dcloth, with an
auto coat of hunting pink, and a cap held down by yards of cloudy
veiling; Antoinette in a blue cloth gown, and about them both--stout
little boots and suede gloves and smart shirt-waists--such an air of
actuality as this chamber, prince and Sphinx and tradition and all,
could not approach. Mr. Augustus Frothingham had struck his usual
incontestable middle-ground by appearing in the blue velvet of a
robe of State, over which he had slipped his light covert top-coat,
and he carried his immaculate top-hat and a silver-headed stick.

"Prince Tabnit," said Mrs. Medora Hastings without ceremony, "what
have they done with that poor young man? Ask him, Olivia," she
besought, sinking down upon a chair of verd antique and extending a
limp, plump hand to the niece who always did everything executive.

Olivia was very pale. She had hardly slept, night-long. Alarm at the
inexplicable disappearance of St. George at dinner-time the day
before and at the discovery that old Malakh was nowhere about had,
by morning, deepened to unreasoning fear among them all. And then
Olivia, knowing nothing of what had taken place in the room of the
tombs, had resolved upon a desperate expedient, had bundled into an
airship her almost prostrate aunt, Mr. Frothingham and his excited
little daughter, and had borne down upon the Palace of the Litany
two hours before noon. Amory, frantic with apprehension, had stayed
behind with Jarvo, certain that St. George could not have left the
mountain. But now that Olivia stood before the prince it required
but a moment to convince her that Prince Tabnit really knew nothing
of St. George's whereabouts. Indeed, since his gift of Phoenician
wine, sealed three thousand years ago, and the immediate evanishment
of the two Americans, his Highness had no longer vexed his thought
with them, and he was genuinely amazed to know that (in a world
which was an intaglio of his own designing) these two had actually
spent yesterday at the king's palace on Mount Khalak. He perceived
that he must give them more definite attention than his half-idle
device of the wine--intended as that had been as a mere hyperspatial
practical joke, not in the least irreconcilable with his office of
host.

"Mr. St. George came to Yaque to help me find my father," Olivia was
concluding earnestly, "and if anything has happened to him, Prince
Tabnit, I alone am responsible."

The prince reflected for a moment, his eyes fixed upon th