She who sleeps A romance of New York and the Nile
“I _have_ obtained them!” Danbazzar assured him. “When the time comes,
you shall see them. Oh! I’ve been busy, Professor. Where the Ancient
Egyptians got these things God only knows! They can’t have had a
colony in Russia in those days.”
“Russia!” the Professor echoed.
“I said Russia,” Danbazzar affirmed. “One of the ingredients--the one
we have been arguing about--I ultimately got from Russia!”
“You refer to the substance which you tell me is of mammalian origin?”
“Precisely.”
“Mammals have been found in Africa,” the Professor murmured.…
And so in the atmosphere of excited debate and unceasing toil the day
wore on.
Hassan es-Sugra never left the tomb. It would have been impossible for
any workman to remove a grain of dust from it and escape the scrutiny
of those gazelle-like eyes. Barry’s enthusiasm was such that the
tedious methods employed by Danbazzar for raising the lid of the
sarcophagus tortured him to the borders of frenzy. At one point:
“Why all these precautions?” he cried. “It would need a steam hammer
to crack that lid!”
“Surely it would,” Danbazzar returned gravely. “What’s the big point?”
“The point is,” said Barry, “that you are making a perfectly
preposterous fuss about lifting it--as though it would matter very
much if we dropped it!”
“I see!” Danbazzar spoke softly, regarding the younger man through
half-closed eyes. “If you were lying in a stone chest next to
hermetically sealed, and somebody dropped half a ton of granite on top
of it”--his voice suddenly rose, booming around the enclosed
chamber--“where in hell do you think you’d be?”
“Good Lord!” Barry was startled. “Of course! You are quite right!”
“You’d be dead of concussion!” Danbazzar shouted. “Thundering
concussion! This is my business--and I’ll do it my own way!”
He was formidable in his sudden anger, and Barry realized that he had
committed an unforgivable _faux pas_--that of criticizing an artist in
the practice of his profession.…
The coming of dusk found the raising gear in place to Danbazzar’s
satisfaction, at which point he cleared the tomb, leaving Hassan
es-Sugra on guard in the outer chamber.
“The eight o’clock shift will start the lifting,” he pronounced. “We
all want dinner, so we’ll all have it.”
John Cumberland, sweat-grimed but happy, looked up from the task which
he had been performing side by side with the Arab workmen. Barry
leaned up against the rugged masonry beside the opening and mopped his
forehead with a very dirty handkerchief.
“It’s torture to quit,” he declared honestly, “but you are right,
Danbazzar. I am dead tired. Aren’t you, Dad?”
“I am!” his father admitted. “I would give a big price for a real hot
bath before dinner!”
“It would be most acceptable,” declared Professor Blackwell.
“Association with these very worthy natives adds to one’s knowledge of
humanity but results in so many fleas!”
They returned to camp in the _wâdi_, taking turns in the portable
bath supervised by the grinning Mahmoud. This was a rare luxury, for
water had to be brought a great distance, and inadequate though these
baths might be, they were keenly appreciated by the party.
All brought keen appetites to dinner, which was well up to Mahmoud’s
standard. Having reached coffee (into which they were forced to pour
their cognac, lest Mahmoud should see the bottle which they kept
concealed in the sand, or, worse, smell the glasses):
“To-night,” said Danbazzar, selecting a cigar, “the lid of the
sarcophagus will be raised.”
“What then?” cried Barry.
“There’ll be an inner sarcophagus,” was the reply, “probably of
sycamore and elaborately painted. Our next task will be to raise that,
which won’t be difficult. Nor will the opening of the wooden lid;
but--” he paused, carefully lighted his cigar and rolled it between
his fingers for a moment--“I’m going to give orders, and in these
orders you are included, Mr. Cumberland.”
“I am at your service,” said John Cumberland. “You know more of this
business than I do.”
“Very well,” Danbazzar went on. “The raising of the second lid will be
easy. But it won’t be raised until I say the word.”
“Why?” cried Barry.
Danbazzar turned to him.
“Because,” he answered, “the raising of that lid will be the first
critical moment. We don’t know what we shall find. We don’t care to
think what we shall find. But we have to suppose that there is a woman
there--in what we might describe as a trance. Now”--he performed a
slow, impressive gesture--“according to the formula, as you’ll
remember, Mr. Cumberland, there must be no delay between the opening
of the sarcophagus and the beginning of the ceremony for waking the
sleeper.”
“Good heavens!” exclaimed Professor Blackwell. “Is this some strange
dream?”
“It may be,” Danbazzar admitted, “but we have to suppose that it
isn’t. Also, we have to suppose, or rather to remember, that the
Princess Zalithea, if she’s there and still living, last saw this
world in the days of the Pharaohs!--according to my calculations,
about the time of Rameses the Ninth. Let’s put ourselves in her place.
If we aren’t all crazy--if those old priests weren’t all crazy--she
will suddenly find herself surrounded by a group of wild-eyed
devils--I include myself--wearing fantastic clothes and speaking a
barbaric language! Now this can’t be. Think a minute!”
“I follow you entirely,” said Professor Blackwell. “Quite! Quite! And
I see what you are about to propose.”
“Good for you, Professor!” Danbazzar nodded appreciatively. “We’ve got
to dress the part, and I came prepared for it.”
“What!” Barry exclaimed.
