CHAPTER XXXIII.

A FLASH OF LIGHTNING

“Jim,” said Barry miserably, “what else can I do?”

“Well,” Jim replied, thoughtfully rapping on the café table to

attract the waiter’s attention, “you can order another half bottle of

this very good wine, and then perhaps ideas may come.”

The order given:

“It’s Kismet,” Barry went on. “If she had confessed to murder I should

still have wanted her! In fact, mad as it may seem, I love her better,

now, knowing her to be what she is, than I did before.”

“Not mad in the least,” Jim commented. “Taking into consideration the

way she was brought up, I, myself, harsh though my judgments of frail

humanity notoriously are, should feel the same. I could both love and

respect the Marguerite who wrote that brave letter. I don’t think I

could ever have worked up any real enthusiasm for a living mummy.”

“I _know_,” said Barry emphatically, “that one day I shall find her

again. When I do, I’m going to marry her if she’ll have me!”

“Strong, sound sentiments,” Jim replied. “It is men such as you are

who make men such as I am love men such as you are! But the old

problem arises; your father.”

“I have made up my mind on that point,” Barry declared. “He must not

know--yet. It’s hateful, but I mustn’t shatter his illusion. I shall

write and tell him I have met the girl of the balcony, and that she is

the double of Zalithea--and the daughter of Devina. Those who knew

Zalithea will soon forget the resemblance when they hear Marguerite

speak. Then, one day, he shall know the truth. Nobody else must ever

know.”

“We shall have to lie like the Brothers Ananias,” said Jim sadly, “for

a time. This prospect appalls my proudly virtuous spirit. But it’s up

to you. What you say, goes. Meanwhile, a full week has elapsed and our

patient inquiries have merely yielded, No, sir. Shall you go on

advertising in the Paris papers?”

“Yes,” was the answer. “My advertisement means nothing to anyone else.

It might as well stand. Who knows?”

“Nobody knows,” Jim murmured. “It is ignorance and not knowledge which

makes us lose faith in Santa Claus. And this afternoon? Shall I scour

the district in and about Batignolles as you so kindly suggest?”

“Jim, you’re a brick! This ‘scouring’ is no sort of way to enjoy a

holiday in Paris. Just say you’re tired, and I’ll do that part myself

to-morrow.”

“No, no, Horatio. Batignolles appeals to me because I can’t pronounce

it. And have I not said many times that I long for the life of a

detective? ‘All forms of shadowing undertaken. Your pay roll guarded

by machine-gun experts (in uniform). Missing relatives traced by our

special staff of lady searchers. Our watchword----’”

“Jim! I love you, but----”

“Guilty! Dismiss the jury. We reassemble at the Chatham at six for

cocktails.”

And so the quest went on. Barry had in mind a neighbourhood he had

noted during a drive on the outskirts near the old fortifications.

Here were discreet villas sheltering behind little gardens which, like

the _yashmak_ of a Turkish beauty, merely provoked without concealing.

He felt sure that the house he sought would have a garden.

Barry had considered the idea of engaging a detective agency to trace

Zalithea, so strangely found only to be lost again. But, in the

circumstances, he had decided that to do so would be unwise.

Marguerite’s letter he almost knew by heart. At first, the shock of it

had stunned him. The readjustment of perspectives which it entailed

appalled his brain. But out of all the chaos one fact emerged--a fact

brooking no denial. He loved her. He could not imagine life without

her.

His eagerness was eternally conjuring up mirages. A group at a café

table would suddenly come into view--and _she_ was there. As he drew

nearer, all resemblance would disappear. He hated those unconscious

mimics, some of whom were astoundingly unlike Marguerite at close

quarters. Perfumery stores he unfailingly explored. And a hundred

times he had run like a madman to overtake some girl seen in the

distance--only to alarm a stranger.

More than one gendarme had eyed him with suspicion. A tall,

distinguished-looking old gentleman, wearing the ribbon of the Legion

and escorting a very pretty girl whose figure and carriage certainly

resembled those of Marguerite, demanded the name of his hotel and

promised to send his seconds to Barry in the morning.

