Since the anchor had been weighed at Naples, the days had passed
uneventfully for the indolently cruising Isis with no word from
Galavia. But at last the operator caught his call and made ready to
receive. The message consisted of one word, and the word was "Cairo."
Cara, with no suspicion of what was transpiring in Puntal, beguiled by
the spell of smooth seas and dolce-far-niente softness of sky, was
once more the frank and charming companion of the American days.
The single word of the Marconigram had left the American in perplexity.
Evidently either Karyl or Von Ritz was to meet them at Cairo. Probably
Cairo instead of Alexandria had been designated because the King had
taken into consideration the possible danger from the plague at the
seaport. He told Cara only that Karyl would join the vacation party
there and kept to himself the reservation that his coming probably meant
disaster. Yet when they reached Cairo there was no news awaiting them.
It was the night of a confetti fête at Shephard's Hotel. Among the trees
of the gardens were ropes of lights and the soft color-spots of Chinese
lanterns. Branches glittered with incandescent fruit of brilliant
colors. Flags hung between the fronds of the palms and the plumes of the
acacias, and among the pleasure-seekers from East and West of Suez fell
pelting showers of confetti.
After dinner Cara and the ladies of her party had withdrawn to their
rooms to prepare for the gay warfare of the gardens. Benton, awaiting
them in the rotunda, lounged on one of the low divans which circle the
walls of the octagonal chamber, beneath carved lattices and Moorish
panels; a cigarette between his fingers and a small cup of black coffee
on the low tabouret at his elbow.
The place invited lazy ease, and Benton was as indolent among his
cushions as the spirit of brooding Egypt, but his eyes, watching the
stairs down which she would come, remained alert.
Hearing his name called in a voice which rang familiarly, he glanced up
to recognize the smiling face of young Harcourt, his chance acquaintance
of Capri. He set down the small Turkish cup and rose.
"Come back to the bar and fortify yourself against the thin red line of
British soldiery out there in the gardens. You can get a ripping
highball for eight piastres," laughed the newcomer. But Benton
declined.
"I am waiting for ladies," he explained. "I'll see you again."
"Sure you will." Harcourt paused. "I dash up the Nile in the morning,
going to do Karnak and Luxor--you know, the usual stunt. Been busy all
day buying scarabs and mummied cats, but I want to see you sometime
to-night. By the way, I've heard something--"
"All right. See you later." Benton spoke hurriedly, for he had caught
the flash of a slender figure in white on the stairs.