“Under pretence of attending her medically,” I went on, “for otherwise their wretched etiquette would scarcely have allowed me access to one so exalted, I talked things over with her.  She told me that the idol of the Fung is fashioned like a huge sphinx, or so I gathered from her description of the thing, for I have never seen it.”

“What!” exclaimed Higgs, jumping up, “a sphinx in North Central Africa!  Well, after all, why not?  Some of the earlier Pharaohs are said to have had dealings with that part of the world, or even to have migrated from it.  I think that the Makreezi repeats the legend.  I suppose that it is ram-headed.”

“She told me also,” I continued, “that they have a tradition, or rather a belief, which amounts to an article of faith, that if this sphinx or god, which, by the way, is lion, not ram-headed, and is called Harmac——­”

“Harmac!” interrupted Higgs again.  “That is one of the names of the sphinx—­Harmachis, god of dawn.”

“If this god,” I repeated, “should be destroyed, the nation of the Fung, whose forefathers fashioned it as they say, must move away from that country across the great river which lies to the south.  I have forgotten its name at the moment, but I think it must be a branch of the Nile.

“I suggested to her that, in the circumstances, her people had better try to destroy the idol.  Maqueda laughed and said it was impossible, since the thing was the size of a small mountain, adding that the Abati had long ago lost all courage and enterprise, and were content to sit in their fertile and mountain-ringed land, feeding themselves with tales of departed grandeur and struggling for rank and high-sounding titles, till the day of doom overtook them.

“I inquired whether she were also content, and she replied, ’Certainly not’; but what could she do to regenerate her people, she who was nothing but a woman, and the last of an endless line of rulers?

“‘Rid me of the Fung,’ she added passionately, ’and I will give you such a reward as you never dreamed.  The old cave-city yonder is full of treasure that was buried with its ancient kings long before we came to Mur.  To us it is useless, since we have none to trade with, but I have heard that the peoples of the outside world worship gold.’

“‘I do not want gold,’ I answered; ’I want to rescue my son who is a prisoner yonder.’

“‘Then,’ said the Child of Kings, ’you must begin by helping us to destroy the idol of the Fung.  Are there no means by which this can be done?’

“‘There are means,’ I replied, and I tried to explain to her the properties of dynamite and of other more powerful explosives.

“‘Go to your own land,’ she exclaimed eagerly, ’and return with that stuff and two or three who can manage it, and I swear to them all the wealth of Mur.  Thus only can you win my help to save your son.’”

“Well, what was the end?” asked Captain Orme.