She who sleeps A romance of New York and the Nile
twinkled in the lamplight. He stared fixed at the Professor; then:
“He is an Egyptian,” he replied. “What would he gain by that?”
“Ah!” John Cumberland exclaimed. “_Gain!_ That’s the
answer--_bakhshish!_”
“Under the present government,” said Danbazzar gravely, “always!”
“Well!” Cumberland shrugged his shoulders. “I came prepared to pay! Is
it safe to start?”
“I was about to ask the same question,” declared Professor Blackwell,
raising his gaunt and ungainly form from the low camp chair in which
he was seated.
“Yes.”
Danbazzar spoke deliberately, and without betraying any of the
excitement which the Professor had been unable to conceal, which
obviously possessed John Cumberland, and to which Barry was a restless
prey. He turned to Hassan es-Sugra.
“Hassan,” he directed, “make sure that all’s clear.”
Hassan saluted deeply and went out of the tent.
“It’s a bit of a scramble,” Danbazzar warned. “Everybody in fibre
shoes, and don’t forget your flasks.”
Their preparations were complete when Hassan returned with the news
that the road was clear; whereupon, they set out.
The route they followed was merely a native path and not one of the
roads ordinarily used. For a goat or a barefooted Egyptian it was
navigable enough, but what with leaping over chasms of unknown depth
and scrambling up narrow funnels composed of crumbling rock, brittle
as a cracker, it was not all that might have been desired by a party
of townsmen out for an evening stroll.
At last they came out on the hummock of a hill, and below them,
magnificently outlined in shadow, lay the Valley of the Queens. Above
towered that strangely shaped mountain once sacred to the goddess
Hathor. Breathless, Barry leaned upon a block of stone, listening to a
duet in hard breathing contributed by his father and Professor
Blackwell. Danbazzar’s cigar glowed in the shadows of a neighbouring
rock, and Hassan es-Sugra exhibited no evidence of fatigue.
Awhile they paused there, and then set out again, Danbazzar and Hassan
leading, John Cumberland and the Professor following, Barry bringing
up the rear. Thus they went, except where broken formation of the
ground necessitated single file.
By what sailing marks the pilots traced their course was not apparent.
But through the desolation of this land of tombs they passed, the way
twisting and turning, their route being sometimes upward and sometimes
downward, until at last:
“Here it is!” said Danbazzar.
Barry’s weariness departed; his heart leaped.
They stood before a sheer rock face, its irregular surface pitted with
openings. Above a mound of drift, Hassan es-Sugra began to dig with
his stick, clearing sand and rubbish away. Barry watched him
abstractedly: he was fighting to conquer the reality.
Somewhere here, deep in the heart of this rock, she lay, the princess
of long ago! She whose picture, portrayed in the papyrus, was a vivid
representation of the girl he had seen on that balcony in faraway New
Jersey! Here! somewhere in this ancient mountain where she had lain
for thousands of years!
What was the link? What did it mean? Useless! His mind refused to
grapple with so monstrous a problem.
“See!” Hassan es-Sugra turned, extending his palms. “The cartouche,
sirs! As I found it a year ago!”
A ray from Danbazzar’s electric torch shone on to the rock. All bent
forward eagerly.
“Quite! Quite!” murmured Professor Blackwell. “Yes, it is the same,
unmistakably!”
Deeply carved in the surface, it was there for all to see--the curious
sign which translated, meant: “She Who Sleeps but Will Awaken.”
CHAPTER XIII.
THE EXCAVATORS
Nothing succeeds like impudence. The original plan had provided for
work at night only; but the flooded state of the Nile Valley was so
discouraging to tourists and interruption of labours in the remote
spot where the tomb was situated so unlikely that Danbazzar at the
outset decided upon day shifts and night shifts.
Now definitely launched upon this unlawful project, a sort of unholy
joy fired the party. It was even shared by Professor Blackwell.
The plan of operations was worthy of its inventor. The entrance to the
tomb lay in a fairly deep recess; and Danbazzar had constructed, in
convenient sections, a huge screen--practically a piece of scenery.
The material for this accounted for the presence of several strangely
shaped cases among their baggage for which Barry had hitherto been
unable to account.
Set in place before the entrance to the tomb, with top pieces and side
pieces, or wings, it was joined with sand and rubbish to the rubble of
the valley path. When lovingly finished by Danbazzar--seated upon a
light scaffold--with odd dabs of paint applied to a wet surface upon
which sand had been thrown, the result was magical. While it slightly
altered the conformation of the landscape, it was utterly impossible
to detect the presence of this screen even by the closest scrutiny.
One would have had to tap it to learn that it was of wood and canvas,
and not of rock.
Access to the interior was gained by an ingenious door, low down at
one corner. This door was in reality a shallow box filled with rubble
and cement and opening upward. In the space between the screen and the
rock there was ample room for work, which was carried on by lantern
light. With two men always on duty, one at the high end of the valley
and one at the low, to give warning for operations to cease, detection
was next to impossible, short of treachery on the part of an employee.
On the morning that this screen was completed, Danbazzar, paint brush
in hand, stood surveying his work with the pride of an artist. He
turned to Barry, who stood beside him and:
“Some illusion, I think!” said he.
“It’s simply amazing!” cried John Cumberland.
“I worked behind that screen, sir,” said Danbazzar, “for three months,
and not a soul but my men ever knew I was there! The last month I
spent covering up what I’d found.”
