She who sleeps A romance of New York and the Nile

admissible. Yet he had heard her voice! His hands closed like a vise upon the rifle. He gripped his pipe between his teeth desperately. Compromise with himself was no longer possible. For this was no trick of his imagination. Beyond shadow of doubt he had heard a thing admitting of no reasonable explanation; and he was definitely, dreadfully scared. Intently he listened, but could hear only a drumming in his ears. The tinkle of a camel bell up on the caravan road would have been as balm to his fevered mind; for it would have offered a possible solution of the mystery. But nothing stirred. He longed to join his father, to tell him of the phenomenon. But he knew that he must not desert his post. Nor could he conscientiously convince himself that there was justification for blowing the whistle he carried--a signal that would summon John Cumberland. And so he stood there, holding grimly onto his slipping courage--while minute after minute passed in profound silence, that great, deep silence of the desert which can almost be heard. Hours seemed to elapse in this way. But, when Barry glanced at the luminous dial of his wrist watch, he learned that he had been on guard for less than half the allotted span. In the act of consulting the watch, his heart gave a great leap. Another sound had broken the stillness. Then he heaved a sigh of relief. It was the signal, higher up the valley. Someone had clapped his hands three times. Immediately, John Cumberland’s voice came: “Who’s there?” “Danbazzar,” Barry heard. After this, words became indistinguishable; but a human link had been established; he no longer felt alone with the shadows. And his dread slipped from him like a discarded garment. He wondered, practically, if he should report the occurrence. He decided to wait until he was relieved by the next watch. So the second hour of his duty wore on, uneventfully, and at last came the familiar signal again. Some conversation there was; then an interval of silence. Finally, he heard the voices of John Cumberland and Danbazzar drawing nearer as they walked down the slope. Coming around the last bend: “Two more loads will do it,” Danbazzar was saying. “I’ll bring them up while Blackwell and Mahmoud are on watch. Then everything will be safely planted by daylight.” As they came into view: “Hullo, there!” Danbazzar called. “All clear?” “Yes,” said Barry, “except that I heard a most extraordinary thing about an hour ago.” “What?” Danbazzar demanded sharply. He bent forward, so that even in the darkness of the _wâdi_ Barry could see the gleam of his fierce eyes. “A woman’s voice!” “Eh!” John Cumberland exclaimed. “You must have been dreaming, Barry!” “I wasn’t dreaming, Dad.” “Where did it come from?” Danbazzar asked rapidly. “Which direction?” Barry pointed. “Down there--where we saw the mummy man.” “Good heavens!” said his father--“the haunted valley!” He was acquainted with the story of the apparition seen by Danbazzar and Barry, and had even explored the hollow by daylight, but had found no evidence of human habitation. “Strange,” Danbazzar muttered, in his deep voice. “Did she seem to be speaking English?” “I couldn’t say. No words were distinguishable.” “Was it a young voice?” John Cumberland asked. “Yes.” Danbazzar and John Cumberland exchanged swift glances. Then: “Is it possible,” asked the latter, “that some camping party has crossed?” “No!” Danbazzar spoke confidently. “I’d have had news of it from Hassan. He knows everything that’s arranged in Luxor. And there’s no _dahabîyeh_ up either. I can’t account for it.” He stared hard at Barry. “I heard it,” the latter repeated. “I don’t doubt you heard _something_,” Danbazzar admitted. “But I’m just wondering what it was. There are night birds that have a note not unlike a woman’s voice. Some small animals, too, when a jackal gets them, squeal like hares. And the cry of a hare is very human. Did you know that?” “I knew it,” Barry replied, “although I never heard one. But this was no animal or bird. It was a woman a long way off, but unmistakably a woman.” The mystery unsolved, they presently parted; Danbazzar taking over the watch, and John Cumberland and Barry returning to camp. They exchanged greetings with Hassan es-Sugra, posted at the head of the valley, and then, silent for the most part, tramped on to the tents. Professor Blackwell was very much awake. In fact, he had got Mahmoud to prepare coffee for them. Sandwiches consisting of Huntley and Palmer’s biscuits, native butter, and bottled prawns were also in readiness. “Highly indigestible,” the Professor admitted. “But one or two extra nightmares count for little upon such an expedition.” The phenomenon of the mysterious voice was discussed at length. “I vote for some kind of nighthawk,” John Cumberland finally declared. “It was no nighthawk,” Barry assured him. “H’m!” murmured Professor Blackwell. “I am consistently unfortunate at games of chance. But I venture to hope that on my watch I may draw the upper end of the valley and Mahmoud the lower!” How this fell out, and what Danbazzar and Hassan had to report, Barry did not learn. Determined though he had been not to close his eyes until the night was ended, tired nature prevailed. Not even the prawns and coffee could keep him awake. He found himself nodding over his pipe. John Cumberland was deep in slumber in a chair, and Professor Blackwell’s snores rang out sonorously upon the desert silence. Barry aroused himself, and: “It’s no good, Dad!” he said. John Cumberland started into wakefulness. The Professor snored on. “We must turn in,” Barry continued. “We are both dead beat!” “You’re right, my boy,” his father agreed. “But who’s going to wake Blackwell when the time comes?” Barry pointed, laughing sleepily. A cheap