And as McLean bewilderedly muttered that he was sure, Ryder began to laugh again.  To laugh jubilantly, joyously, triumphantly.

“He’s given her up—­he’s got a saving explanation to thrust in the world’s face!  Oh, blessed Allah, Veiler of all that should be veiled!  The man’s through.  He’s had enough.  He isn’t going to try to—­”

Across the bright oblong of the entrance a shadow appeared.

“Ryder—­I say, Ryder,” said a hurried voice—­Thatcher’s voice—­and Thatcher came hastily forward in perturbed urgency.

“There’s a lot of men outside—­police and natives and what not.  With warrants.  They’re searching the place.  And they want to see you....  Hang it all, Ryder,” said Thatcher explosively but apologetically, “they say you’ve made off with some sheik’s daughter.”

He paused, shocked at the monstrosity of the accusation.  He was a delicate-minded man—­outside of his knowledge of antiquities—­and he evidently expected his young associate to fall upon him and slay him for the slander.

“A sheik’s daughter—?” said Ryder in a mildly wondering voice.  From his emphasis one might have inferred he was saying, “How odd!  I don’t remember any sheik’s daughter—­”

A queer uncomfortable flush spread fanways from Thatcher’s thin temples and rayed across his high cheekbones.  He did not look at either of the men as he murmured, “It’s most peculiar, but that Arab horse—­the sheik claims the horse is his, too.  He says you rode off on it, with his daughter.”

“That’s all right,” said Ryder absently.  “I don’t want the horse....  But you say the sheik’s there?  What does he look like?  Thin—­with blond mustaches?”

“Oh, no, no, not at all.  He is quite heavy and bearded—­one-eyed, if I recollect.  But there is a man with a blond mustache who appears to do the directing—­”

“And you mean they are searching?” said Ryder abruptly.  “You’ve let them in—?”

“They have warrants,” Thatcher protested.  “And there are proper policemen conducting the search—­”

“My good God!  Where are they now?  Not coming here?  I don’t have any policemen trampling here and meddling with my finds—­tell them to clear out, Thatcher, you know there’s no sheik’s daughter here!”

Ryder gave a quick laugh but the impression of his laughter was not as sharp as the impression of his alarm.

“I did tell them it was preposterous,” Thatcher began, “but, you see, after finding the horse—­”

“Oh, the horse!  I got him for a song—­of course the beggar is stolen.  Give him back, if they claim him.  But as for any sheik’s daughter—­keep the crowd out, Thatcher, I won’t have them here, not in these tombs—­”

“I tell you they are policemen—­they are armed—­you can’t resist—­”

“How many are they?  A lot?  But they’ll take your word, won’t they?  Look here, McLean, can’t you settle this for me and keep them out?”