“Yes, sir,” Danbazzar went on; “when we take that lid off, we have got
to be dressed like Ancient Egyptians!--and we have got to be silent!
Leave the talking to me. I have the outfit. Does everybody agree?”
Everybody agreed.…
They did not linger long over their coffee, but hurried back to the
excavation.
Guards were posted as on the previous night. Excitement ran higher
than ever. They worked, and the Arabs worked, under the direction of
Hassan es-Sugra, like men whose lives depended upon their speedy
success.
But the eight o’clock shift had returned to quarters and the twelve
o’clock shift were near to their time of departure, before the great
lid was raised high enough to enable them to explore the interior of
the granite coffin.
Not one of the party was wholly master of himself. Barry experienced
an unfamiliar desire either to laugh or to cry. But, composure
regained, light was directed into the interior.…
It contained a magnificent wooden sarcophagus, highly gilded and
painted. The lid, which was in relief, represented the figure of the
occupant--a girl, clad in a gauzy robe, her hands clasped upon her
bosom and holding a Lotus flower. The Ankh--symbol of life--was at her
head and her feet. The presentment was wonderful--uncanny.
Barry’s mood changed. He felt suddenly sick. He believed that he was
likely to swoon.
The eyes, the hair, the full lips, the slender, cloudily clad figure!
This was madness! He stood upright, his hand on his brow. Perspiration
was dripping into his eyes.
It was _she!_ It was the girl of his dreams! More, far more than a
coincidence, this was a miracle--or a delusion!
CHAPTER XIX.
THE VOICE IN THE VALLEY
The hours that followed were feverish hours. They were marked by at
least one strange event.
Barry’s excitement grew so intense that the mere idea of sleep was out
of the question. If he had had his way, the wonderful painted lid
would have been torn off and the occupant revealed within a very few
minutes of its discovery. But Danbazzar sternly took command. The tomb
was cleared; the triumphant workmen were sent off to their quarters;
all operations were suspended until morning. And on this point
Danbazzar proved adamant.
In view of the advanced state of the work, and of what interference at
this critical step would mean, he determined to supplant the ordinary
guards. It was arranged that John Cumberland and Barry should take a
dog-watch (two hours) at the high and low ends of the valley; then
Hassan and Danbazzar; and finally Professor Blackwell and Mahmoud. All
would be armed.
“It’ll take me right through the first spell,” said Danbazzar, “and
most of the third, to collect up the stuff I want to get along. Maybe
I’ll make more than one journey each time, and Hassan can help.”
“Don’t forget the signal!” Professor Blackwell warned. “We are all
tuned up above concert pitch!”
And so, beneath a glorious moon that painted the Valleys of the Kings
and Queens with silvern mystery, Barry and his father began the first
watch. Wholly animated now by the spirit of adventure, they tossed for
positions--and Barry got the low end.
Shouldering his rifle, he marched down the slope; and, his post
reached, gave himself over to reflection. The first idea to claim his
mind was a grotesque one. Here were a group of eminently respectable
Americans mounting armed guard over a tomb that belonged to the
Egyptian government! True, they had evidence pointing to the
possibility that it contained a living woman; but to pretend that they
were in any sense actuated by the motives of a rescue party would be
sheer hypocrisy.
The spot, if somewhat inaccessible, was nevertheless open to the
public. He experienced momentarily the sensations of one who claims a
certain mound in Central Park and posts sentinels over it.
Then, swiftly, his thoughts changed. Zalithea! To no living soul had
he breathed his conviction that Zalithea--if she really lay under that
painted cover--had already appeared to him, perhaps in visions, but
apparently in the flesh! He knew that he had not spoken of this
because he had not dared. Even now he was afraid to think of the
painted figure, afraid to face the question: What does it all mean?
He tried to banish these ideas. They definitely disturbed him. And the
morrow would show--what?
Resting his rifle against a rock, he filled and started a pipe. The
flame of the little gold lighter--a parting present from Jim
Sakers--made grotesque shadows. He remembered that at this point he
was no great distance from the haunted valley where he had seen the
mummylike figure moving.
The thought was unnerving. He imagined that gaunt, half-human shape
creeping toward him, secretly, through the darkness. In the little
hollow were ruins of those huts which had been built in a remote age
for the accommodation of the tomb guards.
If the spirit of such a guard could revisit that spot, how bitter--and
how just--would be his resentment!
He toyed with this idea. And, largely because of an unpleasant
tingling of his scalp which he was brave enough to admit to himself
betokened approaching panic, he argued that the case presented
peculiar and extenuating features. Here was no violation of the mighty
dead. On the contrary, they were carrying on the labours of the
priests who had begun this amazing experiment. They were attempting to
make possible that dream of Pharaoh in which he had seen men of a
future age listening to a story of his grandeur from the lips of one
who had witnessed it!
From this convincing argument he derived much comfort. The
supernatural dread which had threatened to claim him receded like a
real presence--only to return suddenly, magnified a hundredfold.
Coming unmistakably from the direction of the haunted hollow, a sound
broke the profound silence of the night--_a woman’s voice!_
Utterly unexpected, wholly incomprehensible, it seemed to make Barry’s
heart stand still. No word reached him; merely the silvery tones. From
a great distance it came--and ceased abruptly--almost as though the
speaker had been silenced.
A woman--in that place--at that hour! The idea simply wasn’t