“Oh,” said Higgs, “he is a very nice young man and extremely good looking.  Indeed, I am quite proud to have such a godson.  He was much interested to hear that you were hunting for him after so many years, quite touched indeed.  He still talks English, though with a Fung accent, and, of course, would like to escape.  Meanwhile, he is having a very good time, being chief singer to the god, for his voice is really beautiful, an office which carries with it all sorts of privileges.  I told you, didn’t I, that he is to be married to Barung’s only legitimate daughter on the night of the next full moon but one.  The ceremony is to take place in Harmac City, and will be the greatest of its sort for generations, a feast of the entire people in short.  I should very much like to be present at it, but being an intelligent young man he has promised to keep notes of everything, which I hope may become available in due course.”

“And is he attached to this savage lady?” I asked dismayed.

“Attached?  Oh, dear no, I think he said he had never seen her, and only knew that she was rather plain and reported to possess a haughty temper.  He is a philosophical young man, however, as might be expected from one who has undergone so many vicissitudes, and, therefore, takes things as they come, thanking heaven that they are no worse.  You see, as the husband of the Sultan’s daughter, unless the pair quarrel very violently, he will be safe from the lions, and he could never quite say as much before.  But we didn’t go into these domestic matters very deeply as there were so many more important things to interest us both.  He wanted to know all about you and our plans, and naturally I wanted to know all about the Fung and the ritual and traditions connected with the worship of Harmac, so that we were never dull for a single moment.  In fact, I wish that we could have had longer together, for we became excellent friends.  But whatever happens, I think that I have collected the cream of his information,” and he tapped a fat note-book in his hands, adding: 

“What an awful thing it would have been if a lion had eaten this.  For myself it did not matter; there may be many better Egyptologists, but I doubt if any one of them will again have such opportunities of original research.  However, I took every possible precaution to save my notes by leaving a copy of the most important of them written with native ink upon sheepskin in charge of your son.  Indeed, I meant to leave the originals also, but fortunately forgot in the excitement of my very hurried departure.”

I agreed with him that his chances had been unique and that he was a most lucky archaeologist, and presently he went on puffing at his pipe.

“Of course, when Oliver turned up in that unexpected fashion on the back of the idol, remembering your wishes and natural desire to recover your son, I did my best to rescue him also.  But he wasn’t in the room beneath, where I thought I should find him.  The priests were there instead, and they had heard us talking above, and you know the rest.  Well, as it happens, it didn’t matter, though that descent into the den of lions—­there were two or three hundred feet of it, and the rope seemed worn uncommonly thin with use—­was a trying business to the nerves.”