We ate heartily, the pair of us, that evening. The effect on me was comforting and humanising. I felt well disposed to my fellow man—and woman, and inclined to sanguine expectations. Miss Ottley, however, was, as usual, impenetrable. She belonged of right to the age of iron. A female anachronism. To cheer her I suggested a game of chess. She consented, and mated me in fourteen moves. We played again, and once more she beat me. My outspoken admiration of her skill—I rather fancy my own play at chess—left her perfectly imperturbable. In the third game she predicted my defeat at the eleventh move on making her own fourth. I did my best, but her prophecy was fulfilled. "Enough!" said I, and retiring to the door way, I lighted a cigarette.
"Hassan Ali, our dragoman, should be here to-morrow," she presently remarked, "with troops."
"They will never catch our rascal Arabs," I replied. "With five clear days' start those beggars might be anywhere."
"Just so," said she, "but they will be of some use none the less—if only to drag that sarcophagus out of the temple."
"Eh!" I exclaimed—and looked at her sharply. "What is the matter with the thing—here?"
She shrugged her shoulders, then of a sudden smiled. "Do you wish to be amused?"
"Of all things."
"Then prepare to laugh at me. While you slept this afternoon——" She paused.
"Yes," I said.
"My father awoke."
"Oh!"
"And conversed."
"Good," I murmured. "He was sensible."
"I do not know. He seemed so. But he did not speak to me."
"You said that he conversed."
"Ay—but with a shadow."
Miss Ottley compressed her lips and looked at me defiantly.
"A shadow," she repeated. "I saw it distinctly. It moved across the room and stood beside the cot. It was the shadow of a man. But you are not laughing."
"Not yet," said I. "Had this shadow a voice?"
"No."
"What did your father say to it?"
"He implored it to be patient."
"And the shadow?"
"Vanished."
"And you?"
"I told myself I dreamed. I tried not to die of terror, and succeeded."
"Why did you not wake me?"
"I wished to, but the shadow intervened."
"It reappeared?"
"For a second that reduced me to a state of trembling imbecility."
"That infernal perfume has simply shattered your nerves," I commented cheerfully. "You'll be better after a good rest. Overstrain and anxiety of course are to a degree responsible. Indeed, they might be held accountable for the hallucination alone. But I blame the perfume to a great extent, because it similarly affected me."
"What!" she cried, "you saw a shadow, too?"
I laughed softly. "My own—no other. But its appearance shocked me horribly. In my opinion that coffin perfume works powerfully upon the optic nerve. How are you feeling now?"
"As well as ever in my life."
"No fears?"
"None. But I admit a distrust of that sarcophagus—or rather of the perfume it contains. Are you sure that you stopped up the chisel hole securely?"
"Quite. But pardon me, Miss Ottley, you are looking weary. Take my advice and retire now."
"Thanks. I shall," she said, and with a cool bow she went into the inner chamber. An hour later Sir Robert awoke. He was quite sensible and appeared much better. I fed him and we exchanged a few cheerful remarks. He declared that he had turned the corner and expressed a strong desire to be up and about his work again. He also asked after his daughter, and thanked me warmly for my services. Soon afterwards he dropped off into a tranquil slumber, and I spent the remainder of my watch reading aReview. As I was not very tired I gave Miss Ottley grace, and it was a quarter to one when I awakened her. She came out looking as fresh as a rose, her cheeks scarlet from their plunge in cool water and consequent towelling. She invited me to use her couch, but I declined, and sought my accustomed corner. I slept like the dead—for (I subsequently discovered) just about an hour. But then I awoke choking and gasping for breath. I had an abominable sensation of strong fingers clutched about my throat. At first all was dark before me. But struggling afoot, the shadows receded from my eyes, and I saw the lamp—a second afterwards, Miss Ottley. She stood with her back against the further wall of the chamber, her hands outstretched as if to repel an impetuous opponent; and her face was cast in an expression of unutterable terror.
"Miss Ottley!" I cried.
She uttered a strangled scream, then staggeredtowards me. "Oh! thank God—you were too strong—for him," she gasped. "He tried to kill you—and I could not move nor cry."
"Who?" I demanded.
"The—the shadow." She caught my arms and gripped them with hysterical vigour.
I forced her to sit down and hurried to her father. He was sleeping like a babe. I thought of the asphyxiating sensation I had experienced and stepped gently to my sleeping corner. Kneeling down, I struck a match. The flame burned steadily. Not carbonic acid gas then at all events; but I tried the whole room to make sure, also the interior of the sarcophagus, but without result. So far baffled, I stood up and thought. What agency had been at work to disturb us? I made a tour of the walls and examined the stones of their construction one by one. It seemed just possible that there might be a secret entrance to the chamber; and some robber Arab acquainted with it might be employing it for evil ends. But I was forced to abandon that idea like the other. And no one had entered through the pylon, for the dust about the doorway was absolutely impressionless. What then? I turned to Miss Ottley. She was watching me with evidently painful expectation, her hands tightly clasped.
