It was his passion. He had given birth to it in me. I
was always with him, everywhere. And then he died, soon after his discovery
of that wonderful buried city of Mindano, in the heart of Africa. Perhaps
you have read----"
"Good God," breathed Aldous, so low that his voice did not rise above a
whisper. "Joanne--Ladygray--you are not speaking of Daniel Gray--Sir Daniel
Gray, the Egyptologist, the antiquarian who uncovered the secrets of an
ancient and wonderful civilization in the heart of darkest Africa?"
"Yes."
"And you--are his daughter?"
She bowed her head.
Like one in a dream John Aldous rose from his chair and went to her. He
seized her hands and drew her up so that they stood face to face. Again
that strange and beautiful calmness filled her eyes.
"Our trails have strangely crossed, Lady Joanne," he said. "They have been
crossing--for years. While Sir Daniel was at Murja, on the eve of his great
discovery, I was at St. Louis on the Senegal coast. I slept in that little
Cape Verde hotel, in the low whitewashed room overlooking the sea. The
proprietor told me that Sir Daniel had occupied it before me, and I found a
broken fountain pen in the drawer of that sickly black teakwood desk, with
the carved serpent's head.
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