed ashore to attend the celebrations which always accompany this ceremonial, and the crew have taken French leave and, gone too." And then suddenly his manner changed, and he smiled almost benevolently. "Believe me, my dear fellow—you exaggerate tremendously. Do you think for one moment that I would allow my dear niece to run into any danger? There is no suggestion that she should come tonight—or you. You can stay with her and guard her against any possible harm."

He dug me playfully in the ribs.

"That ought not to be an unpleasant task, my boy," he chuckled. "And now, off you go, and let me study this book of ritual. Time is all too short as it is."

And with that I had to be content. I heard him lock his door behind me, and then I joined Molly on deck. Night, had come down, and the faint scent of the orange trees filled the air. Briefly I told her what her uncle had said, and when' I had finished she slipped her hand into mine.

"Don't let's worry, Dick," she whispered. "Let him go to his old crocodile, while we sit and watch the sun rise over the desert."

And after a while I forgot my fear, I forgot Jim's warning, I forgot everything except—

However, there is no prize for the correct answer.

And now I come to the thing that happened that night at the Pool of the Sacred Crocodile.

It was just as Molly and I were beginning to think about dinner, and had decided to go and forage for ourselves, that Abdullah, the steward, suddenly appeared in front of us and announced that it was ready.

"Where the devil have you been?" I cried angrily. "I searched all over the place for you an hour or so ago."

He was profuse in his apologies and explanations, and though I was far from satisfied there was nothing to be done about it. Dinner was ready and we sat down to it.

"What about Uncle John?" said Molly.

It appeared that he had given strict orders not to be disturbed, and so we waited no longer. The cook, Abdullah's brother, was a good cook, and in spite of his absence earlier in the evening he had prepared a good dinner. In fact, by the time we had reached the Turkish coffee stage I was feeling quite at peace with the world. Turkish coffee was our cook's speciality, and on that particular night he excelled himself. Even Molly remarked on it as Abdullah refilled her cup.

Of course it was in my coffee—the particular drug they used. What it was I don't know, though it must have been practically tasteless. Whatever it was they put it in my coffee, and not in Molly's. And as long as I live I shall never forget the supreme mental agony of those few seconds after the realisation of what had happened came to me.

Molly was staring out of the open doors into the wonderful desert night. I could see her sweet profile; I could see a sudden little tender smile hover round her lips. And then I made a desperate effort to stand up. I stood there for a second or two clutching the table, making inarticulate attempts to speak. And then I crashed back in my chair, dragging the table-cloth with me.

"Dick, Dick! What's the matter?"

I heard her voice crying from a great distance, and I made another futile effort to speak. But it was useless; she was getting hazier and hazier, though I could still see her like a badly focused photograph. And then suddenly she gave a little scream, and shrank back against the side of the saloon. She was no longer looking at me but into the darkness outside.

"Uncle John!" she screamed. "Uncle John! Save me!"

And then she rushed to me and clung to my chair. Oh God! the agony of that moment, when I realised I couldn't protect her—that I was just a useless drugged log. Hazily, through the fumes of the dope, I realised what was coming: I knew whom she had seen coming to her out of the night. And I was right—only there were three of them this time. They stood on the other side of the table—the man who had been in Cairo in the centre, the man who had met us on the landing-stage on his right, and one I had not seen on his left. They were all three dressed in similar gorgeous robes to that which the leader had worn that afternoon when we had seen him for a few seconds on the other side of the sacred pool, and they all three stood motionless staring at Molly.

I heard her terrified whisper—"Dick! Help me, Dick," and I lay there sprawling, helpless. And still they stood there—staring at my adored girl. Hypnotism, of course—I realised that after. They were hypnotising her in front of my eyes, and, poor child, it didn't take long. Even though time is jumbled in my mind, just as it is in a dream, it cannot have been more than a minute before I saw her—my Molly—walking towards them round the table with little, short, jerky steps. I could see her hands clenched rigidly at her sides; I could see her dear eyes fixed on the central man with a dreadful glassy stare.

