The All-Story, March 1914 — page 13: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

490 One of the resident physicians at Shepheard's, Dr. Blake—an old friend of his—met hin in the hall one day. “ A trifle liverish,’” Dr. Blake diag- nosed. ‘ Come into iy office and have a pill.” Carlton laughed. “Tm treating my own case.’ The incident ended there, so far as Dr. Blake was concerned. Some idle, friendly talk and they had gone their several ways, But the physician's re- mark lingered in Carlton’s thought. He was feeling queer, and no mistake. What his friend had said accentuated the fact. What was this thing that was hanging over him? Since his interview with Tlamuid Yusef, he had prodded deeper into that myth of the Woman of the Pyramid. He had talked long with another halt- crazed beggar he had found near the old Coptic church—had heard practically the same story. Tle had found others, and still others. Cairo seemed to be filled with crazy men who attributed their downfall—or their good fortune, seeing that all such are under the spe- cial protection of the Prophet—to that same haunting spirit of the Pyramid of Menkaura. He had discovered the same tradi- tion in the only translation he could find of the Arab historian, al-Murtadi. It was all right for the other stran- gers within the gates of this ancient land — tourists, ‘Turkish, Ienglish, and French officialdom, greedy Ley antines of every stripe—it was all right for such to laugh at the old tradition. But he had facts of his own. Real facts they were, too, however odd. however unscientific. In the first place there was not only the appearance of Alice’s Aunt Rho- dopis. There was the name Rhodopis itseli—a name constantly recurring tn everything that he could find concern- ing the Red Pyramid—the third and ‘smallest of the cternal Three, and yet the most fascinating. They cafied ‘tt tne T-srarrids eA Wh kaura. but a woman had built t—had THE: ALL-STORY MAGAZINE. built it away back in the dawn of time —Queen Netokris or the fabulous courtesan KRhodopis—who could tell? And Carlton had seen her again— had once more looked upon that private, haunting, beautiful, yet terrible specter of his. This time, as on that day in the Bois de Boulogne. looked upon her in the full flood of daylight with plenty of other people there also to see, had they cared or been able. Tt was the hour of afternoon tea— the great,rooms of Shepheard’s crowd- ed by the rich and the fashionable and the otherwise celebrated from the six continents. A blaze of color—anything lacking 1 that respect being supplied bv the servants in red and white. Carlton, seated by himself. only dim- ly conscious of the music and the frothy surge of laughter and conversation, of tinkling silver, glass, and porcelain. Then, there she stood again. This time he looked his fill. she stood at the far end of the room, slender, graceful. exquisitely dressed— ‘though this latter fact was a mere im- pression, Carlton, like many men, being quite incapable of ever noting the de- tail of feminine costume. She looked back at him quite as steadily. She had an olive complexion: red lips, painted, perhaps. but not too much; blue-black hair: and then, those singu- lar disquieting eyes, dark-fringed, yet light, under fine, straight black brows that did not curve at all except where they drooped a little at the temples. He looked and looked. So did she. There was no feeling of embarrassment. on his part this time. There was ro- mance im it, unquestionably ; but, so far as he was concerned, there was some-. thing more than romance. There was the passion for truth which fires every scientist. especially if he be something of an idealist, 1f he have a touch of the poet mm him. The bright unearthly nymph who — dwells "Mid sunless gold and jewels hid. Was it possible that he was to be per- mitted to solve the old) chhndhedaaes