"What made you think the shadow wished to kill me?" I inquired.
"I saw its face."
"Oh! it has a face now, eh?"
"The face of a devil; and long thin hands. It fastened them about your throat."
"My dear girl."
"Don't be a fool," she retorted stormily; "what aroused you? Did you hear me call?"
I was confounded. "Very good," I said, "I admit the hands at least, for the nonce, for truly I was half strangled. But what do you infer?"
"Can human creatures make themselves invisible at will?"
"My good Miss Ottley, no. But they can run away."
"Do you want to see the shadow's face?"
"Yes."
"Then look on the lid of the sarcophagus and see its portrait in a gentle mood."
"Ptahmes!" I cried.
"Ay, Ptahmes," she said slowly. "We are haunted by his spirit."
I sat down on the edge of the sarcophagus and lit a cigarette.
"I am quite at a present loss to explain my throttling," I observed, "but that is the only mystery. I reject your shadow with the contempt that it deserves. What you saw was some wandering Arab who hopped in here without troubling to tread through the dust in the doorway and who departed in the same fashion. Pish! There, too, is the mystery of my throttling solved."
"Perhaps," said she, "indeed I hope so." She was still trembling in spasms.
"Are you minded for the experiment?" I asked.
"What is it?"
"I wish to drive this foolish fancy from your mind." I took out my revolver and showed it to her. "Spirits are said to love the dark best. Let us put out the lamp. It's their element. How, then, can we better tempt old Ptahmes from his tomb?" I wound up with a laugh. "I can promise him a warm reception."
Miss Ottley shivered and grew if possible paler than before. But her pride was equal to the challenge. "Very well," she said.
I drew up a stool near hers, put out the lamp and sat down. When my cigarette had burned out the darkness was blacker than the blackest ebony.
"An idea runs in my head that spirits respond most surely to silent wooers," I murmured. "But I have no experience. Have you?"
"N-no," said Miss Ottley.
The poor girl was shivering with fear and too proud to admit it. I sought about for a pretext to comfort her and found one presently.
"Don't they join hands at a séance?" I inquired.
"I—I—t-think so," said Miss Ottley.
"Well, then."
Our hands encountered. Hers was pitifully cold. I enclosed it firmly in my left and held it on my knee. She sighed but ever so softly, trying toprevent my hearing it. Thereafter we were silent for very long, listening to the sick man's quiet breathing. No other sound was to be heard. But soon Miss Ottley's hand grew warm, and the fingers twined around mine. It felt a nice good little hand. It was very small, yet firm and silken-smooth, and it possessed a strange electric quality. It made mine tingle—a distinctly pleasurable sensation. I fell into a dreamy mood and I think I must have indulged in forty winks, when all of a sudden Miss Ottley's hand aroused me. Her fingers were gripping mine with the force of a vice. She was breathing hard.
"What is it?" I whispered.
"There is some—presence in the room," she gasped. "Don't you feel it?"
Three paces off a man's face glowered at us
And as I live, I did. I struck a match and sprang afoot. Three paces off a man's face glowered at us in the fitful glimmer of the lucifer. Its characteristics were so unusual that it is not possible ever to forget them. The eyes were large, dark and singularly dull. They were set at an extraordinary distance apart in the skull, six inches, I should say, at least. But the head, though abnormally broad thereabouts, tapered to a point in the chin and was cone-shaped above the wide receding temples. The cheek bones were high and prominent. They shone in the match light almost white in contrast with the dark skin of the more shaded portions of the countenance. The nose was longand aquiline, but the nostrils were broad and compressed at the base, pointing at negroid ancestry. The mouth, wide and thin-lipped, was tightly shut. The chin was long, sharp and hairless. The ears were bat-shaped.
Recovering from my first shock of amazement, I addressed the intruder in Arabic.
"What are you doing here? What do you want?" I cried.
He did not answer. Enraged, I started forward and hit out from the shoulder. Striking air. The match went out. I lit another. The man had vanished. I relighted the lamp and carefully examined the chamber. But our visitor had not left the slightest sign of his intrusion.
I shook my head and went over to Miss Ottley. She was leaning against the wall with her eyes shut, her bosom heaving painfully.
I touched her and she started—suppressing a shriek. Her lips were trickling blood where she had bitten them. Her face was ghastly and she seemed about to swoon.
"Pish!" I cried, "there is nothing to be frightened of. A rascally Arab—knows some secret way of entering this cavern, that is all."
She swayed towards me. I caught her as she fell and bore her to a stool. But though quite overcome she was not unconscious. Yet her fortitude was broken down at last and she was helpless. She could not even sit up unassisted. Placing heron the floor a while, I made her drink some spirit and then, lifting her upon my knee, I rocked her in my arms like a child and did my best to soothe her fears. Heavens, how she cried! My handkerchief was soon as wet as if I had soused it in a basin of water, and yet she still cried on. I spoke to her all the time. I told her that I would answer for her safety with my life, and all sorts of things. And thinking of her as a poor little child, I called her "dear" continually and "darling"—and I let her weep herself into an exhausted sleep upon my breast. And when that happened I did not need anyone to tell me that science was no longer the mistress of my fate or that I, a comparative pauper, had committed the unutterable folly of falling in love with the daughter of a millionaire—whose religion was Pride with a capital P. I held her so till dawn, staring dumbly at her face, and thus when her eyes opened they looked straight into mine. She did not move, and half-unwillingly my arms tightened round her. "The bad dream is over, little girl," I whispered. "See—the golden sunlight."
