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"After due
consideration, good fellow, I must chide myself for being overly
dramatic. This ancient land and its history is a never-ending
mystery. But let us pass over that, for it has to be facts that are
our sure tools. We know that Chu San Fu is a deep-seated rascal and a
raving megalomaniac as well. Not an inappropriate mental state for a
would-be empire-builder, I might add." This statement was
accompanied by a thin smile. "He has caused a groundswell that
has passed through the Mohammedan areas and will evidently reach its
crest in Cairo at a meeting of the leaders of this widespread
religion. Now the Chinaman cannot pass himself off as a true-blue
follower of the prophet, for Mohammedanism has made no inroads in the
Far East. Therefore he has some other scheme in mind, for it is his
own aggrandizement that he is planning. Of that we can be sure. You
recall that the hieroglyphics and the secret writings as well are
recondite inasmuch as they reproduce visually not only words but
ideas. The golden tablets matter has distracted me no end for
they are, as of now, the only exhibits of the secret writings in any
detail."

"Andrade being the
one man who can translate them," I added as Holmes fell into a
silence.

"Do not forget
Memory Max, ol' fellow. I pictured this tool of Chu San Fu as capable
of deciphering them, and I may still be right about that. Now don't
laugh at me, but I did entertain the thought that these secret
writings, until now undecipherable, might contain the key to some
unknown power that would provide an explanation for the colossal
monuments created by ancient Egypt, the construction of which we
cannot as yet explain."

"Good Heavens,
Holmes, you feared that some age-old force or process, possibly
astronomical in source, might fall into the hands of a criminal
madman?"

"It does sound like
the awesome villainy from some transpontine piece, does it not? But
the idea did occur, perhaps inspired by the unexplained
mysteries on every hand in this strange land. I'm much relieved to be
proved wrong."

"But how do you
deduce that you are?"

"The tomb we found
was unopened. Were Chu San Fu in pursuit of an ancient force, would
he not have forced the door to that crypt in hopes of finding one or
more additional golden tablets in the unpillaged tomb?"

Unable to detect a flaw
in this reasoning, I nodded. "So we must return to basics. Chu
San Fu is here in Egypt to incite the Moslems to a religious crusade,
another rising of the Crescent. Of that I am sure. His possession of
the Sacred Sword is enough to gain, nay command, the attention of
Mohammedans throughout the world. It is the Chinaman's ticket to the
show, as 'twere. What have the golden tablets to do with his plan? In
keeping with the parlance of those lurid American novels that you
read, what is his secret weapon?"

"Well, Holmes—"

"And why would he,
clued by Puzza's cipher, discover the tomb, dig to the very entrance,
and then abandon the project? That makes no sense at all."

"Hmm. You did
mention American stories. This entire matter of tombs is rather
reminiscent of Western folklore relative to lost mines."

Holmes had been gazing
out of the window of our car and suddenly turned to me. "In what
way?"

"There's the matter
of the Lost Dutchman mine in Arizona, you know. The prospector
who discovered it is said to have brought in ore of an amazingly high
grade. But he died or disappeared, and the mine has never been found.
They are still looking for it, by the way. Then there's the Lost
Englishman's mine. Rather the same story. A remittance man supposedly
found the mother lode but then, at the death of his brother, was
called back to his homeland to assume the family title and never
returned."

"That I find
unbelievable," said Holmes.

"And a bit too
close to the Dutchman story. Personally, I think both tales were
inspired by some glib confidence man in hopes of doing a salting
job."

"Can we go over
that last part again, Watson?"

A memory caused me to
chuckle, and then I was prodded by the finger of guilt.

"See here, Holmes,
the Empire faces a crisis, and I'm relating tall tales that may have
no basis in truth."

"But stories have a
root source, good chap, and sometimes it is of interest. Do
inform me as to this 'salting' that you refer to."

"Well, it is a
swindle scheme, pure and simple. An attempt to sell a worthless
mine at an inflated price, though it backfired on one rascal.
Happened in Colorado, you see. Chap called Tabor was an unsuccessful
proprietor of a general store who grubstaked two miners."

"Grubstaked? You
have picked up a most colorful vocabulary."

"Supplied two
prospectors with goods for a share in their findings."

"Oh."

"Well, the two men
that he extended credit to discovered the 'Little Pittsburgh' mine,
which was the richest find in Colorado up to that point. Within a
short time, Tabor bought out his partners and became a
multimillionaire. But his sudden affluence did not increase his
business acumen. He would buy anything, and soon became known as an
easy mark."

"A what?"

"To put it bluntly,
Holmes, a sucker. Some fellow in a far-off place called Leadville had
a mine that had proved worthless, so he planted valuable ore in it, a
process known as 'salting,' and then took Tabor to view the
premises."

"Making sure that
he found the 'salted' ore, I take it."

"Exactly. Tabor
fell for the bait and purchased the mine. Paid better than one
hundred thousand dollars for it, as I recall."

"I noted that this
story promoted some humor in you, but it seems a sad tale of
chicanery to me."

"It's not over,
Holmes," I said somewhat smugly. "Tabor put a crew to
work on the mine, and his foreman reported back to the tycoon
that they had been had, that the mine was worthless. But Tabor was
undaunted. 'Dig some more,' he said. 'I've a great name for it: the
Matchless.'"

"Ever hopeful, I
see."

"Possibly inspired.
They dug ten feet down and discovered a vein that made the 'Little
Pittsburgh' seem pale by comparison. The 'Matchless Mine' financed H.
A. W. Tabor's honeymoon to Europe, during which he is rumored to have
spent ten million dollars!"

