She who sleeps A romance of New York and the Nile
be ended, or the subject awakened, is not mentioned. This papyrus”--he
lowered his finger and pointed again--“is no more than a brief
statement of the fact that, in accordance with the wishes of Pharaoh,
Princess Zalithea was selected for this high honour and laid in a
certain tomb under the guardianship of a group of priests appointed as
custodians.
“Certain funds were set aside for the upkeep of the small temple
attached to the tomb, and one of the most extraordinary experiments
ever attempted by man had begun.”
“But,” Barry objected, “while I’m not in a position to dispute the
genuineness of this writing, it’s--well, what shall I say?--it’s
really a nightmare--the dream of a madman--who unfortunately had power
enough to carry it out and condemn this poor girl to a living death!
Thank God we live in an age of _real_ civilization!”
His father caught his eye, and:
“Don’t judge until you have heard all the facts,” he said. “The
civilization of Ancient Egypt was more real, and higher, than you
appreciate.”
“That is true,” Danbazzar resumed, unmoved by Barry’s criticism, “as
the second part of the papyrus bears out. This roughly covers the
reigns of seven kings. In the ages that have since gone by time has
reduced the whole of the papyrus to a more or less uniform colour. In
fact, some of the earlier colouring is brighter than the later, but
here”--he stepped forward to the table--“we move from somewhere around
1365 up to somewhere about 1200 B.C. It was the duty of the priests,
to which they were sworn, to examine the sleeping Zalithea at certain
periods which I estimate to have been fifty years apart.”
“You mean to awaken her?” Barry demanded.
“Surely!” said Danbazzar. “They were entrusted with a certain formula
by means of which, in the belief of its inventor, the sleeping woman
could be aroused from her trance. It was their duty at specific dates
to record the results. Here we have five such records, covering a
period of some two hundred and fifty years, as I estimate. Each, as
you see, is confined within a ruled space, and every one is
undoubtedly the work of a different scribe and possesses recognizable
characteristics of the period in which it was written. Each also bears
what we may term the signature of the chief priest in office at the
time, and the accounts, while the wording varies slightly, all tally.
The last, or the last to be preserved, states as the others state, and
is attested by three witnesses, priests of the temple, that at this
time _the Princess Zalithea was still living!_”
“Good God!” Barry exclaimed. “It simply isn’t credible! Don’t
misunderstand me! I am not doubting your translation or the
genuineness of the thing! But there must be some mistake!”
“You are entitled to suppose so,” Danbazzar admitted. “It was because
I supposed so myself that I allowed several years to elapse before
making the proposition that I have made to-night to your father.
During those years I have not been idle. A trusted agent of mine in
Egypt, working upon such information as I could give him, had been
searching--secretly, of course--and twelve months ago his search was
rewarded.”
“What was he searching for?” Barry asked.
“He was searching for the tomb of Zalithea! You see, it would be
unlikely to attract the attention of the ordinary excavator, its
historical importance being slight--except in relation to this
papyrus.”
“Do you mean that he found it?” Barry demanded amazedly.
“He found it!” Danbazzar replied. “There _is_ such a tomb!”
“Do you understand, Barry?” said John Cumberland excitedly. “Do you
understand what this may mean?”
Barry in bewilderment looked from his father to Danbazzar and then
stared down at the papyrus on the table.
“I worked on it all last winter,” Danbazzar went on quietly. “I opened
a way in--and I found myself checked by a great stone portcullis.”
“You mean,” said Barry dazedly, “you spent last winter in Egypt,
actually excavating?”
“Actually on the job! I got away with murder. I had no permit to dig.
But I’ve explained my system to your father. I’d hoped to go back this
season; but funds won’t allow. It’s going to be ruinously expensive to
complete that excavation. But the man who _does_ complete it will make
a name for himself.”
“If,” John Cumberland went on, “she remained alive for three hundred
years, Barry, why not for three thousand?”
“But, Dad,” said Barry, “this is raving lunacy!”
“It seems so,” Danbazzar admitted gravely; “but five generations of
learned men whose names we have here testify to the fact. Are we to
assume that they were all liars? If so, with what object did they lie?
I found the tomb--unopened, untouched!”
But Barry’s attention had wandered again, and the words reached him
but vaguely. He was staring intently at the graceful figure in the
papyrus which aroused such strange memories. And now, turning to
Danbazzar, and resting his finger upon that part of the record:
“What does this mean?” he asked. “Is it a symbol?”
“No,” was the reply. “You will notice on the right of the figure what
looks like a cartouche. I have been unable to identify it, though.
Translated, it means, ‘She Who Sleeps but Who Will Awaken.’ For this
reason I take the figure to be a portrait of the Princess Zalithea.”
CHAPTER VIII.
SPECIAL OPINIONS
“The last time the man Danbazzar was about,” said Countess Colonna,
“the result was that a motor lorry and ten men arrived. The front
doors were taken off their hinges and a stone figure as big as the
Statue of Liberty was carried into the library.”
“I don’t think it will happen this time, Micky,” Barry assured her.
“I hope not,” was the reply. “I don’t like Danbazzar. I always imagine
him living in a harem.”
