The Lighted Match

Since the anchor had been weighed at Naples, the days had passed

uneventfully for the indolently cruising Isis with no word from

Galavia. But at last the operator caught his call and made ready to

receive. The message consisted of one word, and the word was "Cairo."

Cara, with no suspicion of what was transpiring in Puntal, beguiled by

the spell of smooth seas and dolce-far-niente softness of sky, was

once more the frank and charming companion of the American days.

The single word of the Marconigram had left the American in perplexity.

Evidently either Karyl or Von Ritz was to meet them at Cairo. Probably

Cairo instead of Alexandria had been designated because the King had

taken into consideration the possible danger from the plague at the

seaport. He told Cara only that Karyl would join the vacation party

there and kept to himself the reservation that his coming probably meant

disaster. Yet when they reached Cairo there was no news awaiting them.

It was the night of a confetti fête at Shephard's Hotel. Among the trees

of the gardens were ropes of lights and the soft color-spots of Chinese

lanterns. Branches glittered with incandescent fruit of brilliant

colors. Flags hung between the fronds of the palms and the plumes of the

acacias, and among the pleasure-seekers from East and West of Suez fell

pelting showers of confetti.

After dinner Cara and the ladies of her party had withdrawn to their

rooms to prepare for the gay warfare of the gardens. Benton, awaiting

them in the rotunda, lounged on one of the low divans which circle the

walls of the octagonal chamber, beneath carved lattices and Moorish

panels; a cigarette between his fingers and a small cup of black coffee

on the low tabouret at his elbow.

The place invited lazy ease, and Benton was as indolent among his

cushions as the spirit of brooding Egypt, but his eyes, watching the

stairs down which she would come, remained alert.

Hearing his name called in a voice which rang familiarly, he glanced up

to recognize the smiling face of young Harcourt, his chance acquaintance

of Capri. He set down the small Turkish cup and rose.

"Come back to the bar and fortify yourself against the thin red line of

British soldiery out there in the gardens. You can get a ripping

highball for eight piastres," laughed the newcomer. But Benton

declined.

"I am waiting for ladies," he explained. "I'll see you again."

"Sure you will." Harcourt paused. "I dash up the Nile in the morning,

going to do Karnak and Luxor--you know, the usual stunt. Been busy all

day buying scarabs and mummied cats, but I want to see you sometime

to-night. By the way, I've heard something--"

"All right. See you later." Benton spoke hurriedly, for he had caught

the flash of a slender figure in white on the stairs.