“Oh, no,” said the soldier, “you see, he’s rather afraid of magic. He’ll keep to his word right enough.”
“Then _that’s_ all right,” said Robert; and Anthea said softly and coaxingly—
“Ah, _do_ get us the monkey, and then you’ll see some lovely magic. Do—there’s a nice, kind soldier.”
“I don’t know where they’ve put your precious monkey, but if I can get another chap to take on my duty here I’ll see what I can do,” he said grudgingly, and went out.
“Do you mean,” said Robert, “that we’re going off without even _trying_ for the other half of the Amulet?”
“I really think we’d better,” said Anthea tremulously.
“Of course the other half of the Amulet’s here somewhere or our half wouldn’t have brought us here. I do wish we could find it. It is a pity we don’t know any _real_ magic. Then we could find out. I do wonder where it is—exactly.”
If they had only known it, something very like the other half of the Amulet was very near them. It hung round the neck of someone, and that someone was watching them through a chink, high up in the wall, specially devised for watching people who were imprisoned. But they did not know.
There was nearly an hour of anxious waiting. They tried to take an interest in the picture on the wall, a picture of harpers playing very odd harps and women dancing at a feast. They examined the painted plaster floor, and the chairs were of white painted wood with coloured stripes at intervals.
But the time went slowly, and everyone had time to think of how Pharaoh had said, “Don’t torture them—_yet_.”
“If the worst comes to the worst,” said Cyril, “we must just bunk, and leave the Psammead. I believe it can take care of itself well enough. They won’t kill it or hurt it when they find it can speak and give wishes. They’ll build it a temple, I shouldn’t wonder.”
“I couldn’t bear to go without it,” said Anthea, “and Pharaoh said ‘After supper’, that won’t be just yet. And the soldier _was_ curious. I’m sure we’re all right for the present.”
All the same, the sounds of the door being unbarred seemed one of the prettiest sounds possible.
“Suppose he hasn’t got the Psammead?” whispered Jane.
But that doubt was set at rest by the Psammead itself; for almost before the door was open it sprang through the chink of it into Anthea’s arms, shivering and hunching up its fur.