“Glad to see you, Captain,” he said to Oliver.  “Was getting very anxious about you, sir, until by good luck I found a match in the lining of my coat.  If the Professor had been here he’d have had plenty, which is an argument in favour of continuous smoking, even when ladies are present.  Ah! no wonder her Majesty is faint in this hot place, poor young thing.  It’s lucky you didn’t leave hold of her, sir.  Do you think you could manage to support her, sir, as we ought to be moving.  Can’t offer to do so myself, as I have lamed my foot with the tooth of a dead king, also my arms are full of torches.  But if you prefer the Doctor—­what do you say, sir?  That you can manage?  There is such an echo in this vault that it is difficult to hear—­very well, let us go on, for these torches won’t last for ever, and you wouldn’t like us to have to spend a whole night here with the lady in such a delicate condition, would you, especially as those nasty-tempered Abati might say that you had done it on purpose?  Take her Majesty’s arm, Doctor, and let us trek.  I’ll go ahead with the torches.”

To all this artless harangue Oliver answered not a single word, but glared at us suspiciously over the shape of Maqueda, who apparently had fainted.  Only when I ventured to offer her some professional assistance she recovered, and said that she could get on quite well alone, which meant upon Orme’s arm.

Well, the end of it was that she got on, and so did we, for the torches lasted until we reached the narrow, sloping passage, and, rounding the corner, saw the lantern burning in the hole in the wall, after which, of course, things were easy.

“Doctor,” said Oliver to me in a voice of studied nonchalance that night, as we were preparing to turn in, “did you notice anything in the Vault of Kings this afternoon?”

“Oh, yes,” I answered, “lots!  Of course, myself, I am not given to archaeology, like poor Higgs, but the sight struck me as absolutely unique.  If I were inclined to moralize, for instance, what a contrast between those dead rulers and their young and beautiful successor, full of life and love”—­here he looked at me sharply—­“love of her people, such as I have no doubt in their day——­”

“Oh, shut it, Adams!  I don’t want a philosophical lecture with historical comparisons.  Did you notice anything except bones and gold when that unutterable ass, Quick, suddenly turned on the lights—­I mean struck the match which unfortunately he had with him.”

Now I gave it up and faced the situation.

“Well, if you want the truth,” I said, “not very much myself, for my sight isn’t as good as it used to be.  But the Sergeant, who has extraordinarily sharp eyes, thought that he saw you kissing Maqueda, a supposition that your relative attitudes seemed to confirm, which explains, moreover, some of the curious sounds we heard before he lit the torches.  That’s why he asked me to turn my back.  But, of course, we may have been mistaken.  Do I understand you to say that the Sergeant was mistaken?”