"You mean," said Dikaiarchos, "that you have a class of tolerated fences for stolen goods."
Manethôs shrugged. "That is how things are done. Now, in Memphis, the leading agent of this kind is Tis of Hanes, the dealer in antiquities. He must have done a brisk business for many a year, for he dwells in a costly villa not far from here. Let us, then, proceed to the house of Tis."
Manethôs led his drooping column back along the avenue of sphinxes and then by a path that wound by devious ways among cliffs and cemeteries. Turning a corner, we came upon a fair estate spread out on the side of a hill overlooking the gardens and palm groves of the outskirts of Memphis. A small blue lake glimmered before us, and the shadows of the western hills crept eastward over the city as the sun declined. The sharp chill of the desert night began to succeed the dry, sweat-devouring heat of the day.
A massive wall, to which many cities would not be ashamed to entrust their defense, inclosed the house and grounds. At the gate a peephole opened in answer to Manethôs ' knock. The priest spoke into the hole. After a long wait, while a scarlet sun sank out of sight behind the cliffs, the gate swung open and an enormous Negro—a man seven feet tall, of lean and storklike build—admitted us.
Inside were palms and flowers and pools, two loinclothed gardeners working with trowel and watering pot, and a brace of armed watchmen. A man in white came towards us, calling out in good Greek:
"Welcome, friends! May Thôth grant that Tis of Hanes can aid you in finding your royal raiment. Which of you is which?"
Manethôs cast me a curious, slit-eyed glance, then presented us to Tis. The trader was a dark-skinned man of medium height, rather stout, with a large round head, bald at the top, and closecut graying hair. He had a turned-up nose and a long upper lip over a wide, drooping mouth. Though he was not impressive to look at, his manners were excellent, combining dignity without pomposity, courtesy without servility, and friendliness without vulgar familiarity.
"You are weary and fain to wash before dinner," he said. "You shall, of course, treat my house as your own during your stay. Allow me to show you to your apartments."
The house of Tis was large, with several courts and wings. Tis led us into the main hall.
Here I was struck by the extraordinary display of curious objects: exotic weapons hanging from the walls, strangely wrought vessels on stands, and curious statues in niches. There were things carved in wood and stone and crystal, or cast in bronze and silver and gold. Their value for the rare materials alone must have been great, and for their artistic curiosity, immense. Some of the statues suggested the mysteries of India or the dark menace of the lands beyond Ethiopia; others displayed affinity with the art of no race or nation I had ever heard of. Some were beautiful in an outlandish way, more were grotesque or obscene.
"I must show you my curios, O Chares," said Tis. "But, methinks, a warm bath were more to the point."
I joined Manethôs before we returned to the hall, saying: "Why did you look at me so curiously when Tis came to meet us?"
The priest replied: "Nought had I said to the Nubian porter of our mission, only that I craved audience with the master on a matter in his line of business. No one can know what is in. another's heart, but this dealer in secondhand goods is both too rich and too knowing to suit me."
Then Tis took charge of us, presenting us to his wives. These were two, wearing long tight transparent dresses. The older, Amenardis, was a little taller than I, handsome in a bold angular way, with a full, richly curved body, like a black-haired Hera. As the Poet said, she moved a goddess and she looked a queen.
The younger, Thoueris, was a real little beauty, albeit plainly pregnant. She held a lotus, at which she sniffed from time to time.
Tis showed us about his house while smells of cookery pursued us. His greatest enthusiasm was reserved for the curios in the great hall.
"This," he said, "is the very sword that Alexander wielded at Issos."
"No offense intended, sir," I said, "but how can you be sure of the origin of such a keepsake?"
"A good question, O Chares. It were easy for some dealer to palm off any old blade on me with such a tale, think you? Well, I have traced the ownership of this sword back through former owners, and my agents have questioned those who still live, so there is little chance of my being fooled. Now this"—he held up a hideous little skull-faced figure carved in ivory of a curious hue, mottled with brown as if it had been aged in the ground for centuries—"is Tarn, the goddess of death of the Hyperboreans. This is the wand of a Hyrkanian sorcerer who rashly conjured up an invisible monster, which devoured him on the spot. His apprentice was so upset by the sight that he abandoned sorcery and sold the tools of his late master's trade, and thus this rod of power came into my hands." Tis handed me a shiny black stick with a golden gryphon on its head. "Have a care at whom you point that."
I said: "If I saw my master perish in such a manner, I doubt if 'upset' would be a strong enough word to describe my feeling."
Tis laughed. "Blame my imperfect Greek, best one. This cup is said—but this I assert not, for want of proof—to have come from the secret Arabian city of Oukar, where dwells a cult of such surpassing wickedness that its votaries have given up all the more usual sins as too respectable. This vessel, it is said, was used to catch the blood in some of their less abominable rites."
Onas had been following this catalogue of Bergaean wonders with bulging eyes. Now he said: "Master Tis, have you a copy of the terrible Book of Thôth?"
Tis smiled. "While I do not often confess it, I do possess a copy. However, I keep it safely locked up. Were I to show it to any chance visitor, he might, as many are wont to do, begin reading its spells aloud you know, whispering or at least moving his lips—and then the gods only know what might happen. The less perilous mils of my library are in here."
Tis led us into his library. All the walls, save for the door and window, were covered from floor to ceiling with bookcases. Most of the pigeonholes held scrolls, from the ends of which hung tags healing the lilies. Tis explained:
"This side comprises works in Egyptian; that side holds books in Greek; yonder section contains works in other tongues. Know that I have deviled an ingenious scheme to make it easier to find a book. In the Greek section all the authors whose names begin with alpha are placed here at the beginning of the section; then all those beginning with beta, and so on through the alpha-beta. I have done the same thing for my Egyptian collection, though of course the characters differ."
"By the!" I said. "I wish that some libraries, in which I've spent hours hunting for one title, had been arranged thus."
"I am rather proud of it myself," said Tis. "In fact, I wonder why nobody has thought of it before."
I asked: "Are all these books and rarities that you have shown us things that you mean to keep, or do you deal in them?"
Tis said: "I am a dealer in antiquities, curios, and used goods. My agents travel far and wide, seeking objects suitable for my trade." His wide mouth curled into a smile. "When I buy a thing, it is but a bit of time-worn trash, but when I come to sell, lo! that selfsame article has become a priceless antiquity.
"Now, the best of my purchases I keep for my own pleasure; the rest I sell. The trade goods repose in my warehouses, but those you see here are meant to stay. Not even the treasure of the Persian kings would persuade me to part with them. For I am at heart a romantic sentimentalist, no mere moneygrubber. I toil not merely to garner wealth but also to enjoy the sight of baubles like that sword of Alexander, to savor its touch and to relish its soul-stirring history."