“I haven’t met the sportsman,” said Jim Sakers, “but I am going to
crash into the University Club to-night and look him over keenly. If I
don’t approve, Barry, I shan’t hesitate to advise you to drop him. On
the other hand, I may be favourably impressed. And as is only fair to
him, if this should prove to be the case, I shall relieve your mind at
once and let you know.”
“Thanks,” Barry replied. “I shall be in a frightfully unsettled state
until I have your opinion.”
“That’s quite natural,” Jim agreed; “but I promise not to keep you in
suspense.”
“It occurs to me, young Sakers,” Aunt Micky broke in, “that you and I
are being deliberately kept in the dark about this thing. Young
Cumberland here has a secret eye. It’s his left!”
Barry laughed.
“You hit the nail on the head, Micky,” he admitted. “Danbazzar has
come across with a proposal about which I have promised to say
nothing. It’s a very queer business--more than queer, in fact; but
to-night I shall know more about it. Dad has invited him to join us at
the University Club with Dr. Rittenburg of the Smithsonian, Horace
Pain, the big Oriental man, and Dad’s old friend, Dr. Blackwell of
Yale.”
“What a wild party!” Jim commented. “I suppose you are going on to the
Earl Carroll Vanities after dinner?”
“On the contrary,” Barry assured him, “we are going on to Danbazzar’s
place.”
“You can’t delude me,” cried Jim scornfully. “I see Dr. Rittenburg and
Professor Blackwell dancing far into the small hours of the morning in
some small but costly cabaret. I can see you all, haggard-eyed,
flushed with wine, a really shocking Six, taking breakfast at Child’s
on Fifth Avenue as the morning sun peeps in upon the end of your
debauch. Barry, I’m sorry, but you are making the pace too fast.”
The dinner turned out more successful, however, than Jim had
predicted. Barry’s father had never before so taken him into his
confidence in regard to this hobby of his life, and under different
circumstances he would certainly have come prepared to be bored. As it
chanced, the company proved to be so amusing that he was amazed to
find how quickly the time passed.
Horace Pain, the celebrated Orientalist, was all that he had expected
of him; a dry, slow-spoken scholar, whose only enthusiasm was for his
subject. But Dr. Rittenburg proved to be a comedian who would have
rejoiced Jim’s heart. He was a round little man--a study in curves.
His red face was round, his bald head was round, and he wore very
round glasses. He and Professor Blackwell succeeded in keeping the
party in a state of continuous laughter; for Professor Blackwell,
tall, gaunt, and saturnine, had a fund of wit, as Barry knew, which
seemed to be inexhaustible.
Danbazzar, too, was a delightful companion. There seemed to be few
spots in the world, civilized or uncivilized, that he had not visited,
from the headwaters of the Amazon to the monasteries of Thibet. The
real purpose of the meeting was not touched upon, however, until the
party had adjourned to the library of the club. Here, as they took
their seats in an alcove, Barry observed Jim. Faithful to his promise,
he had “crashed in.”
With an exaggerated air of secrecy, based upon the Charlie Chaplin
tradition, he crept around the gallery above, turning his back swiftly
whenever one of the party looked up, and apparently searching for some
book which he always failed to find. Crouching low behind the rails,
so that only the top of his head and his eyes were visible, he peered
down intently. This amazing piece of pantomime was only interrupted by
the decision of the party to adjourn serious discussion to Danbazzar’s
apartment.
But, as they quitted the club and got into John Cumberland’s big car
which waited outside, Jim Sakers, his face buried in an evening paper,
hat brim pulled down over scowling features, stood beside the steps
watching intently.
Danbazzar’s apartment, Barry had always been given to understand,
contained a number of literally priceless objects, every one unique
and irreplaceable, and any one of which he could have sold over and
over again for incredible sums. Used to the orderly neatness of his
father’s collection, he came prepared to find something similar,
although probably on a smaller scale.
The address proved to be situated amid some of the loudest noises of
New York. He had thought vaguely, before, that it was an odd spot to
live in. But he had not allowed for the fact that Danbazzar lived on
the roof. Here, like a priest of Bel, high above all the buildings
surrounding him, Danbazzar from a cloudy silence looked down upon
teeming streets, thousands of lighted windows, dwarfed sky signs.
His apartment was virtually a bungalow from the porch of which one
stepped into a sort of Japanese garden, with flowering vines and
tortuous, spiny cacti. A large pond was approached through a loggia
and peopled by golden carp. From little arbours around the wall one
might look down upon a muted New York. An Arab servant, who apparently
knew not one word of English, attended upon the guests; and presently
they entered a large, low room, in which the famed collection was
housed.
Here, Barry had a shock. The value of the statuettes, vases, mummies,
caskets, items of jewellery, and other nameless relics of Egypt he
could not dispute. But instead of being formally lined up in wall
cases and cabinets, they were littered about the place in the utmost
confusion.
A magnificently painted sarcophagus had been converted into a cupboard
to contain bottles of Scotch whisky, old brandy, champagne, and other
material comforts. Cigar butts disfigured the polished floor. There
were books and papers lying about anywhere and everywhere.
The effect was that of a second-hand dealer’s establishment in which
somebody had been trying to rope a steer. He was unable to conceal his
amazement, and:
“Did you ever see anything like it, Barry?” his father said, speaking
in a low voice.
“Never!” he confessed. “Are these things really valuable?”