Pennington looked at the clock.
“We’ll have to hustle—whichever of us is going.”
“You go,” said Rockford promptly. “You always made a hit with Linnet. ‘Uncle Andrew.’ That’s the ticket!”
Pennington’s face had hardened. He said: “I hope I can pull it off.”
“You’ve got to pull it off,” his partner said.
“The situation’s critical….”
XI
William Carmichael said to the thin, weedy youth who opened the door inquiringly: “Send Mr. Jim to me, please.”
Jim Fanthorp entered the room and looked inquiringly at his uncle. The older man looked up with a nod and a grunt.
“Humph, there you are.”
“You asked for me?”
“Just cast an eye over this.”
The young man sat down and drew the sheaf of papers towards him. The elder man watched him.
“Well?”
The answer came promptly. “Looks fishy to me, sir.”
Again the senior partner of Carmichael, Grant & Carmichael uttered his characteristic grunt.
Jim Fanthorp reread the letter which had just arrived by air mail from Egypt:
…It seems wicked to be writing business letters on such a day. We have spent a week at Mena House and made an expedition to the Fayum. The day after tomorrow we are going up the Nile to Luxor and Assuan by steamer, and perhaps on to Khartoum. When we went into Cook’s this morning to see about our tickets who do you think was the first person I saw?—my American trustee, Andrew Pennington. I think you met him two years ago when he was over. I had no idea he was in Egypt and he had no idea that I was! Nor that I was married! My letter, telling him of my marriage, must just have missed him. He is actually going up the Nile on the same trip that we are. Isn’t it a coincidence? Thank you so much for all you have done in this busy time. I—
As the young man was about to turn the page, Mr. Carmichael took the letter from him.
“That’s all,” he said. “The rest doesn’t matter. Well, what do you think?”
His nephew considered for a moment—then he said:
“Well—I think—not a coincidence….”
The other nodded approval.
“Like a trip to Egypt?” he barked out.
“You think that’s advisable?”
“I think there’s no time to lose.”
“But, why me?”
“Use your brains, boy; use your brains. Linnet Ridgeway has never met you; no more has Pennington. If you go by air you may get there in time.”
“I—I don’t like it.”
“Perhaps not—but you’ve got to do it.”