"May—May," said Sir Robert's voice.
She started up, her face aflame. I followed her to the bedside. The patient was awake, and strong and hungry. Also querulous. He complained of the pain of the wound and ordered me to dress it. He had seen nothing. But I knew Miss Ottley would not forgive me on that account. I read it inher eyes. After I had dressed the patient's wound and we had fed him, she followed me to the door.
"You had no right to let me sleep—like that," she said imperiously.
There was nothing for it but to insult her or to prove myself an adventurer. I had no mind for the latter course. "Quite right," I returned, "when you behaved like an idiot I should have treated you as such and left you to recover from your own silly terror instead of acting the soft fool and losing my own rest in serving you. I'll do it, too—next time. What will you have for breakfast?"
She swung on her heel and left me.
While waiting for the kettle to boil I happened to glance in the direction of the Nile. A column of moving smoke at once attracted my attention. A launch, of course, and what more likely than that it should contain soldiers, Arabs, servants, and a surgeon. "I shall soon be free to return to my work, it seems!" I said aloud, and it is wonderful what a lot of dissatisfaction the reflection gave me. I came within an ace, indeed, of consigning the Nile Monuments to literary perdition. But only temporarily. For I felt that I should need as engrossing mental occupation soon. Work is a fine consoler. The party arrived a few minutes before noon. It consisted of Sir Robert Ottley's dragoman, half a company of Egyptian camel corps under command of a fussy little English-French lieutenant named Thomas Dubois, some twenty swart-faced fellaheen labourers, and two English friends of Sir Robert and his daughter. The latter were rather singular personages. One was middle-aged, short and thick and "bearded like the pard" up to his very eyes. He rejoiced in the name of WilliamBelleville and was a Fellow of the Royal College of Surgeons. The other one was tall and thin and marvellously good-looking. He called himself Captain Frankfort Weldon, and I soon discovered was an Honourable. Preparatory to discharging myself in toto of my responsibilities, I took charge of the entire crowd. I have been assured by my best friends that I am a natural autocrat. Those who are not my friends have sometimes described me as an arrogant and self-assertive egotist. I contend, however, that I was eminently well qualified to judge what was best to be done, in that instance, at all events, and it is not my fault that Weldon and Belleville chose to consider themselves slighted because I did not ask their advice. Within ten minutes I had sent the camel soldiers packing across the desert in the direction taken by the Arab robbers. They did not want to go in the least, but I put my foot down hard, and they went. Without losing a moment thereafter I made the fellaheen erect a large double tent in a shaded cleft in the mountain at some distance from the temple. It did not take them long, for I directed their operations personally. I then marched them to the temple. Miss Ottley was talking to the Englishmen in the pylon. I bowed and passed her, followed by the fellaheen. I gave to each man a task, the carriage of some piece of furniture. The two strongest I appointed as bearers of Sir Robert Ottley's cot. The baronet was awake. He questioned me.
"What are you doing, Pinsent?"
"I'm going to move you to a tent for better air, to hasten your recovery," I said.
He only sighed and wearily closed his eyes.
Then the procession started. When Miss Ottley saw her father being carried out, she was so surprised that she stood dumb. Turning round a little later I saw that she and her friends were conversing amiably. Arrived at the tents, I fixed the patient comfortably, then arranged the furniture in both apartments; the outer, of course, was to be Miss Ottley's room.
When all was done, I dismissed the fellaheen to other tasks and walked up to Ottley's cot. "Sir Robert," said I.
His eyes opened and he looked at me.
"You know that your friend, Dr. Belleville, has come?"
"Yes—we have had a chat."
"So. Well, I now propose to turn the case over to him. Your recovery should be rapid. You are already practically convalescent."
"You are leaving me?"
"You no longer need my services."
"How can I ever repay you, Pinsent, for your extreme kindness to me?"
"Easily; let me be present when you open the coffin of Ptahmes."
"What?"
"Ah!" said I, "I forgot." I then told him ofmy experiment with the sarcophagus, and the perfume. He listened with the most passionate attention. Finally he said:
"You are not certain the sarcophagus does contain the body, though?"
"Not certain, Sir Robert."
"Yet you told me, if I remember aright, that, that——"
"You were dying," I interrupted. "I had to arouse you. But, after all, I feel sure your desire will be gratified. I have no sort of doubt but that a body lies in the coffin."
"Nor I," said he. "The papyrus speaks of an essential oil the mere scent of which arrests decay. Ptahmes alone knew the secret of its preparation. But the sarcophagus must be guarded, Pinsent."
