“They never died,” said Arlee positively.  “They’re just waiting their time.  Can’t you see they know all about us?...  They particularly know that you are the most deceiving young man they ever saw!  Why didn’t you tell me you were shot in the arm?” she finished rapidly.

“What?...  Where did you hear that?”

“Mr. Falconer enlightened me.”

“I wish Falconer would keep his stories to himself,” said Billy ungratefully.  “It’s just a——­”

“Scratch,” said Arlee promptly.  “That’s always a hero’s word for it.”

Billy turned scarlet.  He felt hot back to his ears.

“And why did you tell me that you happened to be painting outside the palace?” went on the unsparing voice.  “You let me think it was all accident—­and it was all you, just you!”

“Good Lord,” groaned Billy, effecting merriment over his discomfiture, “Is there anything else he told you?...  Look here, you shouldn’t have been talking about it,” he said with sudden anxiety.

Arlee smiled.  “It’s all over,” she said.  “I told him everything.”

Billy’s heart missed a beat, and then hurried painfully to make up for it.  He felt a curious constriction in his throat.  He tried to think of something congratulatory to say and was lamentably silent.

“Why did you deceive me so?” she continued mercilessly.  “Because my gratitude was so obnoxious to you?  Were you so afraid I would insist upon flinging more upon you?”

“That’s a horrid word, obnoxious,” said Billy painfully.

“I thought so,” thrust in a pointed voice.

“I only meant,” he slowly made out, “that a sense of—­of obligation is a stupid burden—­and I didn’t want you to feel you had to be any more friendly to me than your heart dictated.  That is all.  It was enough for me to remember that I had once been privileged to help you.”

“You—­funny—­Billy B. Hill person,” said the voice in a very serious tone.  Billy continued staring at the unwinking old goddess ahead of him.  “You take it all so for granted,” laughed Arlee softly, “As if it were part of any day’s work!  I go about like a girl in a dream—­or a girl with a dream ... a dream of fear, of old palaces and painted women and darkened windows.  It comes over me at night sometimes.  And then I wake and could go down on my knees to you....  I suppose there isn’t any more danger from him?” she broke off to half-whisper quickly.

“He’s sick in the Cairo hospital,” Billy made haste to inform her.  “I found out by accident.  I understand he has a bad fever.  So I think he’ll be up to no more tricks—­and I’m out the satisfaction of a little heart-to-heart talk.”

“Oh, I told you you couldn’t,” she cried quickly.  “You would make him too angry.  He isn’t just—­sane.”

“Then all I have to do in Egypt is to hunt up my little Imp,” said Billy.  “I must see the little chap again—­before I go.”