had the plague,
and have recovered from it. So far it has not been known to attack
anyone twice. But since you wish to speak to me alone, come with me."

With this he led me down the long passage to an office at the further
end. Like the others this one was also deserted. Once inside he closed
the door.

"Be as brief as you can," he said, "for during this terribly trying
period my time is not my own. What is it you wish to say to me?"

"I wish to confess to you," I said, and my voice rang in my ears like a
death knell, "that I am the cause of the misery under the weight of
which England and Europe is groaning at the present time."

Once more Sir Edward looked at me as he had done in the passage outside.

"I am afraid I do not quite understand," he said, but this time in a
somewhat different tone. "Do you mean that you wish me to believe that
you, Cyril Forrester, are the cause of the plague which is decimating
England in this terrible manner?"

"I do," I answered, and then waited to hear what he would say.

In reply he inquired whether I had suffered from the disease myself.

"I was the first to have it," I answered. "My story is an extraordinary
one, but I assure you every particular of it is true. I was inoculated
with the virus while I was in Egypt--that is to say, in the Queen's Hall
of the Great Pyramid of Gizeh. I afterward nearly died of it in an Arab
tent out in the desert beyond Luxor. Later I was taken by a man, of whom
I will tell you more presently, to Constantinople, thence through
Austria and Germany, and finally was smuggled across the Channel into
England."

"And who was the man who inoculated you?" inquired the Home Secretary,
still with the same peculiar intonation. "Can you remember his name?"

"He is known in England as Pharos the Egyptian," I replied--"the foulest
fiend this world has ever seen. In reality he is Ptahmes the Magician,
and he has sworn vengeance on the human race. Among other things he was
the real murderer of Clausand, the curiosity dealer, in Bonwell Street
last June, and not the inoffensive German who shot himself after
confessing to the crime at Bow Street. He smuggled me into England from
Hamburg, and the night before last he took me all through London--to the
Antiquarian Club, to the Duchess of Amersham's ball, to the Fancy Dress
ball that was held at Covent Garden the same night, and to many other
places. Everyone I spoke to became infected, and that, I assure you, on