As she advanced they backed away—step by step—till they passed out of the range of vision. A moment or two later she, too, vanished. I heard her footsteps on the deck—then silence. She had gone— without anyone to help her—gone to that devilish house. And even as wave after wave of the drug surged over me it seemed to me that I gave one desperate shout.

"Jim—save her! Save Molly!"

Maybe I did; maybe it was only mental. But my last coherent thought was a prayer to the man who had never failed me yet. And then I slept.

The lamp was smoking and guttering in its final gasp when I opened my eyes again. For a moment or two I remembered nothing; I felt as if I had just woken from some awful nightmare. And then the table-cloth, which still covered me, the broken coffee-cups, the debris on the floor brought me to my feet with a dreadful terror clutching at my heart. I pulled out my watch; it showed a quarter-past twelve. And we had sat down to dinner at half-past eight. For more than three hours Molly had been in the hands of those devils.

I slipped my hand into my pocket and cursed foolishly. Someone had taken my revolver, and at that moment with a final splutter the lamp went out. But there was no time to look for any weapon; there was no time for anything except to get to Molly at once.

And was there even time for that? As I raced through the orange grove towards the house the thought hammered at my brain. Was I too late?

I had made no plan. I had no clear idea of anything except getting to Molly. What would happen when I got there—how I, unarmed and alone, was going to help her was beside the point.

A man sprang at me as I reached the door, and I hit him on the point of the jaw with all my weight behind the blow. He went straight down like a log, and I felt a little better. Then I flung open the door and dashed into the passage, to pause for a moment in sheer amazement at the spectacle.

The braziers still poured forth their choking clouds of incense; the innumerable lamps were lit as they had been that afternoon. But now the passage was not empty, it was crowded with natives. And one and all were bleeding from self-inflicted wounds.

They lay about on the floor in varying degrees of consciousness. Some were in a state of coma; others writhed in a condition of frenzied madness. And suddenly quivering in the air came the deep note of a drum, It was the signal for a wild outburst. They became as maniacs—stabbing themselves in the legs and arms, tearing out handfuls of hair till they ran with blood and looked like devils. And once again the deep note came quivering through the stifling air and died away.

Drum madness: that strange phenomenon of Africa. A sickening, horrible scene—and in my mind the sickening, horrible thought that for three hours my Molly had been in this ghastly house—alone.

Dodging between the writhing men, I rushed to the second door. It opened without difficulty—so that I stumbled forward on my face. And the next moment half a dozen men had hurled themselves on top of me. I fought wildly with the strength of despair; I even bit—but it was no good. They got me up and they held me—two of them to each arm, and what I saw almost snapped my reason.

Facing me were the three natives who had come to the dahabeah that night. They were on the other side of the pool—clad now in robes even more gorgeous than before. Behind them was the drum beater, rocking to and fro in a sort of ecstasy, and ranged on each side of them were other natives intoning a monotonous dirge. It rose and fell in a strange cadence, culminating each time with the beat of the drum. And at each beat I could feel the men holding me shiver in their excitement.

Below, in the pool, swirl after swirl of the stinking black water showed that the crocodile was waiting for the culmination of the ceremony. But the foul brute knew what that culmination was—even as the fouler brutes opposite knew—even as I knew. For standing on the platform, with her eyes still fixed on the leading native in that same glassy stare, was Molly—my Molly.

In a frenzy of madness I screamed her name. She took no notice, and once again I struggled desperately. If only I could get to her—pull her back—save her somehow. But they held me—there were six of them now—and when I shouted at her again one of them jammed my handkerchief into my mouth.

Suddenly the leader raised his hand, and Molly took another faltering step forward. One step more along the platform of death; one step nearer the end—the end where there would be no more board for her feet but only the pool below.

The drum became more insistent; the singers' voices rose to a harsh screaming.

And then it happened. Jim—Jim the superb, Jim the incomparable—was there on the other side of the pool. Jim with a jagged wound on his cheek, and his clothes in tatters. Jim with his eye- glass—and such cold, devilish fury in his face as I have never seen in any man's before or since.

