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When we did reach them, we found that a camp was already established. Information had been given to the Government." He heaved a deep sigh. "The thing was out of my hands. I suppose the shock finished me for the time being, for when I left the excavation-camp I became ill, so ill that Abdul had to take me as quickly as he could to the Omdeh's house near the subterranean village.
They prefer this darkness, this unwholesome atmosphere." "And these awful flies?" "Aiwah, Effendi. They seldom go up to see the sky; perhaps they have never sung to the moon." "To every bird his nest is home, Abdul." "Aiwah, Effendi. But I will take you to the Omdeh's house we shall soon be out of this." "Is his house amongst these hovels?" Michael pointed to one particularly dark cavern.
When they were out of hearing and all the polite good-byes had been spoken a proceeding which is always a trying one to the impatient traveller Michael and Abdul talked together in low accents and in English. What had the Omdeh's news really meant? In Abdul's heart there was little doubt as to who had found it, if there was any truth in the rumour.
While they had been talking, Michael had enjoyed countless small cups of tea. It was so good and fragrant that he realized that for the first time he had drunk tea as it was meant to be drunk. He understood how greatly it deteriorates by crossing the ocean; this tea had journeyed all the way to the Omdeh's house by caravan; it had been brought overland by the old trade-route.
To Michael the Omdeh's selamlik seemed like a foretaste of paradise. The Omdeh was a courteous old gentleman, who played the part of host and government official with a simple dignity and friendly hospitality. The open front of the selamlik faced a beautiful orange orchard; low seats, comfortably cushioned, ran round its three walls. The Omdeh sat on his feet on his mastaba.
The Living Aton was penetrating the rat-pit. "Aiwah, Effendi, that is the exit of the village. The Omdeh's house is not far off in less than five minutes the Effendi will be reposing in his cool selamlik, his throat refreshed with caravan tea." In a native house the selamlik is a spacious room or summerhouse, set apart for the receiving of guests.
No child was ever more pleased to see its mother than Michael was to see Abdul, when he came to wake him and remind him that that same evening they ought to reach the hills, and prove that the Omdeh's rumour about the treasure was either false or true. Never for one instant had Abdul doubted the vision; he had never considered the fact that there might never have been any treasure at all.
Unlike the ordinary desert peoples, the women were veiled; only their dark eyes were visible to the stranger whom they flocked to see. They showed great surprise when Michael spoke to one of the men in fluent Arabic. At Michael's suggestion that the Omdeh's house would be like one of the cave-houses, Abdul had flung back his head.
And now to return to Michael. During the weary weeks of anxiety and suffering which Margaret spent in Egypt before she sailed for England, Michael lay hovering between life and death in the Omdeh's house near the subterranean village in the Libyan Desert. Abdul had taken him there when he gathered him up in his strong arms on the eventful evening when he left the excavation-tent in the hills.
The disturbing of the sand had exposed the jewels, which caught the sunlight and the sharp eyes of the desert traveller. He was an old man, exceedingly honest, uncontaminated with the ways of city dwellers, so he took the jewels to the Omdeh's house and asked him if he thought that they were valuable, and if they were, what he should do with them. His interest was aroused.
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