She who sleeps A romance of New York and the Nile
“I thought I heard a shot,” Mr. Tawwab explained, “down on the edge of
the swampy ground, to the left of the road. You know the spot I mean?”
“Quite!” murmured Professor Blackwell. “Quite! It might have been one
of our fellows after quail.”
“Sure it might,” Danbazzar agreed. “We’re devils for poultry in this
camp.”
“You are wise, however, in delaying your departure,” said the
Egyptian.
“How is that?” Professor Blackwell asked politely.
“Well,” Mr. Tawwab extended his palms apologetically, “it is not to
our credit to say so, but the whole of the country west of the Nile,
from here across to Farshût or even further north, is in a somewhat
disturbed condition. In fact”--he sighed reflectively--“the Mudîr, I
am sure, would feel more happy if you would return to Luxor.”
“That would cheer him up, would it?” said Danbazzar.
“It would be most agreeable to him,” Mr. Tawwab assured the speaker.
“Much as we are indebted for the offer,” said Danbazzar gravely, “I
fear that to return to Luxor would interfere with our plans.”
“We should never forgive ourselves,” Mr. Tawwab murmured, “if you were
molested in any way. Even if you were not harmed personally, your
property might be destroyed, or stolen. I dislike to think of it.”
“So do I,” Professor Blackwell declared.
“We know rather more about the nature of the disturbance,” Tawwab
pursued evenly, “than when you called upon us. It is a matter
concerning the collection of certain revenues. Concessions demanded by
the Sheik Ishmail we are not, as a matter of fact, prepared to grant.
But, oddly enough, the negotiations have been left practically in my
hands, as I know the Sheik Ishmail quite intimately.”
“I rather thought you did,” said Danbazzar, with a large, amiable
smile.
He exchanged a significant glance with Professor Blackwell, and the
latter, by a prearranged plan, stood up glancing at his wrist watch.
“I have a few notes to make on the subject of those mummy bones,” he
murmured, “and there’s only just time before lunch. Perhaps, Mr.
Tawwab, you will excuse me for a few minutes?”
Mr. Tawwab also stood up and bowed most ceremoniously as the Professor
departed to his own tent. This haven reached, Blackwell produced the
paper of small bones again, and ostentatiously spread them upon a
table before his door.
The interview between Danbazzar and Mr. Tawwab occupied an
inordinately long time. Two relays of coffee were requisitioned, and
at intervals Danbazzar’s great voice was raised in a manner rather
unparliamentary. But as the debate was throughout conducted in Arabic,
Professor Blackwell could only assume that the question was one of
terms.
It was ultimately settled amicably, however, Mr. Tawwab expressing his
profound regret that he could not wait for the return of Messrs. John
and Barry Cumberland. But important official business demanded his
speedy reappearance in Luxor.
As Danbazzar walked beside him along the _wâdi_, one large hand laid
caressingly on his shoulder, the contrast between his slight Egyptian
figure and the great bulk of his companion was notable. Professor
Blackwell derived an odd impression that Danbazzar would have loved to
twist Mr. Tawwab’s neck.
Having escorted him to where a servant waited with two horses,
Danbazzar threw a stump of cigar upon the sand and selected a fresh
one from several which he kept loose in the breast pocket of his white
shirt. He bit off the end and spat it out reflectively, standing, a
huge, picturesque figure, staring after the horsemen.
When presently he rejoined Professor Blackwell:
“How much?” the latter asked, standing up to greet him.
“Ten thousand piastres for the first week,” Danbazzar replied calmly,
and critically surveyed the end of his lighted cigar, which he
extracted from between his teeth apparently for no other purpose;
“twenty thousand piastres for the second week; forty thousand piastres
if we stay over into a third, and so on. In other words, if we stayed
for three months we’d need to send an SOS to Mr. Rockefeller! That’s
our rent, and we’ve got to pay it!”
“Quite, quite!” the Professor murmured. “Five hundred dollars for the
first week, a thousand dollars for the second, and two thousand
dollars for the third, or any part of the third, during which we
remain here. Is that the figure?”
“You said it.”
“And suppose John Cumberland declines to submit to this extortion?”
“Let’s suppose.” Danbazzar dropped down upon a small packing case
which sometimes served as a chair. “In the first place, we’d be raided
to-night by some scurvy bunch of Arabs in the pay of Tawwab. If we
came out smiling, from to-morrow onward we’d be watched so closely the
game wouldn’t be worth the candle. He would then threaten official
interference. And if we kept right on smiling, there’d be another
raid--and they’d take our shirts! They’d also take our excavation and
every damn thing they could find in it! The real shape of our job in
the valley shown up, Mr. Tawwab would next suggest, say a hundred
thousand piastres to let us go home to America. Alternative--send us
to Cairo for trial! Professor”--he extended his palms in an
extravagant imitation of Ahmed Tawwab’s favourite gesture--“he has
walked away with my check on the National Bank of Egypt for ten
thousand piastres. We’ve got a clear week.”
“Do you think he will stick to his bargain?”
“Certainly not!” roared Danbazzar, and brought his hand down with a
resounding bang on the side of the box, so that it emitted a drumlike
note. “If we were ready to move in three days, it would make no
difference. He’d want at least another fifty thousand piastres to let
us leave Luxor.”
“It is expensive,” the Professor murmured.
“It _would be_,” Danbazzar returned, “if we paid it.”
