“I will gladly save you the walk,” replied Klea, while the Smith sat down on the pedestal of one of the Sphinxes, and opening the leather wallet which hung by his side shook out the contents.  A few files, chisels, and nails fell out into his lap; then the key, and finally a sharp, pointed knife with which Krates had cut out the hollow in the door for the insertion of the lock; Krates touched up the pattern-key for the smith in Memphis with a few strokes of the file, and then, muttering thoughtfully and shaking his head doubtfully from side to side, he exclaimed: 

“You still must come with me once more to the door, for I require accurate workmanship from other people, and so I must be severe upon my own.”

“But I want so much to reach Memphis before dark,” besought Klea.

“The whole thing will not take a minute, and if you will give me your arm I shall go twice as fast.  There are the files, there is the knife.”

“Give it me,” Klea requested.  “This blade is sharp and bright, and as soon as I saw it I felt as if it bid me take it with me.  Very likely I may have to come through the desert alone at night.”

“Aye,” said the smith, “and even the weakest feels stronger when he has a weapon.  Hide the knife somewhere about you, my child, only take care not to hurt yourself with it.  Now let me take your arm, and on we will go—­ but not quite so fast.”

Klea led the smith to the door he indicated, and saw with admiration how unfailingly the bolt sprang forward when one half of the door closed upon the other, and how easily the key pushed it back again; then, after conducting Krates back to the Sphinx near which she had met him, she went on her way at her quickest pace, for the sun was already very low, and it seemed scarcely possible to reach Memphis before it should set.

As she approached a tavern where soldiers and low people were accustomed to resort, she was met by a drunken slave.  She went on and past him without any fear, for the knife in her girdle, and on which she kept her hand, kept up her courage, and she felt as if she had thus acquired a third hand which was more powerful and less timid than her own.  A company of soldiers had encamped in front of the tavern, and the wine of Kbakem, which was grown close by, on the eastern declivity of the Libyan range, had an excellent savor.  The men were in capital spirits, for at noon today—­after they had been quartered here for months as guards of the tombs of Apis and of the temples of the Necropolis—­a commanding officer of the Diadoches had arrived at Memphis, who had ordered them to break up at once, and to withdraw into the capital before nightfall.  They were not to be relieved by other mercenaries till the next morning.

All this Klea learned from a messenger from the Egyptian temple in the Necropolis, who recognized her, and who was going to Memphis, commissioned by the priests of Osiris-Apis and Sokari to convey a petition to the king, praying that fresh troops might be promptly sent to replace those now withdrawn.