She who sleeps A romance of New York and the Nile
it’s unthinkable, anyway.”
“All the same,” said Barry, “I suggest we mount guard in future--here
as well as at the tomb. And as it’s too late to make any other
arrangements to-night, I think we ought to take watches ourselves.
What do you say, Dad?”
“I agree,” John Cumberland replied quietly. His face was very grave.
“This is something I had not counted upon.”
Professor Blackwell raised his gaunt form, ducking his head to avoid
contact with the sloping roof of the tent.
“I appoint myself first guard,” he announced. “I’ll take the
Lee-Enfield.”
“As you like,” said Danbazzar.
With the heel of his riding boot he pushed a long wooden chest in the
Professor’s direction.
Stooping, Blackwell unlocked the box. It contained a moderately
extensive collection of arms. And he selected a rifle of the British
service pattern. The Professor was an old campaigner; and, having
charged the magazine with care, he lighted a fresh cigar, and, nodding
to the others, strolled outside the tent. His footsteps might be heard
receding along the _wâdi_.
“For many reasons, I hope we break through in the next three days,”
Danbazzar went on, ending a short, uncomfortable silence.
He nodded his massive head in the direction of his own tent, which lay
to the south.
“It took years to collect the ingredients mentioned in the formula.
Some of them are perishable. One oil I got from Persia six months ago
is already changing colour under the influence of climate. Besides, if
these things were destroyed, God knows when I’d assemble them again.”
“But you have the case well hidden,” said John Cumberland.
“It’s buried in the sand under the floor of my tent, but I don’t feel
too happy about it, all the same.”
“The papyrus!” cried Barry eagerly--“you have that with you?”
“Not on your life!” Danbazzar returned. “No, sir, I have a photograph
of it, and one of the formula as well. The originals are in the vault
of my New York bank.”
“Yes,” John Cumberland nodded, turning to Barry. “I thought I had
mentioned this to you.”
“No, Dad; I imagined we had them with us.”
“And now,” said Danbazzar, standing up, “I’m going along to look at
the work. If that second portcullis is broken, there’s no reason why
we shouldn’t be down to the mummy chamber to-morrow. We’re reaping the
benefit of what I did last year. It would be better if you both
remained in camp till I return. We shall have to follow some rule of
this kind for the present.”
He took a small repeater from his pocket and dropped it in the arms
chest, taking in its place a heavy revolver. When he had gone, John
Cumberland looked at his son rather blankly.
“I hope and believe, Barry,” said he, “that this thing is a big bluff.
If it isn’t, I shall feel inclined to withdraw.”
“Withdraw!” cried Barry. “You surely wouldn’t do that!”
“I’m not thinking of the danger,” the older man went on quietly, “but
of the impossible position we should find ourselves in if we
definitely came to blows with these Arabs. The whole plan would be
exposed. I can’t afford to take that risk, even if Danbazzar can.”
“You are thinking of the Egyptian authorities?” suggested Barry
slowly.
“I am.” His father nodded. “Imagine the disgrace if we were arrested!
No. If it comes to shooting, this party must break up. We could only
hope to return at some future time, when the district was more
settled.”
“I never heard of such a thing,” Barry declared. “Of course, I know
nothing of the country. It’s most unusual, isn’t it?”
“Most unusual,” John Cumberland agreed. “I confess I can’t understand
it. But I don’t like it.”
In short, Mr. Tawwab’s conversation with Danbazzar had created an
unpleasant feeling of tension.
“I’ll take the next watch, Dad,” said Barry; “you might as well turn
in. If nothing happens, we shall have a busy day before us to-morrow.”
John Cumberland hesitated for a moment, and then stood up.
“You are right,” he agreed; “I will. Good-night!”
“Good-night, Dad.”
For a few minutes afterward he could hear his father talking to
Professor Blackwell at the top end of the _wâdi_. Then came silence
again. He lighted a cigarette and helped himself to a nightcap,
reflecting that he might as well have two or three hours’ sleep,
although the novelty and excitement of the situation were by no means
conducive to easy slumber.
Presently, however, he got up and walked in the direction of his own
tent. Outlined against the sky beyond he could see the gaunt figure of
Professor Blackwell, rifle on shoulder; and:
“Is all well, Professor?” he called.
“All’s well!” cried the Professor, his voice echoing eerily from wall
to wall of the _wâdi_.
Barry turned in fully dressed, and lay on his bed for some time
listening, although he did not know for what he listened. Somewhere in
the distance a jackal howled--a second--a third--a fourth--a fifth: a
regiment of jackals. Then silence fell. Once he heard a distant voice.
Finally he fell asleep.…
He dreamed he was standing in the tomb of Zalithea. He was alone, and
had reached the place by no visible entrance. On his right, against
the wall was a wonderful gold sarcophagus. He found himself in a
dreadful, pent-up condition. He was utterly panic-stricken. His heart
was beating like a hammer. For the lid of this sarcophagus, which was
hinged, was slowly, slowly, very slowly opening!
Then he saw a hand appear, and in the semi-darkness of the painted
tomb chamber a light shone out from the interior of the sarcophagus.
It grew brighter and brighter. The hand grasping the lid was a gaunt,
long-fingered hand. He did not know what to expect. He was in that
curious state in which one realizes that one is dreaming, yet is
horrified by the incidents of the dream.
