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The pain in his hip was almost unbearable. The long walks at Luxor and Abu Simbel had left him utterly exhausted. There was a slight congestion in his lungs, and for days his heart had been beating just a little too fast.
He watched Henry in his rumpled linen suit pace the little Tunisian carpet in the quaint "Colonial" bedroom with its old-fashioned chunky Victorian pieces and Egyptian wall hangings, and the inevitable wicker chairs.
Henry now had the look of a round-the-clock drinker, skin waxy as well as florid, hands steady because he was now thoroughly fueled with Scotch.
As a matter of fact, his glass was empty and Elliott had not the slightest inclination to ask Walter to refill it. Elliott's antipathy for Henry had reached its zenith. The man's mumbling, half-incoherent speech left Elliott utterly repelled.
"... no reason in the world why I should make that voyage back with her, she's perfectly capable of taking care of herself. And I don't intend to stay here at Shepheard's, either...."
"Why are you telling me all this?" Elliott asked finally. "Write to your father."
"Well, I have. It's only you'd be advised not to tell him that I stayed here in Cairo while you went on that inane voyage south. You'd be advised to back me up."
"And why is that?"
"Because I know what you're up to." Henry wheeled around suddenly, eyes glittering with drunken drama. "I know why you came here. It's got nothing to do with Julie! You know that thing's a monster. You realized it during the voyage. You know what I said was true about its climbing out of the coffin...."
"Your stupidity is beyond belief."
"What are you saying?" Henry leaned over the footboard, as if he meant to frighten Elliott.
"You saw an immortal man rise from his grave, you worthless fool. Why do you run from it with your tail between your legs?"
"You're the fool, Elliott. It's unnatural. It's ... monstrous. And if it tries to come near me, I shall tell what I know. About it and about you."
"You're losing your memory as well as your mind. You have already told. You were the laughingstock of London for twenty-four hours, probably the only real recognition you will ever enjoy."
"You think you're so clever, you filthy aristocratic beggar. You dare to put on airs with me. Have you forgotten our little weekend in Paris?" He gave a twisted smile as he lifted the empty glass, then saw there was nothing in it. "You peddled your title for an American fortune. You've peddled your son's title for the Stratford money. And now you're chasing after that filthy thing! You believe in this mad, stupid idea of the elixir."
"And you don't?"
"Of course I don't."
"Then how do you explain what you saw?"
Henry paused, eyes working again in that feverish manner which had become shifty. "There's some trick to it, some twist. But there's no damned chemical that makes people live forever. That's insane."
Elliott laughed under his breath. "Maybe it was done with mirrors."
"What?"
"The thing coming out of the coffin and trying to strangle you," Elliott said.
The contempt in Henry's eyes hardened to hate.
"Maybe I should tell my cousin that you're spying on her, that you want the elixir. Maybe I should tell that thing."
"She knows. So does he."
Utterly stymied, Henry looked down into the empty glass.
"Get out of here," Elliott said. "Go where you please."
"If my father should contact you, leave a message for me at the desk."
"Oh? Am I not supposed to know that you're living with that dancer, Malenka? Everyone else knows it. It's the scandal of the moment, Henry in old Cairo with his card game and his dancing girl."
Henry sneered.