I heard the dull smash of breaking bone as he hit the drum beater, and then I went mad with the sheer, tense excitement of it, for Jim had gone berserk. With a great shout he seized the centre native—the leader—and with one stupendous heave he lifted him above his head. And there for a moment he stood holding the struggling native at the full extent of his arms, while the others watched in stupefied silence. Then with cries of fury they closed in on him, only to stop as his voice rang out, speaking their own language.

"If anyone touches me, this man goes into the pool!"

He threw back his head and laughed, and the natives watched him, snarling and impotent.

"Go to her, Dick," he cried, and the next instant Molly was in my arms—a dazed, hypnotised Molly who didn't know me—but still Molly. I dragged her off that damnable platform; I took her to the door— and then I looked back at Jim.

The sweat was gleaming on his forehead; the strain of holding that full- grown native was taxing even his great strength. But once again he laughed—that wonderful cheery laugh of his.

"To the boat, old Dick. Good luck."

And in his heart of hearts that great-souled sportsman thought it was good-bye. Once—years after—he told me that he never thought he would see me again: that the odds would be too great. For even now, heedless of his threat, the natives were closing in on him from each side, and suddenly one of them seized his arm.

"So be it," he roared, and with a mighty heave he threw the leader of that cult into the pool below. There was one frenzied shriek of agonised terror; a dreadful swirling rush through the water: the snap of great jaws. And suddenly the blackness of the pool was stained a vivid crimson. To the crocodile it mattered not whether it was priest or victim.

I waited no longer. Taking advantage of the momentary stupefaction, Jim had vanished, and the next instant I was rushing Molly along the passage outside. With the cessation of the drum the natives there had become quieter, and none interfered with us. We reached the outer door and, half dragging, half carrying Molly, I ran on towards the boat. Behind us I could hear a frenzied babel of cursing and shrieking, but it seemed to come from the other side of the house. They were after Jim—the whole pack of them—and gradually the noise grew fainter and fainter. He was leading them away from us, which was just what Jim would do.

I darted on board to find the Captain and two of the crew standing there.

"Quick, sir," he cried, and I realised the engine was going, Already he was casting off, and I shouted to him to stop. Once Molly was safe I had to go back to help Jim.

I took her below and laid her on the berth in her cabin. Then I rushed on deck again to find that we were in midstream.

"Orders, sir," said the Captain, coming up to me as I cursed him. "Orders from the Englishman with the eyeglass."

I looked ashore: the bank was alive with lights. The shouting had died away: the devils were running mute, searching for him. And then suddenly I heard the most welcome sound I have ever heard in my life—a great, hearty laugh—Jim's laugh.

"Stop the old tub, Dick," came his voice. "I'm damned if I'm going to swim to Cairo after you."

And then I saw him—swimming out towards us—saw his head reflected in the light from the bank. We went full speed astern, and half a minute later he swarmed up the side on a rope.

"Not a healthy spot, old Dick," he said with his hands on my shoulders. "Is the girl all right?"

"I think so, old man," I answered. "Thanks to you. But I feel all dazed still. How did you get there?"

"All in good time," he laughed. "At the moment a large whisky-and-soda is indicated."

We went into the saloon, and it was as my hand was on the syphon that a sudden awful thought struck me.

"Good God! Jim," I muttered. "The Professor. I'd forgotten all about him."

Jim's face grew very stern.

"You needn't worry about the Professor," he remarked grimly. "The gentleman I threw to the crocodile was not its first meal tonight."

"You mean they've killed him?" I said, staring at him foolishly.

"Yes, they've killed him," he answered. "And I can think of no white man who more richly deserved to die."

And as the boat chugged steadily on through the soft Egyptian night, Jim filled in the gaps of the story.

"I got the wind up, as you know," he began, "right from the very start. Of course I hadn't an inkling of the real truth when you left Cairo—but I was darned uneasy in my mind. And after you'd gone off in' this barge I started making a few inquiries."

