f shillings. The
seat on which Michael was sitting had been made out of empty boxes;
they had been converted into a very presentable armchair by the
ingenuity of Mohammed Ali. Yet the atmosphere of the hut was human and
domesticated, the two women sweet and fragrant.

And so it was not difficult for Freddy to respond to his fair guest's
pleasant chatter. She made him laugh heartily more than once, and he
was ready for a good laugh. He was braced by her quick wit and
humorous way of looking at things.

Meg was doing her best to appear happy; she was really getting angrier
and angrier every minute with the woman who was so thoroughly enjoying
herself; angry because Freddy, like all other men, was being deceived
by her, because he was obviously thinking her very excellent
company--which she was. He was no doubt already wondering why she,
Meg, hated her so whole-heartedly. Freddy had seldom mentioned
Millicent to his sister; he had kept his own counsel. The Lamptons
were silent men, whose appreciation of women like Millicent never led
them astray in the choosing of their wives.

Michael had given Millicent his first vivid impressions of the tomb in
a very "Mik-ish" manner. He described Freddy, strikingly
distinguishable in his white flannels, greedily picking up jewels and
gold and bits of blue faience and stowing them away into boxes by the
light of an electric torch.

"A tomb burglar if ever you saw one! I shall never forget the sight."

"There's lots of work for you, Meg, to-night," Freddy said. "There's
an awful lot of things to sort and clean--beautiful things."

"How exciting!" Millicent said. "Can you keep any of the small things?
They'd stick to my fingers, I feel sure."

"No," Freddy said. "Not unless you are a thief. They aren't ours--I'm
only entrusted with the finding of them."

Millicent made a face of dissatisfaction, as she felt for something
which she wore fastened to the long gold chain which was hanging from
her neck.

"I wonder if you will pronounce this genuine or a fake? Do you
remember, Mike, our buying it?" She ran her fingers along the chain.
The genuine antique or fake was not on it; it was missing. She felt
again. No; there was nothing on the chain.

"Oh, I've lost it!" she said. "My precious eye of Horus, Mike. I
wouldn't have lost it for the world!" Her tone conveyed his
understanding of the personal value which she attached to the amulet.

"What was it?" Freddy