“I take it,” said Cumberland, “we can soon demolish what you
reconstructed?”
“Pretty soon,” Danbazzar agreed. “But I had to make a sound job of
it.”
“Anyway,” said Barry, “from now onward we are safe.”
“As you say--” Danbazzar bowed as one who acknowledges applause and
gave the signal for the scaffolding to be demolished--“the dangerous
part is over. Rain is the worst we have to fear now.”
He touched Hassan es-Sugra upon the shoulder.
“Hassan,” he directed, “let the first party begin at three o’clock.
You have my instructions. I shall be back at five.”
Hassan saluted, and leaving Mahmoud in charge of the clearing-up
operations, walked away, slow and stately, down the valley.
As it chanced, their belief in the artistic genius of Danbazzar was
very shortly to be put to the test; for, returning to the camp, where
they intended to remain during the heat of noon, they were met by a
very courteous Egyptian official.
John Cumberland started at sight of the figure wearing the _tarbûsh_,
but Danbazzar exhibited neither surprise nor alarm.
“Ah! Mr. Tawwab!” he cried genially. “It was real good of you to hunt
us up!”
Mr. Tawwab’s smile was noncommittal.
“The Mudîr felt anxious about you,” he explained; “and learning that
you had not yet started for the oasis, suggested that I should see
you.”
“We are honoured and delighted,” Danbazzar declared. “Allow me to make
known to you Mr. John Cumberland and Professor Blackwell--Mr. Barry
Cumberland. This is Mr. Ahmed Tawwab, secretary to the Governor of
Luxor. Coffee, I believe, is prepared. You will join us, Mr. Tawwab?”
“Certainly.”
The Egyptian bowed, and they all entered the tent which served as
dining room, office, and council chamber.
Danbazzar entered last, behind Barry, and, in his ear:
“Mischief!” he whispered.
The boring ceremony of coffee and cigarettes, which is indispensable
to any piece of Arab business, having been duly performed:
“The Mudîr,” Mr. Tawwab explained, turning the gaze of his languorous
eyes upon Danbazzar, “learns from the Mudîr of Asyut, that a
considerable party of Hawwara Arabs, led by a sheik of the Hamman
family and plainly meaning mischief, has been reported from El Kharga,
in the Great Oasis. It is perhaps a political or a religious
demonstration, but the Mudîr thought it wise to advise you that there
may be danger.”
“Convey my thanks to His Excellency,” said Danbazzar gravely. “We are
all most indebted.”
His deep voice was lowered to a sort of caressing purr; which,
however, resembled that of some large member of the cat family.
“But,” Mr. Tawwab pursued, rolling a cigarette between his flexible
fingers, “I understand that you are a fairly large party, and, of
course, you can make choice. He will be glad to learn, nevertheless,
that his information was correct, and that this warning has reached
you before your setting out.”
Mr. Tawwab having presently departed:
“What does this mean, exactly?” John Cumberland demanded.
“It means, sir,” said Danbazzar grimly, “that our screen was only
erected in the nick of time! We shall be watched!”
“What!” exclaimed Professor Blackwell with alarm; “but we may be
arrested!”
Danbazzar turned his strange eyes in the speaker’s direction, studying
him silently for a moment; then:
“Before that time comes,” he replied, “we shall be invited to _pay_.
But if we can get through without paying, all the better.”
“Do you believe the story of the Arabs?” Barry asked.
“No,” Danbazzar answered promptly, “I don’t!” His fierce eyes grew
very reflective. “Nor do I believe that Ahmed Tawwab came from the
Mudîr at all.”
“I don’t follow,” said Barry. “What is your idea about it, then?”
“My idea is,” Danbazzar answered, “that Mr. Tawwab has discovered the
identity of your father and has simply called as an ordinary matter of
business. He has got wise that we’re here with some secret purpose,
and he’s going to make us pay. It was against grafting of this sort
that I budgeted when I mentioned the price for the expedition, Mr.
Cumberland.”
Undeterred by these vague threats, operations were commenced that day.
A tiny opening, a mere crevice, had been left by Danbazzar in the
reclosed entrance, some ten feet above, and to the left of the
inscription on the rock.
The first party set to work to enlarge this, and two guards were
placed where they could command all possible approaches. By nightfall,
enough had been done to show that this indeed was the entrance to a
narrow, sloping shaft, carefully closed at the top with stone blocks.
John Cumberland’s excitement became intense. Professor Blackwell
experienced much difficulty in persuading him to sleep. Throughout the
afternoon and the evening not a soul had appeared in sight of the
excavation, and the first day promised well for the enterprise. Barry
only deserted the job when a night shift of excavators came on duty,
walking back, tired but mentally exhilarated, to the camp with Hassan
es-Sugra.
As they pursued their way through moonlight and shadow down to the
little _wâdi_, Barry glanced many times at his silent companion. The
wonder of it all swept over him--the insanity of their dreams; the
almost incredible fact that less than a month before he had been
leading a rather empty life in New York.
Now, he was walking through a vast cemetery peopled with kings and
queens, princes, princesses, councillors, of a glorious civilization
which the desert had reclaimed long ages before the name of America
was known to men!
The stillness seemed to become oppressive. Not even the bark of a dog
could be heard. And to-night no camel bells jingled on the ancient
caravan road. Barry spoke at random.
“How long, Hassan,” he asked, “should it take to reach the tomb?”
“It is doubtful, sir,” was the reply. “Perhaps, if the stones are not