The lid had opened nearly wide enough to reveal the occupant, when
Barry shook off the horror of the nightmare which had him in its
clutch and sat suddenly upright.
A sharp sound had awakened him. He was bathed in cold perspiration.
And, as he leaped from his bed to the sandy floor, this sound was
still echoing in the hills around. He knew, in the very moment of
awakening, what it had been.
The crack of a rifle! And now, here was an explanation of his
half-waking dream.
Professor Blackwell was holding the tent flap aside. Outlined against
reflected moonlight he bent, looking in. Barry heard dim voices.
“What is it?” he demanded hoarsely.
“Ssh!” the Professor warned. “The Arabs!”
CHAPTER XVI.
THE HOLE IN THE WALL
The position of the moon had cast the greater part of the _wâdi_
into deep shadow. There was a gap in the irregular wall nearly
opposite to Barry’s tent through which a certain amount of light came,
but right and left of it lay ebony darkness.
As he came out and joined Professor Blackwell:
“There’s a party of Arabs up on the caravan road!” said the latter in
a low, urgent voice.
“Where is my father?” Barry whispered.
“Here I am, Barry!” came a reply out of the darkness. “Speak softly.
Voices carry for miles in this place.”
Barry groped his way in the direction of the speaker.
“Is Danbazzar here?” he asked.
“I’m right here!” Danbazzar answered in a harsh whisper; then,
speaking more softly: “Who fired that shot?” he demanded.
“I don’t know,” Professor Blackwell returned. “It came from high up in
the mountains. It must have been one of the Arabs.”
“I wonder!” murmured John Cumberland. “I make the time half after two.
The second shift comes on at four. So that no one is likely to have
been moving--unless one of the watchmen may have seen something.”
“_Sssh-ssh!_” came a warning. “Look!”
High on the ridge above them, like some spirited ebony statue, the
figure of a horseman appeared, a magnificent silhouette against the
deepening blue of the sky! A moment he remained there. Then--no sound
reaching their ears--he disappeared magically, as he had come!
“I want someone to go up to the excavation.” It was Danbazzar speaking
in a suppressed undertone. “Shall _I_ go and leave you in charge, Mr.
Cumberland, or----”
“I’ll go!” Barry volunteered promptly. “You may be wanted here.”
“It’s just possible,” Danbazzar went on, “that something may have gone
wrong there. It is also possible they mayn’t know the Arabs are here.
Order everybody to stay under cover except the guards. All work to be
suspended till further instructions. Got it clear?”
“All set,” Barry replied promptly.
“Be careful, my boy,” said John Cumberland; “and don’t forget the
signal, or our own men may attack you, if they are on the _qui vive_.”
A big muscular hand grasped his.
“Here,” said Danbazzar, “take this.”
He found a service revolver thrust into his fingers. Thereupon he set
off, rejoicing in the adventure yet wishing that Jim Sakers could have
been there to share it with him. He moved with great caution. In this
desert stillness, the slightest sound was audible for miles.…
At some points in the journey, the _wâdi_ left behind, that ridge
along which the caravan road ran was visible; at other points it
became lost to view. But always Barry slunk in the shadows, sometimes
dropping prone and wriggling for several yards, in order that he might
take advantage of some narrow belt of shadow; ever conscious, when the
dangerous ridge was in sight, of the possibility of being seen, or
worse--of being shot.
Yet the very shadows that befriended him held their own terrors. Some
spies of the fanatical Arabs might lurk there. But without sight of
the band, and having heard no sound to indicate the presence of any
living thing on the plateau above, he came to that midnight gully
which opened out immediately above the tomb.
Peering from the end of it, he clapped his hands very softly.
An answering signal came from the top of the slope. He surmised that
the guard at the lower end was out of hearing. Mentally reviewing what
he knew of the course of the caravan road, he determined that from no
point upon it was this valley visible.
He surveyed the rocky face of the mountain before him, his glance
travelling along uninterrupted by any oddity due to Danbazzar’s
screen--that miracle of camouflage. He crossed and hurried to the
trap, pausing a moment before he raised it.
Very softly he clapped his hands again. An answering signal came from
beyond the canvas.
Gently he lifted the shallow box of sand, turned, and groped with his
foot for the first of the wooden steps below. Finding this, he stood
upon it, ducked his head, and lowered the trap. He took three steps,
walking backward, then turned, and stared up a little incline.
Above him, a lantern was set upon a heap of débris in the yawning
entrance to the tomb. And where dim light shone upward upon his
ascetic face stood Hassan es-Sugra, smiling with gentle melancholy. No
sound came from the depths of the tunnel.
“Hassan!” said Barry. “The Hawwara Arabs are here!”
Hassan bowed gravely and extended his hand to help Barry up the slope.
“I know, sir,” he replied. “We heard the shot, and I ordered everyone
to be silent.”
“Did they fire at one of the watchmen?” Barry asked, scrambling up
beside the speaker.
Hassan shook his head slowly.
“No,” he said, “I do not know why the shot was fired, but everything
was stopped until news came from outside.”
His gentle eyes, which were so like the eyes of a gazelle, held a
curious light. Later Barry determined that it had been an indication
of excitement. Now, squatting about among the débris of the
excavation in the curious artificial cave created by the screen, he
saw a group of workmen. Some chewed, one of them was smoking, and they
all regarded him with glances in which only smiling curiosity could be
read.
He stared down into the haunted depths of the shaft, and then back
again to Hassan es-Sugra.