"I'll fix a watch," I said, and held out my hand. "Good-bye, sir."
"You are returning to your camp?"
"Yes."
"Then au revoir, Pinsent. I shall send for you as soon as I am well enough to investigate the coffin."
"Thank you."
But he continued to hold my hand and looked me in the eyes earnestly. "Be careful of yourself," he murmured.
"Careful," I repeated, puzzled.
"Ay," he murmured still lower, "you haveincurred the curse unwittingly—but still you have incurred it."
"What curse?"
"The curse which Ptahmes directed against all desecrators of his tomb."
I thought he raved, and felt his pulse. But it was steady as a rock. "Come, come," I said with a smile. "I shall be thinking you a superstitious man, Sir Robert, presently."
"Do you believe in God?" he asked.
"Yes," I cried, astounded.
"Then are you not superstitious, too? But there, I have warned you. I'll say no more. Good-bye. Kindly send my daughter to me."
I found Miss Ottley and the two Englishmen at the door of the outer tent. "Sir Robert wants you, Miss Ottley," I observed, and passed on. I had hardly gone a dozen yards, however, when I found I had a companion on either side of me.
Dr. Belleville immediately opened fire. "You have been taking time by the forelock, Dr. Pinsent," he said softly. "I should hardly have moved the patient for a day or two. He is very weak."
"My name is Frankfort Weldon—Captain Weldon," said the handsome soldier—introducing himself. "I think you have annoyed Miss Ottley, Dr. Pinsent. Seems to me you should have consulted her before acting, at least."
I glanced from one to the other and shrugged my shoulders. "The thing is done," said I."Gentlemen, good-day." My long legs left them quickly in the rear. There seemed no good reason to waste time in explaining myself to them. They would soon enough find out the reasonableness of my actions for themselves, if possessed of ordinary human curiosity. But a second later I stopped and turned. "Dr. Belleville," I shouted, "I shall fix a watch at the temple. Ottley wishes it maintained. Miss Ottley will tell you why."
I found the fellaheen collected in a group near the old store house. They eyed me approaching with open sullenness. I chose two among their number and directed them to stand guard before the pylon for four hours. The two I had picked moved off obediently enough, but they were stopped almost on instant by their leader, a big ruffian with a scarred, black face and wild, fiercely scowling eyes. Sir Robert Ottley's dragoman hurried to my side. "Softly, Excellency, or there will be trouble," he muttered. "Let me speak to them. Yazouk is a chief—he will not be commanded. His term of service does not start till to-morrow. He is angry."
"Silence, you," I responded in the same tone. "There is but one way to crush a nigger mutiny."
I stepped smilingly forward, looking into Yazouk's eyes. The black giant—he stood six feet four in his bare feet and was a splendid physical specimen—put his hand on the knife in his belt. But before he could guess at my intention he was sprawling on the sand. He uttered the yell of anangry wild beast and, springing up, rushed at me with bare blade. I stepped aside and kicked him in the stomach. He collapsed, howling dismally. I marched up to the rest, who were all handling their knives, and showed them my revolver. Two minutes later they were all disarmed and I was a walking arsenal. I turned to the dragoman. "I am going away, Mehemet—to my own camp. But so that you will have no trouble with this scum, I shall take their chief with me. I need a servant."
Mehemet bowed to the very ground. "Your Excellency knows best," he muttered reverently.
"Yazouk," said I, "yonder is my ass. Go saddle him for me."
Yazouk went. He returned with the ass saddled and bridled before I was half through a cigarette. I mounted forthwith and started towards my long-deserted camp. "Come, Yazouk!" I called out carelessly, and I took good care not to look back. There is no means surer of making an African obey you than to act as if you are certain he has no alternative. Perhaps Yazouk hesitated for a moment, torn with fear and hate, but he followed me. Soon I heard the patter of his footsteps on the sand. Then I said to myself, "Now, if this man is to remain with me and be my servant I must make him fear me as he would the plague. But how?" I solved the riddle at the end of five miles. I must show him that I despised himutterly. So I stopped. He stopped. Twenty paces separated us. "Yazouk," I said, "come here!"
He approached, eyeing me like a wolf. "From this day for a month, Yazouk, you shall be my slave," I observed calmly. "If you prove a good slave I shall pay you when the term ends at the rate of fifty piasters a day. If you offend me by so much as winking an eyelash I shall not only pay you nothing, but I shall ask Poseidon to transform you into a hyena. Will you like that?"
Yazouk did not remark on my dreadful threat, but there was murder in his eyes. I smiled at him, and, always looking him full in the face, I took one by one the knives I had taken from his fellows, from my belt and cast them on the sand at his feet. "It is not fit for a lord to carry such trash when he has a slave," I said. "Pick up those knives."