Holmes's jaw actually
dropped. "My dear Watson, the sum you mention is mind-boggling.
I wonder what the man who salted the mine . . ."

He was in the process of
lighting a cigarette and held the match for a long moment, its
flickering light reflected in his keen eyes. Then he completed the
operation slowly.

"Salted the mine.
By godfrey, Watson, that's it! At the risk of being repetitious, may
I say again that you do possess the innate ability to say the
right thing at the right time. Now, I must think."

I could not get another
word from him during our return trip to Cairo. He was in such a
deep study that I did not dare try.

Chapter
Seventeen

Holmes
Seems Irrational

Following our active
adventure in the Valley of the Kings, a long trip by rail was no
antidote for my aches and pains,
and the moment that Holmes
and I returned to the welcome surroundings of our hotel, I found
myself incapable of seriously thinking about the matter at hand,
as critical as it was. A quick bath and I was between sheets and sunk
in deep sleep. Night had fallen when I finally arose, considerably
refreshed though stiff as a board. When I dressed and made my way to
the sitting room of our suite, I was unprepared for the scene that
greeted me.

Only Holmes was in
evidence. Since he is tireless when on a case, I had not expected the
sleuth to indulge in a siesta but rather a room crowded with colonial
officialdom, discussing the next step in this most peculiar
situation, which had strong overtones of international complications.
There were evidences that Holmes had conferred with many, but to find
him deserted when at the critical point of an investigation did bring
me up short. I wondered if some new and unanticipated piece had been
introduced to the complex chessboard that faced the great detective.

Holmes's pipe was going,
emitting clouds of acrid smoke that served as evidence that his
superb mind was toying with facts in search of a realistic pattern
and a solution to the problems the pattern presented.

"Ah, Watson, you do
appear much the better for your rest. Whilst you were so engaged,
I've been able to resolve the necessary staff work attendant on the
resolution of this sticky wicket we have chanced upon."

I stifled a yawn and my
senses sharpened. Could it be that Holmes would map out his plan of
action, a step that he had seldom taken in the past?

"You did indicate
during our journey by rail that an idea had come to you."

"It has, prompted
by your chance remark. Happily this inspiration has stood up before a
searching analysis."

Holmes rose to his feet
and began pacing the room as he had so often within the familiar
confines of 221B Baker Street.

"The Government has
seen fit to accept—endorse, sponsor, if you will—an
unofficial investigation into the problem of an Arabian
uprising. I don't believe we need to underscore again the
far-reaching damage that this outbreak might cause. We can accept the
inclusive phrase that 'the situation is fraught with peril.' Alas, I
must place some of the blame on my shoulders."

"Oh, come now,
Holmes, this madman's scheme, whatever it is, was not of your
doing."

"But his ability to
do it, is. In a previous case of ours
^*
I swore that I
would smash Chu San Fu. Had I but held true to that idea, we might
not be in Egypt now."

^*
The
case of the Golden Bird.

"But Holmes, you
broke Chu's hold on Limehouse and Soho."

"We closed him
down. But he has, phoenix-like, risen again from the ashes of his
defeat. The Chu San Fu's of our world, Watson, are like a deadly
bacillus. They can be rendered impotent by isolation, but if allowed
to break free, they are just as capable of epidemical infection and
death as before. Extermination becomes the sole solution, as extreme
a policy as that may be."

There was in Holmes's
words a fatal conviction, and they produced a feeling of discomfort
in me. His tone displayed an unusual fervor, alien to his normal
cold and analytic manner.

"I have little
reason to plead Chu's cause—"

"Nor I," said
Holmes before I could elaborate on my thought. "The snake's
fangs have to be removed. As I stated but a moment ago, this affair
bears the name of an unofficial investigation, and after some thought
I have decided to adhere to the title. We shall do what needs to be
done, our way, my good chap. Can I interest you in dinner, prior to
our departure for the native quarter of this strange city?"

Of course, I was
dumbfounded. "Holmes, you jest. Chu San Fu in his intellectual
dotage may have fallen prey to a Caesar complex, but he is not
stupid."

"True, Watson. You
are too old a hand to make the error of underestimating an opponent,
and so am I."

"You reinforce my
thoughts," I cried. "You are a marked man. The Chinaman
knows that only you have the imagination and the ability to
anticipate his moves and divert them. I would think, nay, I
know, that right now his first thought is to stop Sherlock Holmes."

"Let us hope so,
ol' chap. Dinner?"

From experience I knew
that I had to bite back my remonstrances. Holmes had allowed the
orchestra of his voice to play the overture, but I was going to have
to wait for the first act of the opera of his composition.

What we had for dinner I
cannot tell you. I was so consumed with worry that I ate without
noticing the fare, certainly not according to my fashion. But one
must admit that I had cause for concern. Holmes's tone when he
discussed Chu San Fu and his second coming, as 'twere, had an ominous
quality. That he would risk himself to stop the master criminal from
instigating an uprising, I was sure. Therefore, it behooved me to
stick to him like the proverbial plaster and to provide whatever
assistance my trusty Webley and I could. Holmes was not impetuous or
rash. He seldom made a move that was not well considered in advance,
but I could not anticipate what scheme he had in mind to bring the
Oriental to heel. For all I knew his meticulous mind had evolved a
foolproof plan, but I could scarcely picture one that would not
involve personal risk, and I promised myself that the danger would
involve the both of us.