He paused a minute and refilled his glass.

"Didn't it strike you, old man, that you got this dahabeah with exceptional promptitude?"

"Now you mention it—I suppose we did. It hadn't struck me before."

"The gentleman I put into the pool tonight fixed it, as he could fix most things when he put his mind to it. And on this occasion he fixed it as the result of the most diabolical bargain with Professor Gainsford which it is conceivable to think of a man making.

"Mark you, I didn't find it out in Cairo—but I heard enough to send me off by train. I got out at Minieh, and then the game began. It's a good trek from the railway station, and with every mile the reticence and secrecy grew more profound.

"But I got hold of a certain amount which confirmed what I'd heard in Cairo. A great event was portending—some huge tamasha: you know how these things get about amongst the natives.

"Then you arrived, and I came on board to see you and make you clear out. But you were none of you here, and the boat was deserted."

"We were up in the house itself," I explained.

He nodded. "I know. So I sat down to wait, as I knew there was no danger till later. And then, old Dick, they caught me napping. A native came to the bank and told me he'd tell me everything: that he'd just found out the truth. So I scribbled that note, and I followed him. He took me with great secrecy into the house, where someone promptly sandbagged me."

Jim laughed. "Me—at my age—sandbagged by a damned native! And when I came to I found myself trussed up like a fowl, occupying the next place to the skipper of this craft. He's not a bad little man—this skipper, and it was he who told me the truth.

"At first I could scarcely believe it—the bargain made between Professor Gainsford and the native he met in the bazaar. For the Professor had wished to obtain possession of some book of ritual belonging to this sect—a book unique in the world. And the native had agreed—at a price. The price was the sacrifice of your girl."

"What?" I roared. "You mean that that murderer brought Molly here knowing all along what was going to happen?"

"That is exactly what I mean," said Jim gravely. "Afterwards— well, I don't know if he worried much about afterwards. You were to be drugged—and for the rest the native guaranteed silence.

"That's what the Professor thought; unfortunately for him the native's mind is tortuous. The sacrifice of a white girl was his object, and he didn't mind what he promised to achieve the result. And having, as he thought, achieved it when you arrived, he changed his mind about the book of ritual. Which was unfortunate for the Professor."

He broke off suddenly and stared over my shoulder. Molly was standing in the door: Molly—sane and herself again—but with a look of terror in her eyes.

"Dick," she said, "I've had the most awful dream. It must have been seeing that crocodile yesterday. I dreamed that I was standing where we stood, and there were natives all round. And suddenly Uncle John appeared. He was screaming—and they dragged him in and pushed him over into the pool."

Jim and I looked at one another, and after a while he spoke.

"I'm afraid, Miss Tremayne," he said gently, "that it wasn't a dream. Professor Gainsford is dead."

She swayed to a chair and sat down weakly.

"Oh! the brutes—the brutes. Dick—why did we ever come here?" And then she stared at me with puzzled eyes. "But if it wasn't a dream—why, how did I see it? You don't mean to say—you can't mean that it wasn't a dream. That I was there, and saw it: that—that the rest of it was true as well. Dick! I can see you now, lying in that chair: those natives—and you, Mr. Maitland. My God! it hasn't really happened, has it?"

With dilated eyes she stared from one to the other of us, and after a while I went and knelt beside her.

"Yes, darling," I said gently, "it's all true. It's really happened. And but for Jim—" I looked across at him: there are things which no man can put into words.

"Rot," he cried cheerfully. "Utter rot, Dick. Though I admit it was touch and go till I found a sharp stone to cut through my ropes with. And now I think I'll leave you two for a bit."

He beckoned me to follow him on deck.

"I wouldn't tell her the truth, old man, about her uncle. At least—not yet."

In the light of the dawn I saw his face, and it was very wistful.

"She's a great girl, that—old Dick—great. You lucky, lucky devil."

And with that Jim turned on his heel and went forrard.