Yazouk obeyed me. When he stood upright again there was a great doubt in his eyes. I thought to myself, it would be quite easy for this ruffian to murder me at any time in my sleep, and already I am a wreck for want of sleep. I threw my revolver on the sand. "Carry that, too!" I commanded loftily—and spurred my ass on. Probably a volume might be written on the state of Yazouk's mind as he trudged along behind me to my camp—a whole compendium of psychology. But I cannot write it, because I never once glanced at him, and, therefore, I can only guess at the turmoil of his thoughts. But the event justified my expectations. I was so mortally wearied when I reachedmy camp that I had no heart left even to discover whether my precious manuscripts had been disturbed by some chance wayfarer of the wilderness. It sufficed me that my tent was standing and that it contained a cot. I cast myself down, without even troubling to remove my boots, and I slept like the dead for sixteen solid hours. When I awoke it was high noon. A steaming bowl of coffee stood upon my table and a mess of baked rice and fish. Beside the plate lay my revolver, and every one of the knives I had given Yazouk to carry. Yazouk himself stood at the flap of the tent, a monstrous, stolid sentinel. When I arose he bent almost double. I swept the armoury into a drawer and attacked my breakfast with the relish of a famished man. Then I set to work with the energy of a giant refreshed; and with short intervals for meals, sleep and exercise, I toiled at my book thereafter till it was roughly finished. So twenty days sped by. Throughout Yazouk waited upon me like the slave of Aladdin's lamp. I had not a fault to find with him. Indeed, he was a perfect jewel of a servant, and he stood in such abject terror of my every movement, nod or smile or frown, that I could have wished to retain his services for ever. But that was not to be. On the twenty-first morning he accidentally dropped a cup and broke it. I heard the smash and looked up. It was to see Yazouk flying like a panic-stricken deer into the desert. I shouted to recall him, but he only sped the faster.
I spent the rest of the day covering up the stele I had unearthed with sand. There was no use thinking of attempting to transport it to Cairo under existing circumstances. But I had no mind to be deprived of the credit attached to its discovery. So I hid it well. Afterwards I gathered up my portable possessions, including my tent, and packed them in a load for my ass's back ready for the morrow. For I had resolved to set out on the morrow for the Hill of Rakh. Surely, I thought, Ottley will be quite recovered by this. I wondered why he had not sent for me before—in accordance with his pledge. Had he forgotten it? The desert was exceptionally still that evening. There was a new moon, and although it gave but little light, it seemed to have chained the denizens of the wilderness to cover. I lay upon the sand gazing up at the stars and listening in vain for sounds, for hours, then, at length, I fell into a quiet doze. The howling of a jackal awakened me. It was very far off, therefore I must have slept lightly. A long sleep, for the moon had disappeared. The darkness that lay upon the land was like the impenetrable gloom of a rayless cave.But the heavens were spangled with twinkling eyes, that beamed upon me very friendly wise. I had lost all desire to repose, but I had found a craving for a pipe. I took out my old briar-wood, therefore, charged it to the brim and struck a match. "My God!" I gasped and scrambled afoot. The tall Arab who had terrified Miss Ottley in the cave temple at Rakh stood about three paces off intently regarding me. I struck a second match before the first had burned out, then felt for my revolver.
"Tell me what it is you want," I cried in Arabic, "and quickly, or I fire."
He did not speak, but very slowly he moved towards me. I raised the pistol. "Stop," I said. He did not stop. "Then have it!" I cried, and pulled the trigger.
He did not flinch from the blistering flash of the discharge. It seemed to me that it should have seared his face and that the bullet should have split his skull. I had a momentary glimpse of a ghastly, brownish-yellow visage and of two dull widely separated eyes peering into mine. Then all was dark again and I was struggling as never I had struggled in my life before. Long, stiff fingers clutched my throat. A rigid wood-like form was pressed against my own and my nostrils were filled with a sickly penetrating odour which I all too sharply recognised. It was the perfume that had issued from the sarcophagus of Ptahmes when I drove my chisel through the lead. At first I grasped nothing but air.But clutching wildly at the things that gripped my throat, I caught hands at last composed of bone. There was no flesh on them, or so it seemed to me. Yet it was good to grip something. It gave me heart. I had a horrible feeling for some awful seconds of contending with the supernatural. But those hands were hard and firm. They compressed my windpipe. Back and fro we writhed. I heard nothing but my own hard breathing. I was being slowly strangled. It was very hard to drag those hands apart. But I am strong, stronger than many men who earn their living by exhibiting to the vulgar feats of strength. Impelled by fear of death, I exerted my reserve of force, and driving will and muscle into one supreme united effort I tore the death grip from my neck and flung the Arab off. Uttering a sobbing howl of relief and rage, I followed him and caught him by the middle. Then stooping low, I heaved him high and dashed him to the ground. There came a sound of snapping wood or bones, but neither sigh nor cry of any sort. "We'll see," I growled, and struck a match. The sand before me was dinted, but deserted. The