To this arrangement personally I objected, who desired neither treasure nor antiquities, but only the rescue of my son.  The others pointed out, however, that, like most people, I might in future want something to live on, or that if I did not, in the event of his escape, my boy certainly would; so in the end I gave way.

Then Captain Orme very sensibly asked for a definition of our respective duties, and it was settled that I was to be guide to the expedition; Higgs, antiquarian, interpreter, and, on account of his vast knowledge, general referee; and Captain Orme, engineer and military commander, with the proviso that, in the event of a difference of opinion, the dissentient was to loyally accept the decision of the majority.

This curious document having been copied out fair, I signed and passed it to the Professor, who hesitated a little, but, after refreshing himself with a further minute examination of Sheba’s ring, signed also, remarking that he was an infernal fool for his pains, and pushed the paper across the table to Orme.

“Stop a minute,” said the Captain; “I forgot something.  I should like my old servant, Sergeant Quick, to accompany us.  He’s a very handy man at a pinch, especially if, as I understand, we are expected to deal with explosives with which he has had a lot to do in the Engineers and elsewhere.  If you agree I will call him, and ask if he will go.  I expect he’s somewhere round.”

I nodded, judging from the episode of the mummy and the policeman that the Sergeant was likely to be a useful man.  As I was sitting next to it, I opened the door for the Captain, whereon the erect shape of Sergeant Quick, who had clearly been leaning against it, literally fell into the room, reminding me much of an overset wooden soldier.

“Hullo!” said Orme as, without the slightest change of countenance, his retainer recovered himself and stood to attention.  “What the deuce are you doing there?”

“Sentry go, Captain.  Thought the police might change their minds and come back.  Any orders, Captain?”

“Yes.  I am going to North Central Africa.  When can you be ready to start?”

“The Brindisi mail leaves to-morrow night, Captain, if you travel by Egypt, but if you go by Tunis, 7.15 a.m.  Saturday is the time from Charing Cross.  Only, as I understand that high explosives and arms have to be provided, these might take awhile to lay in and pack so as to deceive customs.”

“You understand!” said Orme.  “Pray, how do you understand?”

“Doors in these old houses are apt to get away from their frames, Captain, and the gentleman there”—­and he pointed to the Professor—­“has a voice that carries like a dog-whistle.  Oh, no offence, sir.  A clear voice is an excellent thing—­that is, if the doors fit”—­and although Sergeant Quick’s wooden face did not move, I saw his humorous grey eyes twinkle beneath the bushy eyebrows.

We burst out laughing, including Higgs.