Bean glanced up feverishly as the Countess reappeared.  She was smoothing her hair and readjusting the set of the scarlet wrapper.  Her own excitement was apparent.

“It’s all right.  I think he’ll come, but it was a close call.  He was jes’ packin’ his grip f’r Wash’n’ton.  Got a telegraph from the Pres’dent to-day t’ come at once.  Of course he’ll miss a big fee.  The Pres’dent don’t care f’r money when it’s a question of gittin’ th’ right advice—­”

“Oh, money!” murmured Bean, and waved a contemptuous hand.

His manner was not lost upon his hearer.

“Lots of money made in a hurry, these days,” she suggested, “or got hold of some way—­gits left to parties—­thousand dollars, mebbe—­two, three, four thousand?”

Again he performed the pushing gesture, as if he were discommoded by money.  He scarcely heard her voice.

The Countess did not venture another effort to appraise his wealth.

She fell silent, watching him.  Bean gazed at a clean square on the wall-paper where a picture had once hung.  Then the authoritative tread was again heard on the stairway, and again the Countess Casanova welcomed Professor Balthasar to her apartment.  She expressed a polite regret for having annoyed him.

Professor Balthasar bestowed his shiny hat upon her, enveloped his equally shiny skull with the silken cap and assured her that his mission was to serve.  Bean had not risen.  He still stared at the wall.

“I’ll jes’ leave you alone with our friend here,” said the Countess charmingly.  The professor questioned her with a glance and she shook her head in response, yet her gesture as she vanished through the curtains was one of large encouragement.

The professor faced Bean and coughed slightly.  Bean diverted his stare to the professor and seemed about to speak, but the other silenced him with a commanding forefinger.

“Not a word!  I see it all.  You impose your tremendous will upon me.”

He took the chair facing Bean and began swiftly: 

“I see the path over the desert.  I stop beside a temple.  Sand is all about.  Beneath that temple is a stone sarcophagus.  Within it lies the body of King Tam-rah—­”

“Ram-tah!” corrected Bean gently.

“Did I not say Ram-tah?” pursued the seer.  “There it has lain sealed for centuries, while all about it the tombs of other kings have been despoiled by curiosity hunters looking for objects of interest to place in their cabinets.  But Ram-tah, last king of the pre-dynastic period, though others will tell you differently, but that’s because he never got into history much, by reason of his uniformly gentlemanly conduct.  He rests there to-day precisely as he was put.  I see it all; I penetrate the heaped sands.  At this moment the moon shines upon the spot, and a night bird is calling to its mate in the mulberry tree near the northeast corner of the temple.  I see it all.  I am there!  What is this?  What is this I get from you, my young friend?”