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Those rags-why, they looked like mummy wrappings, yet some of the linen appeared to be new. He looked up as the young man held a passport before him.

"Stratford's," said the young man. "All of his identification is in there, in his coat."

* * *

Elliott leaned on Alex's arm as they stepped out of the glass lift.

' 'But what if Pitfield can't straighten all this out?'' Alex asked.

"We will continue to conduct ourselves like civilized people as long as we must remain here," Elliott said. "You'll take Julie to the opera as planned tomorrow night. You will accompany her to the ball afterwards. And you will be ready to leave as soon as your passport is released."

"She's in no mood for it, Father. And she'd rather have Samir accompany her, if you want the truth. Since all this started, it's Samir she confides in. He's always at her side."

"Nevertheless, you are to stay close to her. We are going to be seen together tomorrow. Everything right and proper. Now why don't you go out on the veranda and have a nightcap and leave the legal business to me?"

* * *

Yes, she liked Shepheard's, she knew it already. She had liked it this afternoon when she had seen the long chain of motor cars before it, with exquisitely dressed men and women climbing out of them and walking up the steps.

Now there were very few cars. She managed to stop right before the entrance; and a charming young male servant came to open her door. Carrying her canvas bag and satin purse, she walked serenely up the carpeted stairs as other servants scrambled to retrieve her many packages.

The lobby delighted her at once. Oh, she had no idea the rooms of this palatial building would be so grand. And the crowds moving to and fro-shapely women and handsomely clad men-excited her. This was an elegant world-"modern times." One had to see such a place as this to grasp the possibilities.

"May I help you, miss? Another servile male approached; how strange was his clothing, especially his hat. If there was one thing about "modern times" she did not like, it was these hats!

"Oh, would you be so kind!" she said carefully. "I would like to have lodgings here. This is Shepheard's Hotel? The hotel?"

"Yes, indeed, miss. Let me take you to the desk."

"Wait," she whispered. Some feet away from her, she spied Lord Rutherford! No mistake. It was he. And an exquisite young man was with him, a tall, slender creature of fine porcelain features who made her earlier companions seem quite crude.

She narrowed her eyes, concentrating, trying to hear what this young man was saying. But there was too great a distance. And the two were moving in and out of sight, beyond a row of high potted palms. Then the young one clasped Lord Rutherford's hand and left him, moving towards the front doors. And Lord Rutherford moved into a large shadowy room.

"That's Lord Rutherford, miss," said the helpful young man beside her.

"Yes, I know," she said. "But the beautiful one. Who is he?"

"Ah, that's his son, Alex, miss, the young Viscount Summerfield. They're frequent guests of Shepheard's. Friends of the Stratfords, miss."

She looked at him quizzically.

"Lawrence Stratford, miss," he explained as he took her arm and gently guided her forward. "The great archaeologist, the one who just made the discovery of the Ramses tomb.''

"What did you say!" she whispered. "Speak slowly."

"The one that dug up the mummy, miss, of Ramses the Damned."

' 'Ramses the Damned!''

"Yes, miss, quite a story, miss." He pointed now to a long ornate table in front of her, which in fact looked like an altar. "There's the desk, miss. Anything else I can do for you?" ^ She gave a little laugh of pure amazement. "No," she said. "You have been simply super. Very okay!"

He gave her a sweet indulgent look, the look all these men gave her. And then he gestured for her to step up to the ' 'desk.'

* * *

Elliott went right to it as Pitfield sat down across from him. He was aware that he was talking too fast, and likely to say strange things, but he could not break his momentum. Get Alex out of here. Get Julie out if at all possible. Those were the only thoughts in his mind, and worry about Randolph later.

"None of us has the slightest connection to any of it," he said. "They must all be allowed to go home. I can stay here, if it's absolutely necessary, but my son must be allowed to leave."

Gerald, ten years his senior, white-haired and heavy about the middle, listened keenly. He was a man not given to strong drink, who tended to work round the clock so that his family might enjoy every pleasurable aspect of colonial existence.

"Of course not," he said now, with complete sympathy. "But wait, there's Winthrop in the doors. He has two men with him.''

"I can't talk to him!" Elliott said. "Not now, for the love of heaven."

"You leave it to me completely."

* * *

How astonished they were when she paid them in advance with piles and piles of the strange money they called "pound notes," though they weighed nothing. The young servants would take her many bundles to her suite, they said. And indeed, there were kitchens working now to produce whatever food she desired; there lay the dining room to the right; and she could banquet in her room if that was her wish. As for the hairdresser which she clearly required to tie up her hair, that lady would not be available until tomorrow. Very well. Thank you!

She dropped the key into her satin bag. She would find suite number 201 later. She hurried to the door of the dark room into which Lord Rutherford had gone, and spied him drinking there alone. He did not see her.

Out on the broad front terrace, she could see his son, Alex, leaning against the white pillar-such a comely youth-in fast conversation with a dark-skinned Egyptian. The Egyptian came back into the hotel. The young one seemed at a loss.

She went to him immediately. She crept up and stood beside him and studied his delicate face-yes, a beauty. Of course Lord Rutherford was a man of considerable charm; but this one was so young that his skin was still petal soft, and yet he was tall and his shoulders were strong and straight, and he had a clear, confident look in his brown eyes when he turned to her.

"The young Viscount Summerfield," she said. "Son of Lord Rutherford, I am told?"

A great flash of a smile. "I'm Alex Savarell, yes. Forgive me, I don't believe I've had the pleasure."

"I'm hungry, Viscount Summerfield. Won't you show me to the banquet room of the hotel? I should like to eat something."

"I'd be delighted! What an unexpected pleasure."

He hooked his arm for her to take it. Oh, she liked him very much; there was no reticence in him at all. He escorted her back into the crowded main room, past the dark tavern where his father drank, and on towards a great open place under a high gilded ceiling.

Tables draped in linen filled the sides of the immense room. In the centre men and women danced, the women's skirts like great softly ruffled flowers. And the music, oh, so lovely, though it almost hurt her ears. It was far more shrill than that of the music box. And it was sweetly sad!

At once he asked an imperious old man to show them to a "table." What an ugly person was this imperious man who appeared as finely dressed as anyone present. But he said, "Yes, Lord Summerfield" with great respect. And the table was fine indeed, set with gorgeous plate, and sweet-scented flowers.

"What is this music?" she asked.

"From America," he said. "From Sigmund Romberg."

She began rocking back and forth a little.

"Would you like to dance?" he asked.

"That would be super!"