And now he was on the outskirts of the woods. Just ahead lay the group

of villas which had attracted his attention on the previous day. He

proposed to pursue a plan adopted on other occasions: viz.--to call at

a likely-looking house and ask if Miss Devina and her father were at

home. Being assured that he had come to the wrong address, he could

inquire if two Americans resided anywhere in the vicinity.

Following an unseasonably hot morning, clouds had begun to gather

shortly after noon. Now, it was growing very dark. The woods on his

right were haunted by ghostly shadows. From somewhere beyond the

western outskirts of Paris echoed ominous rumblings, to remind good

Parisians of that black day when Von Kluck’s Prussians came hammering

at their gates.

Then, suddenly, the downpour started. In sight of a charming little

villa whose green shutters and green balconies were visible above a

guardian row of dwarf acacias, Barry darted to cover. His back against

the trunk of a tree the dense foliage of which promised shelter, he

stood, looking up.

A black thunder pall hung directly above. Except for the sound of

falling rain, a profound stillness had come. Then, blindingly,

lightning flicked its venomous fang from the heart of the cloud. The

house opposite was illuminated ice blue, eerily. Every leaf upon the

trees was lent a momentary hard, individual existence. Every nail in

the woodwork of the villa gate, every piece of gravel on the garden

paths, summoned attention vividly, alone, aloof from the rest.…

And a window directly facing the tree beneath which Barry stood was

thrown open.

Marguerite came out onto the green balcony!

Her lips were parted in a half-frightened smile. Exultant, like a roll

of Titanic war drums, thunder crashed and boomed and beat out its fury

in dying echoes.

Across the feathery crests of the acacias their glances met.…

Barry uttered an involuntary cry. The storm was forgotten. The world

was forgotten. Out into the drenching downpour he ran, across to the

gate and on, up the gravelled path, to the discreet, glazed door. She

had fled at sight of him. The balcony above was empty; but the window

remained open.

He rang, but without result. He rang again--and again--and again. He

rang continuously.

The door was opened.

And he found himself looking into a wrinkled Arab face.

“Safîyeh!” he exclaimed.

She smiled, unsurprisedly, and stood aside to allow him to enter.

He discovered himself in a little lobby furnished throughout in

Egyptian fashion. There were antique tables and figures of the gods of

the Nile. There was a fresco of subjects from Der-el-Bahari. A

perforated silver lamp hung from the ceiling. And the air was laden

with a faint perfume, the indescribable smell of Egypt.

Safîyeh raised a tapestry curtain and again stood aside. Barry went

into the room beyond.

This apartment was littered with every imaginable kind of relic, from

exquisite enamel necklaces to mummied cats. At sight of the treasures

contained there, Barry was transported in spirit to a similar room

high above the turmoil of New York, where once he had sat in

conference with Horace Pain, Dr. Rittenburg, and others.

Leaning upon a mantelpiece composed of carved red granite fragments

adapted to the purpose was a tall man, the collar of whose white shirt

fell open at the neck, while the sleeves were rolled up on muscular

arms. One elbow rested on the ledge; the clenched fist supported a

handsome, leonine head. A scarab ring glittered on his finger, as,

raising the other hand to remove a cigar which he was smoking, he

bowed in courteous greeting.

“Danbazzar!” cried Barry.

A roll of distant thunder from the moving storm echoed and reëchoed

over Paris.

“Paul Ahmes, at your service, sir!” Danbazzar corrected him. “But the

former, if you prefer it. One’s as much mine as the other! Sit down

and let’s talk this thing over.”

Fascinated against his will, as he had always been fascinated by this

man’s extraordinary personality, Barry dropped onto a divan,

silenced--stupefied--by the entire self-possession of the speaker.

Here was no recognition of wrongdoing; this was not a detected

impostor; this was the masterful man to whom obstacles were merely

stepping stones, who was fearless as he was unscrupulous. This was

Danbazzar.

“Margot told me what she had said in her letter,” he went on. “I

agreed. Get that clear. She did nothing behind my back. What she wants

goes with me, and she wanted you to know the truth. You’d never have

known if you hadn’t followed her to Paris. But I’m not sorry, anyway.