Arab had vanished. My senses rocked in horrified astonishment. My flesh crept. A cold chill of vague unreasoning terror caught me. I listened, all my nerves taut strained, peering wildly round into the dark. But the silence was unbroken. Nothing was to be heard, nothing was to be seen. Were it not for the dinted sand and the marks of feet other than myown where we had stepped and struggled, I could have come to the conclusion I had dreamed. After a while spent in soothing panic fears, I sneaked off to my baggage and extracted from the pile a candle lamp. This I lighted and, returning, searched the sands on hands and knees. The stranger's footprints were longer than my own and they were toe-marked. Plainly, then, he had stolen on me naked-footed. Looking wide around the dint made by his falling body I came presently upon some more of them. They were each a yard apart, and led towards the Hill of Rakh. Yet only for a little while. Soon they grew fainter and fainter. Finally they disappeared. Tortured by the mystery of it all, I halted where the footprints vanished and, putting out the lamp, squatted on the ground to wait for dawn. It came an hour later, but it told me nothing fresh. Indeed, it only rendered the riddle more intolerably maddening. Where had my Arab gone? And how had he come? For there was not a single footprint leading to the camp. Of course he might have thrown a cloak before him on which to walk; and thus he might have progressed and left no trace. But wherefore such extraordinary caution? And why should he be so anxious to conceal himself? It was hard to give up the riddle, but easier to abandon than to solve it. Calling philosophy to my aid and imagination, I determined that my Arab was some mad hermit upon whose solitude Ottley had intruded in the firstinstance, and I in the second. And that he had conceived a particular animosity for some unknown reason against my humble self and wished to kill me. Without a doubt, he had some secret hiding-place and feared lest I should seek to discover it. Perhaps he had found some treasure of which he had constituted himself the jealous guardian. I felt sure, at any rate, that he was mad. His actions had always been so peculiar and his speechlessness so baffling and astonishing and crassly unreasonable. But he or someone had killed my donkey. I found the poor beast lying in a hollow, dead as Cæsar. A knife had been employed, a long, sharp-pointed knife—perhaps a sword. It had searched out the creature's heart and pierced it. I made a hasty autopsy in order to be sure. The circumstance was most exasperating. It condemned me to the task of being my own beast of burthen. And the load was not a light one. I made, however, the best of a bad job, and having fortified myself with a good breakfast, I started off laden like a pack-horse for the Hill of Rakh. Having covered four miles, I stopped. Miss Ottley and Captain Frankfort Weldon had suddenly come into view. They were mounted. I sat down on my baggage, lighted a cigarette and waited. Common elementary Christian charity would compel them to offer me a lift. It was a good thought. It is not right that a man should work like a beast. And, besides, it was cheering to see Miss Ottleyagain. She came up looking rather care-worn and a good deal surprised. I arose and doffed my hat like a courtier. Captain Weldon touched his helmet with his whip by way of salute. He might have just stepped out of a bandbox. I felt he did not like me. The girl looked at me with level brows.
"Sir Robert well and strong again?" I asked.
"Quite," said Miss Ottley.
"We were on our way to pay you a visit," observed the Captain.
"Sir Robert wants me," I hazarded.
Miss Ottley shrugged her shoulders. "Does he?" she asked, then added with a tinge of irony, "You seem content to be one of those who are always neglected until a need arises for their services. Does it appear impossible that we might have contemplated a friendly call?"
"I have no parlour tricks," I explained.
Her lip curled. "You need not tell me. You left without troubling to bid me as much as a good-day. How long ago? Three weeks. Why?" Her tone was really imperious.
"But I left a benediction on the doorstep," I responded. "You looked cross and I was in a hurry."
Her eyes blazed; they were beautiful to see. "Where are you going?" she demanded.
"To call on your father."
"You have a load," observed the Captain.
"A mere nothing."
"Is not that a tent?"
"I am shifting camp."
"That nigger chap—Yazouk—came along last evening. But he vanished during the night. We fancied something might have happened."
"Oh, Yazouk. He broke a cup and feared I would turn him into a hyena, so he ran away."
"What!" shouted the Captain.
"A superstitious creature," I shrugged.
The Captain shook with laughter. "We wondered how you had tamed him," he chuckled presently—"after the bout. 'Pon honour, you served him very prettily. Straight from the shoulder and savate, too. The dragoman declares you have the evil eye."
"Have you lost your donkey, Dr. Pinsent?" demanded Miss Ottley.
"He expired suddenly last evening."
Captain Weldon frowned and sat up very straight in his saddle.
"Eh?" he said and looked a question.
"I had an Arab visitor. My visitor or another killed my donkey with a knife. I should like to have caught him in the act."
"My dream," said Miss Ottley, and caught her breath.
"By Jove," said the Captain, "it is really wonderful—but wait—you had a visitor, Doctor?"
"I believe it."
"Did he offer to attack you?"
"The spirit of the cavern!" cried the girl.
"A lunatic of an Arab," I retorted, "and so little of a spirit that I had hard work to prevent him throttling me."
"But the face. Did you see the face?"
"Our friend of the cavern," I admitted.
Miss Ottley glanced at the Captain, then back at me. She was as white as a lily.
