And if Jack had left Cairo that night, as he said he did—­claiming delay on the way due to a tired horse—­then Jack knew nothing in the world of the palace fire, and the girl’s sudden and tragic death.

And McLean would have to tell him.  He would have to tell him that the girl he was probably dreaming of in some fool’s paradise of memory and hope was now only a little mound of dust in an Oriental cemetery.  That a shaft of temporary wood already marked the grave of Aimee Marie Dejane, daughter of Tewfick Pasha and wife of Hamdi Bey....

And however much McLean’s sound senses might disapprove of the whole fantastic affair and his sober judgment commend the workings of Providence, he loved his friend, and he feared that his friend loved this lost girl.

He had to end love and hope and romance and implant a desperate grief....

He thought very steadily of Jinny Jeffries.  He cleared his throat.

“Jack, old man—­”

He started to tell him that there had been a fire in Cairo, a most shocking fire in a haremlik.  It seemed to him that Jack was not listening, that he had a faraway, yet intent look upon his face, as of one attending to other things.  And then suddenly Jack seemed to gather resolution and turned to his friend with an air of narration of his own.

“Look here, McLean, there’s something I want to tell you—­”

“Wait a minute now,” said McLean quietly.  “I want you to hear this....  It was a fire in the palace of your friend, Hamdi Bey.”

He had Jack’s attention now—­he was fairly conscious of arrested breath.  Not looking about him he went grimly on, “The night of the wedding a fire started in the haremlik....  It was a bad business, a very bad business, Jack.  For the girl—­the girl Hamdi had just married—­”

He was conscious of Jack’s look upon him but he did not turn to meet it.

“She died,” he said heavily.  “He buried her yesterday.”

He thought that Jack was never going to speak.

Then, “Died?” said Ryder in an odd voice.

“I expect she breathed in a bit of smoke,” said McLean, trying for a merciful suggestion.

“And he buried her—?”

Jack was like a child, trying to fit bewildering facts together.  McLean’s sympathy hurt him like a physical pain.  He wondered what it could be like to realize that some loved one you had just talked with, in radiant life, was now gone utterly....

And then he heard Jack laugh.  Mad, he thought quickly, turning now to look at him.

Ryder’s head was tilted back; Ryder’s shoulders were shaking.  “Oh, my Aunt!” he gasped hysterically.  “My Aunt Clarissa—­is that what Hamdi says!”

He sobered instantly and leaned towards McLean.  “That looks as if he’s done with her—­what?  Saving his face that way?  You’re sure it was Aimee—­the girl he had just married?  Not some other girl—­some co-wife or something?”