At last Isaacson was in pajamas and ready for bed.  But still his mind was terribly wide awake.  The papers he had bought in the afternoon were lying upon his table.  Should he read a little to compose his mind?  He took up a paper—­the Morning Post—­opened it, and glanced casually over the middle page.

“Sudden death of the Earl of Harwich.”

So Nigel’s brother was gone, and, but for the twin boys so recently arrived, Mrs. Armine would at this moment be Countess of Harwich!

Isaacson read the paragraph quickly; then he put the paper down and opened his window.  He wanted to think in the air.  As he leaned out to the silent city, faintly, as if from very far off, he heard a cry that thrilled through his blood and set his pulses beating.

From a minaret a mueddin was calling the faithful to prayer, at “fegr,” when the sun pushes the first ray of steel-coloured light, like the blade of a distant lance, into the breast of the East.

“Al-la-hu-akbar!  Al-la-hu-ak-bar!”

XXX

Isaacson had come out to Egypt with no settled plan.  The only thing he knew was that he meant to see Nigel Armine.  He had not cabled or written to let Nigel know he was coming, and now that he was in Cairo he did not attempt to communicate with the Loulia.  He would go up the Nile.  He would find the marvellous boat.  And one day he would stand upon a brown bank above her, he would see his friend on the deck, would hail him, would cross the gangway and walk on board.  Nigel would be amazed.

And Mrs. Armine?

Many times on shipboard Isaacson had wondered what look he would surprise in the eyes of Bella Donna when he held out his hand to her.  Those eyes had already defied him.  They had laughed at him ironically.  Once they had almost seemed to menace him.  What greeting would they give him in Egypt?

That the death of Lord Harwich would recall Nigel to England he scarcely supposed.  The death had been sudden.  It would be impossible for Nigel to arrive for the funeral.  And Isaacson knew what had been the Harwich view of the connection with Mrs. Chepstow, what Lady Harwich had thought and said of it.  Zoe Harwich was very outspoken.  It was improbable that Nigel’s trip on the Nile would be brought to an end by his brother’s death.  Still, it was not impossible.  Isaacson realized that, and on the following day, meeting a London acquaintance in the hotel, a man who knew everything about everybody, he spoke of the death casually, and wondered whether Armine would be leaving the Nile for England.

“Not he!  Too seedy!” was the reply.

Isaacson remembered the letter he had had in London from his patient at Luxor.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“Sunstroke, they say.  He went out at midday without a hat—­just the sort of thing Armine would do—­went out diggin’ for antiquities, and got a touch of the sun.  I don’t think it’s serious.  But there’s no doubt he’s damned seedy.”