"I knew it," she said. "I saw him kill the donkey and steal upon you—in a dream. His hands were bloody—and, look, there is blood still on your throat."
"My cask was empty, so perforce I could not wash," I murmured. The Captain looked thunderstruck. "It's the most wonderful thing," he kept repeating, "the most wonderful thing in the world."
"And I never thought of looking in the mirror. It was packed up," I went on. I took out a rather grimy kerchief and began to rub at my neck.
"Has that wretched Arab—worried you at all—since I left, Miss Ottley?"
"I have seen him twice—and once more" (she shuddered) "in my dream."
"And where did you see him out of dreams?"
"Once in the cavern and once in my father's tent. Each time at night. Each time he vanished like a shadow."
"Did anyone else see him?"
"My father and Captain Weldon."
"The most hideous brute I ever saw," commentedthe Captain; "you could put a good-sized head between his eyes. And such eyes. Dull as mud, but horribly intelligent."
"Well, well," said I. "We'll know more about him some day soon, perhaps, that is, if we stay long enough at the Hill of Rakh. He has a hiding thereabouts—without a doubt. Your father is pining to open the tomb of Ptahmes, I suppose, Miss Ottley?"
"He has opened it," she answered.
"Oh!" I exclaimed—and stopped dead in the act of naming Sir Robert a thankless perjurer.
The girl was looking at me hard. "You are surprised?"
"Curious," I growled. It was hard to say, for I was furious.
"I cannot enlighten your curiosity," she said.
"No?"
"He permitted no one to be present to assist him. It took place the day before yesterday in the cave temple. And the tomb is now closed again."
"You are then unaware what is discovered?"
"Perfectly."
"And Sir Robert?"
"You will find my father greatly changed, Dr. Pinsent."
"Indeed."
"He seems to be quite strong, but he has aged notably, and he will hardly condescend to converse with anyone, even me. Moreover, the subject ofPtahmes is tabooed. The very name enrages him. Dr. Belleville has forbidden it to be mentioned in his hearing."
"Humph!" said I. "If my donkey were alive I should go to Kwansu straight. But as it is I shall have to trespass for a stretch on your preserves at Rakh. I hate it, too, for your father has broken faith with me."
"Ah!" cried the girl. "He promised that you should help him open the tomb."
"Exactly."
"You must not be hard on him. I believe that he is not quite himself."
"Oh! I am accustomed to that sort of treatment from the Ottleys," I replied.
It was brutal beyond question, but I was past reckoning on niceties with rage. Captain Weldon turned scarlet and raised his whip. "Dr. Pinsent," he cried, "you forget yourself. For two pins——" then he stopped—having met my eyes. I laughed in his face. "Why not?" I queried jibingly. "It would be not only chivalrous—a lady looking on—but safe. Have you ever seen a St. Bernard hurt a spaniel?"
He went deathly and slashed me with his whip. Poor boy. I never blamed him. I'd have done the same myself. As for me, the blow descended and cooled my beastly temper, which was an unmitigated blessing. I took his whip away and gave it back to him. Then I laughed out, tickled at thehumour of the situation, though it only told against myself. "I had intended accepting your offer of your mule for my belongings," I chuckled. "You haven't offered him, but that's a detail. And now I can't." I shook with laughter.
Weldon leaped on instant to the ground. "Do, do!" he almost groaned.
He was a generous youngster. "And forgive me!" he said. "If you can—it was a coward blow."
"Gladly I'll forgive you," I replied, and we clasped hands.
"I'll help you load the beast," said he.
But I put my foot on my baggage. "That mule," I said, "belongs to Sir Robert Ottley. I'll not risk the breaking of his back."
We looked at one another and I saw the Captain understood me. He turned rather sheepishly away, but did not mount immediately.
Miss Ottley was gazing over the desert. "You must know you are behaving like a child," she cuttingly remarked.
I shook my head at the Captain. "That means you are keeping a lady waiting," I observed.
He smiled wrily in spite of himself. "Scottish, are you not?" he asked.
"From Aberdeen."
He climbed on the mule's back. "I'm thinking Dr. Pinsent would like to be alone," he said.
Miss Ottley nodded and they rode off together.I picked up my swag and trudged after them. It was dry work. About twenty minutes later Miss Ottley rode back alone. She did not beat about the bush at all.
"I want you to put your things on my donkey," she said; and slipping afoot, she stood in my path.
"Not to-day," said I.
"But I'm in trouble, I need your help," she muttered.
"With such a cavalier as Frankfort Weldon?" I inquired.
She coloured.
"And Dr. Belleville. Old friends both, I am led to fancy."
She bit her lips.
"And both of them in love with you," I went on bluntly.
"Dr. Pinsent," said Miss Ottley, "it is my opinion that my father is not quite right in his mind."
"Dr. Belleville is a F. R. C. S.," said I.
"I am afraid of him—my own father," she said, in a tragic tone. "I have a feeling that he hates me, that he wants to—to destroy me."
"Captain Weldon would lay down his life for you, I think," said I.
