He had been shocked when he was reminded of his attack upon Dassam, for apparently he could not recall it, knew nothing at all of it, would not accept that it had ever happened—until Wilfred Sommers visited him in the hospital and brought the Egyptian with him, and he saw Dassam’s face: the badly bruised jaw and blackened eye. And even then he had difficulty accepting the fact that he was to blame.
Finally, there was the matter of the two rings which Dassam had found with the golden mask. When Sir George had asked the Egyptian if he intended to hand them over also, he had declared that that was not his intention. One of the rings belonged to him—the other belonged to “Khai.” Afterwards he had not known why he had called Arnott by that name, and he never used it again. . . .
Now Sommers had reached the door to his father’s study and he knocked before entering. Sir George was pacing the floor, deep in thought. After a while, he stopped his pacing and looked up. The two faced each other and each knew what the other was thinking. Then Sir George smiled and his son joined him.
“Did everything go all right?” the elder Sommers asked.
“Oh, yes, the plane got off OK,” Wilfred answered.
“And Omar is sure he can smuggle the mask back in again?”
“He thinks so, yes.”
For a moment, the older man was silent, then he said: “It has all been very strange, but now it’s over.”
“Is it?” His son seemed doubtful.
“You think there’s something else?”
“I don’t think we’ve seen the last of Paul, no.”
“Ah!” his father thought he understood. “You think he’ll make some great discovery up there in the Gilf Kebir, do you? You believe that he and Omar will have a successful dig, is that it?”
“Oh, that’s possible, but it’s not what I meant. I think he’s gone out there to search for something, yes, but not for anything he’ll find buried in the ground.”
“Ah!” his father said again. “Perhaps you’re right. The face on the mask, eh?”
The other nodded. “If there ever was a Sh’tarra—if there is now—where better to find her?”
“And do you think he will find her?”
To which there was really no answer. . . .
Brian Lumley, Khai of Khem
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