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE LOTUS SARCOPHAGUS
The sun was casting its last shafts of gold across the fringe of the
Libyan Desert when Barry Cumberland stepped over the threshold and
entered the tomb of Zalithea. He had pleaded for this privilege, and
it had been granted to him. Danbazzar and John Cumberland followed,
Professor Blackwell hard upon their heels; and Hassan es-Sugra,
smiling in gentle triumph, brought up the rear.
Sweat-grimed workmen crowded the outer chamber.…
No inscription of any kind appeared upon the sides or lid of the great
granite sarcophagus, but the walls were very beautifully painted. The
atmosphere was so oppressive as to be almost insupportable.
There was something awesome in this sudden silence which had succeeded
upon clamour. Danbazzar was the first to break it.
“The name of Princess Zalithea,” he said, his deep voice oddly hushed,
“occurs, as you can see, in several places.” He directed the ray of
his torch from point to point. “Much of the decorations--such as the
procession of boats, the Sem-priest in his mystic trance, the funeral
offerings, and so forth--are quite conventional in character. You will
notice, though, that the Lotus constantly occurs, as well as the Ankh,
emblem of eternal life.” He shone the light all around. “There are
other important points, too,” he mused, “which we can look into later.
Be very careful. Touch nothing.”
Barry, wholly absorbed in his own peculiar reflections, was passing
around the sarcophagus; feeling its surface with his fingers; peering
into the tiny crevices between the lid and the lip. Meanwhile,
Danbazzar and John Cumberland were bending almost reverently over a
strangely shaped, squat table on which were salvers, bowls,
curious-looking phials, and a number of tall, slender lamps.
“Observe,” said Danbazzar, a note of triumph in his deep voice:
“_these_ are not the usual funerary offerings!”
Professor Blackwell’s long bony fingers were extended toward one of
the phials, but:
“No, no! Blackwell!” cried John Cumberland excitedly. “Don’t touch it!
Touch nothing! It may crumble!”
The Professor withdrew his greedy hand reluctantly.
“And I wonder what that casket contains?” he murmured.
The casket to which he referred, an exquisitely carved object, stood
by itself upon a sort of pedestal, some little distance from the table
and beside a long, low couch, the legs carved to represent the feet of
a leopard. Danbazzar almost imperiously waved him to silence. Then,
turning his back to the sarcophagus, the table, and the pedestal, he
addressed them as a speaker addresses an audience.
“The casket, gentlemen,” he said, “as well as the bowls and bottles,
contains the ingredients mentioned in the formula! I have seen enough
already to tell me my preparations are complete. Presently,
Professor”--he turned to Professor Blackwell--“maybe you can assist me
in checking these; but the task of preserving many of the fragments is
going to be a delicate one. We mustn’t forget they’re three thousand
years old.”
“It is almost more than I can believe!” declared John Cumberland
rapturously.
Barry, one hand resting upon the sarcophagus, faced him, and:
“Dad,” he said, “it’s _altogether_ more than _I_ can believe!”
“What?” Danbazzar demanded. “That here before us, perished but
recognizable, lie the ingredients of the formula as they were prepared
by the last priest to wake Zalithea, for the use of his successor?”
“No,” Barry replied: “_that’s_ hard enough--but what I cannot believe
is that the woman who is the centre of this incredible story lies
_here_, in this sarcophagus!”
“Personally, my mind is open!” Professor Blackwell asserted, glancing
around him. “There is no other entrance to this chamber?”
“None whatever,” Danbazzar confirmed.
“Therefore,” the Professor went on, shaking perspiration from his high
brow, “we are the first explorers, since this amazing ritual came to
an end for reasons which, probably, we shall never know.” He glanced
aside at the sarcophagus. “It’s uncanny,” he murmured, “the thought
that inside those walls of granite---- But, no! I stick to my
opinion!”
“How long will it take to raise the lid?” Barry interrupted.
John Cumberland, hot, tired, met his son’s glance with one fired by no
less enthusiasm.
“With the aid of the apparatus which we have with us, Barry,” he
answered, “not long. You agree, Danbazzar?”
The latter, who was less excited than the others--always excepting
Hassan es-Sugra--bowed in his old-world manner.
“We’ll have that lid off in an hour!” he declared. “But before we
start there are quite a lot of precautions we have to take.…”
Two hours later the gear for lifting the great granite lid was brought
from its hiding place; and everything was put in order for the
operation, the result of which would prove or disprove Dr.
Rittenburg’s theory (now shared by Professor Blackwell) that Princess
Zalithea was a myth; that no such person had ever existed; that the
tradition was a priestly invention designed to impress the vulgar
mind.
Ever distrustful of Ahmed Tawwab, guards armed with rifles had been
placed at selected spots northwest of the camp along the caravan road
to Farshût; these reinforcing the ordinary guards in the valley.
The wildest excitement prevailed among the party. Apparently, as well
as Barry could make out, apart from the problematical contents of the
sarcophagus, the objects found in the tomb were in many ways unique.
There was an exquisitely embossed bowl, which, he learned, was of pure
gold. The figures upon it were apparently different from any found
hitherto. Professor Blackwell succeeded in identifying seven of the
substances found, in the vials and the casket, as identical with those
mentioned in the formula possessed by Danbazzar. One or two defied
speculation, or the Professor’s knowledge, until Danbazzar enlightened
him as to their nature. Whereupon he recognized them, but raised his
voice in doubt respecting the possibility of obtaining these at the
present day.