“I should be glad,” said John Cumberland, “if you would just run over the main facts again for Barry’s benefit.”

Danbazzar inclined his head in that courtly manner which was his and glanced aside at the younger man.

“Quite so,” Barry agreed. His original purpose was forgotten, for here apparently was an even deeper mystery than that which had been puzzling him. “At the moment I simply don’t know what to make of it all, so please start right at the beginning.”

Danbazzar took up a position before the mantelpiece. Barry could not help thinking that the background suited the figure. The man had the majestic presence of a Pharaoh.

“The facts,” he began, speaking slowly and impressively and emphasizing his statements with graceful and unfamiliar gestures, “are of a sort which you would be justified in doubting if you met them in a Sunday newspaper. My reputation, though, gives them a greater value. But in spite of a life devoted to these subjects, I’m not infallible, and I won’t consent to go any further, as I have already told you, Mr. Cumberland”—turning in the latter’s direction—“until two other opinions have been taken.”

“Your proposal is fair and reasonable,” was the reply; “and I have already agreed to it.”

“Very well!” Danbazzar resumed. “The story starts from five years ago, when I was paying one of my periodical visits to Egypt, and when I discovered”—he pointed—“this papyrus. I won’t bore you with particulars of how it came into my possession as Mr. John Cumberland has these already. Nor can I account for its presence in the place where it was found. Enough to say that I recognized it to be genuine and immediately set to work to decipher it. I tried to restore, as far as possible, those parts which had become defaced.

“A first glance had shown me that it was not the ordinary ritual buried with most mummies. A very short study proved that is was unique—unique in every way—and that it dated from the latter part of the reign of Seti the First.”

“When did he reign?” Barry asked.

“Roughly, about thirteen hundred and sixty years before Christ!”

“Good heavens!” Barry stared again at the fragment with its amazing freshness of colouring; “then this thing is something over three thousand two hundred years old?”

“Precisely,” Danbazzar nodded. “In other words, it dates from a time when the art of mummifying human bodies had reached a very high state of perfection. One day, perhaps very soon, you will see the mummy of Seti himself in the Cairo Museum. You will never forget the majesty of his features preserved by that lost art for over three thousand years. I mention the fact of the high development of the art of the mummy maker at this period, because the contents of the papyrus show that this had been achieved by long years of study, and that even more extraordinary results were looked for by a certain group of students closely associated with Pharaoh’s court.

“I found it to consist of two parts. The first, fortunately, almost complete, the second, as you see, with a great part missing. How much is missing I can’t even surmise, but I should say that from this point”—he bent forward and laid a long finger upon the papyrus—“to the end where it is torn covers a period of some two hundred and eighty years. It bears the names, or as we should say, the signatures, of six generations of priests.

“The first and shorter part, written toward the end of Seti’s reign, if I’m not mistaken, states that in accordance with the wishes of a certain learned high priest of the Temple of Amen Ra at Thebes and with the consent of Pharaoh, an attempt was made to prove that not only the physical frame but human life itself could be preserved indefinitely under peculiar conditions.”

“What!” Barry exclaimed incredulously—“that a living person could be mummified and remain alive?”

“This priest,” Danbazzar replied, “referred to in the papyrus—his name would mean nothing to you—believed that he had perfected a process for accomplishing this! It was all an outcome of that peculiar egotism which belonged to the Ancient Egyptians. And in this way, no doubt, he interested Pharaoh in his experiments.

“You get what I mean? The statues and records which had preserved for posterity the principal events of earlier reigns weren’t good enough to tell coming ages of the greatness of Seti the First! To his glory a living witness should be left behind to testify to the ancient grandeur of Egypt. This is stated at the beginning of the papyrus, which then goes on to relate that a beautiful captive, attached to the person of the Queen, was selected for this high honour.”

“High honour!” cried Barry. “You mean she was selected to be put to death!”

Danbazzar smiled slightly.

“As it is stated that she was of great beauty and bodily perfection,” he admitted, “it is just possible that an element of jealousy entered into this selection. At any rate, for whatever reason, this girl was chosen, and she is referred to in the writing as Zalithea, a Princess of Unu, taken captive in the wars of Seti. As Egyptologists have never succeeded in identifying this island of Unu, we can’t even guess at the nationality of Zalithea. But she possibly came from the neighbourhood of Cyprus.

“Now—” he paused, raising his finger—“the nature of the process by which this suspension of life was induced, and that by which it was to 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.”

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