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 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!”

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