alarum clock, set for fifteen minutes ahead of the Professor’s watch with Mahmoud, stood only six inches from the sleeper’s head! “The scientific mind,” murmured John Cumberland--“always methodical. Good-night, Barry. I’m for bed.” “Good-night,” said Barry. Five minutes later he was fast asleep. No dreams visited him to-night. He slept the sleep of utter weariness. A gunshot would not have awakened him. And the sun was high above the valleys where those who ruled Egypt in the golden past slept even more soundly than he, when a booming voice ended his slumbers. “Turn out!” Barry opened his eyes. Danbazzar stood looking into the tent. This extraordinary man, from his leonine head with its well-brushed gray hair down to his polished riding boots, was spruce as though the dust of deserts positively avoided him. “We open the sarcophagus in an hour!” CHAPTER XX. THE RITUAL Barry looked around the square, rock-hewn chamber communicating with the tomb, and wondered why he felt no inclination to laugh. Had Jim Sakers formed one of the party, his mood might have been different; but, in the company of his father, Danbazzar, and Professor Blackwell, he found himself touched by awe. They wore robes, sandals, and curious linen skullcaps which entirely concealed their hair. Danbazzar, so arrayed, presented an impressive picture. He did not look like an Egyptian priest, but he might have been a Pharaoh disguised as one, except for his moustache. The others, save for their deeply tanned skin, could by no stretch of the imagination have been mistaken for anything but American citizens masquerading. Professor Blackwell, oddly enough, was more convincing than the rest. Without his spectacles, although he could see little, he had a distinctly hieratic appearance. Hassan es-Sugra was not present. With Mahmoud he mounted guard in the valley, above. A richly embroidered curtain hung in the now demolished doorway of the tomb chamber. The heat was almost insupportable; and the smell of some kind of incense which was burning on the other side of the curtain added to the oppressiveness of the atmosphere. This was _Kyphi_, mentioned in the “Papyrus Ebers,” and, according to Danbazzar, only twice hitherto prepared in modern times. Danbazzar gave his final instructions. “To the best of my knowledge,” he said, “everything is ready. One essential oil--you know the one I mean, Professor--has changed colour since I had it distilled. I can only hope that its special properties, whatever they are, remain the same.” “It has no special properties that I am aware of,” the Professor murmured. “We shall see,” the deep voice went on. “The seven lamps are ready to be lighted. You know when to light them and which lamps each of you must light. The last one, I light. The two unguents are in the bowls. You”--turning his piercing regard upon Barry--“will put the taper to the liquid in the perfume burner when I give the signal. “The wine for the final draught, you”--indicating John Cumberland--“will pour into the cup onto the powder at the last moment--when she opens her eyes. I consider the wine to be the most doubtful item. It’s Madeira wine, over a hundred and fifty years old, but I’m not sure of it all the same.” “That contained in the flagon found here was undoubtedly a similar vintage,” Professor Blackwell said. “It was a grape wine. My microscope has convinced me of this.” “We can only hope you’re right,” said Danbazzar. “And now--the most important point of all. The sarcophagus I’ve had lifted out onto a sloping trestle. The implements for raising the lid are ready. The couch, described in the formula, is still serviceable, if we take great care. Directly the lid is off, she must be taken out of the sarcophagus and laid on the couch. I’ll do it. From that moment on, no one must speak! No one must make a sound! Just do your jobs. And, for God’s sake, don’t bungle!” He held the curtain aside, and the party filed into the tomb. It presented a picture that time could never efface from the minds of those who saw it. Dimly lighted by an ancient lamp set upon a pedestal, the air was misty with clouds of incense arising from a tripod placed on the right of the doorway. The lotus sarcophagus rested, slanting, near to the great granite box which had contained it for generations. Upon a low table were two bowls containing some kind of ointment; a metal perfume burner; a jewelled cup in which was some gray, powdery substance; a stoppered flagon; and a curiously shaped lamp. The table was set close to the head of a long, narrow, gilded couch, having legs carved to represent those of an animal, and found in the tomb. Six other lamps were placed at intervals around the walls. Danbazzar pointed to a bundle of tapers. They were made of some inflammable resinous substance. “The moment I lift her out,” he directed, “light those tapers at the brazier. The wrappings I look to find perished, and I shall set to work right away. Say all you want to say before I get the lid off. I shall work fast, even if I do damage. Once the thing is open--not a word from anybody.” He stooped over the sarcophagus, with its startling presentment of the occupant. His shadow, gigantic, moved upon painted walls and ceiling. A sound of wrenching, cracking wood broke the oppressive silence.… Barry clenched his teeth hard. He glanced at his father. Even through the tan one could see that John Cumberland had grown pale. Professor Blackwell’s gaunt features glistened with perspiration. Barry wondered--as though newly faced with the problem--what he should do if the sarcophagus really proved to contain a woman! A sudden unaccountable conviction had come to him that it was empty. The heat in the tomb seemed to be growing greater every moment.… John Cumberland stepped forward, in response to a signal from