I have retired from business. Zalithea was my last deal. I regretted

it long before the end came, because I found out that John Cumberland

was white clean through. So, listen. Tell him if you like. I’ll hand

you a complete list of all the stuff he’s got that isn’t right, and he

can sell it back to me for just what he paid. I’m not playing tin

angels: I’ve got a market for it at big profit!”

Barry was unable to restrain a smile.

“If you ask me,” Danbazzar added, “he’d be happier left alone. But do

as you damn’ please. There’s no committee of experts in the world

would say any piece from my workshop was faked--and you can lay your

last dollar _I’m_ not going to say it! As for the job at the

tomb--we’re all in the dock together. Pirates can’t afford to quarrel!

And now I’m going to talk to you about Margot. I’m going to talk

straight, and I expect you to talk straight.…”

He talked, and talked straight, for the better part of an hour. He

displayed a side of his complex, twisted character, that Barry had

never suspected to exist. And, at one point, when he spoke of

Marguerite’s remorse for the part she had played, the words of Hassan

es-Sugra recurred to Barry: “Be not angry with her.” Finally:

“Now we’ve got it all set,” said Danbazzar. “I’ve quit the United

States for keeps. You know where I stand. We’re agreed about the bunch

in New York. And I know where you stand. Settle the rest with the

kid.”

He walked out of the room, stately, unperturbed; the Great Ahmes,

master of the situation. Barry stood up. Suddenly, he had grown

appallingly nervous. He paced up and down once or twice, among those

priceless relics of an age whose loves and hates were forgotten before

Paris arose from the forests. On one long, low wall, Pharaohs, gods,

and goddesses made mysterious signs to one another, signalling: It was

so in our day; it is so in this.

The rustle of the tapestry portière told him to turn.

He faced Marguerite.…

She stood on the threshold watching him. Her long dark eyes held the

same expression as on that night when, unseen by Barry, she had stolen

to the library door to take her last look at him.

Yet something else was there, and slowly she came forward to where he

stood. When she was close to him:

“My darling!” he whispered.

His arms went around her very tightly but very gently--not as in that

first fierce embrace. And when he kissed her it was a lingering tender

kiss.

THE END

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES

Minor spelling inconsistencies (e.g. El Kasr/El-Kasr, Kûrna/Kurna,

etc.) have been preserved.

Alterations to the text:

Abandon the use of drop-caps.

Punctuation: fix some quotation mark pairings/nestings and missing

periods.

[Chapter I]

Change “with never a word of _farwell_, urged by a sudden irrational”

to _farewell_.

“_Same_ classic analogy cropped up in his mind” to _Some_.

[Chapter XI]

“and ponds and gardens of _flourishng_ trees” to _flourishing_.

[Chapter XII]

“Hassan es-_Sufa_ extended his palms and softly intruded” to _Sugra_.

[Chapter XIII]

“He seemed _scarely_ to have closed his eyes before” to _scarcely_.

[Chapter XIV]

(“By _jove_!” John Cumberland exclaimed.) to _Jove_.

[Chapter XV]

“His _foosteps_ might be heard receding along the wâdi” to

_footsteps_.

[Chapter XVI]

“_It_ we had known, sir, with a little more time and trouble we” to

_If_.

[Chapter XX]

(This was _Kyphi_, mentioned in the “Papyrus _Embers_,” and) to

_Ebers_.

[Chapter XXIV]

“set upon Barry with an _expresison_ of childish eagerness” to

_expression_.

[Chapter XXVI]

“_Priness_ Zalithea has very little English, so excuse her” to

_Princess_.

[Chapter XXVII]

“he saw the _long repressed_ tears gathering under the dark fringe” to

_long-repressed_.

“Do they drown one of twins in those parts?” add _the_ after _of_.

[Chapter XXXI]

“who drove you to the hospital and took care of _you_ car” to

_your_.

“suggests that the theory--now generally _acepted_, I believe” to

_accepted_.

[End of text]