She put a hand on my breast and looked me straight in the eye. "I could not tell this to Dr. Belleville, nor to the other," she half whispered.
I thrilled all over. "All right," I said, cheerily."Just stand aside till I load your little beastie, will you?"
Her whole face lighted up. "Ah! I knew you would not desert me," she said.
But we did not speak again all the way to the Hill of Rakh. We were too busy thinking; the two of us. When we arrived she flitted off, still silent. Captain Weldon came to me. "I want you to share my tent," said he. "I have a tub for you in waiting, and some fresh linen laid out, if you'll honour me by wearing it."
"You are a brick," I replied, and took his arm. But at the door of the biggest tent in the whole camp to which he brought me I paused in wonder. It was a sort of lady's bower within. The floor was laid with rugs, and the sloped canvas walls were hung with silken frills; and women's photographs littered the fold-up dressing-table. They were all of the same face, though, those latter; the face of Miss Ottley.
"Sybarite!" I cried.
He winced, then squared his shoulders. "Well—perhaps so," he said with a smile.
"But your gallery has only one goddess," I commented, pointing to a picture.
He gave a shame-faced little laugh. "You see, Doctor, I have the happiness to be engaged to marry Miss Ottley," he explained. Then he left me to my tub.
The Captain's linen he had laid out for my use on his damask-covered cot was composed of the very finest silk. Even the socks were silk. I was positively ashamed to draw my stained and work-worn outer garments over them; and I thought, with a sigh, of my two decent suits of tweed lying, like the Dutchman's anchor, far away—in a Cairo lodging-house, to be precise. I shaved with the Captain's razor and wondered why I did not in the least mind resting indebted to his courtesy. The removal of my beard laid bare the weal the Captain's whip had raised. Perhaps that was the reason. He came in just as I had finished and he saw the weal on instant. "I wish to the Lord you'd just blacken one of my eyes," he said remorsefully. "The sight of that makes me feel an out-and-out cad. Not ten minutes before it happened Miss Ottley had been telling me the angel of goodness you had been to her."
I sat down on the edge of the cot and grinned. "It gives me quite a distinguished appearance," I replied, "and, say, didn't it give me back my temper nicely, too."
"Little wonder you were wild," said he. "But why didn't you break me up while you were about it? You could have, easily enough. Lord! how big and strong you are."
"And ugly," I supplemented.
He flushed all over his face. "You make me feel a silly girl-man by comparison," he cried. "A man ought to be ugly and strong-looking like you. I'd give half my fortune to possess that jaw."
"What a boy it is!" I said delightedly, for I was proud of my jaw, and I love flattery.
"I'm having a cot made now; it will be put over there for you. You'll share my diggings, won't you? I want us to be friends," beamed the Captain.
There was something so ingenuous and charming in his frankness that I assented at once.
"It's funny," he said afterwards. "But I detested you at first. Have a cigar. This box of Cabanas is for you. They're prime. I've more in my kit when they are finished. Lie down and rest while you smoke one, won't you? Lunch won't be ready for an hour yet, and you must be fagged."
I wasn't a bit, but I lay back and puffed a mouthful of delicious smoke with a long-drawn sigh of luxury.
"You needn't talk. Miss Ottley says you don't like talking," said the Captain. He lit a cigar and sat down on his kit box. "I'm a real gabbler, though," he confessed. "Do you mind?"
"No, fire away, sonny!"
He fired. It was all about himself and Miss Ottley: how they had been brought up together, predestined sweethearts: how they had quarrelled and made up and quarrelled again: how really and truly in their hearts they adored each other: and how—if it had not been for the girl's intense devotion for her father, they would have been married long ago. He characterised Sir Robert as an extremely selfish man, who, ever since his wife's death, had used his daughter as a servant and secretary because he could get no other to serve him as well and intelligently. "But he doesn't really care for her a straw," concluded the Captain. "And he would sacrifice her without remorse to his beastly mummy hobby for ever if I'd let him. But I won't. I'm going to put my foot down presently. I've waited long enough. He has done nothing but drag her all over Europe translating papyri for him for the last six years. And she has worked for him like a slave. It's high time she had a little peace and happiness."
"Translating papyri," I repeated. "A scholar, then?"
"Between ourselves," replied the Captain, "Sir Robert's fame as a scholar and an Egyptologist rests entirely upon his daughter's labours. Without her he would be unknown. She did all the real work. He reaped the credit. She is three times the scholar he is, and I know a Frenchman who regards her knowledge of cuneiform as simply marvellous. He is a professor of ancientlanguages, too, at the Sorbonne, so he ought to know."
"Queer she never mentioned a word of it to me," said I.
"Oh!" cried the Captain, "she is the modestest, sweetest creature in the universe. I sometimes think she is positively ashamed of her extraordinary ability. Whenever I speak of it she apologises—and says she only learned the things she knows to be a help to her dear old father. Dear old father, indeed! The selfish old swine ought to be suppressed. He loathes me because he fears I'll persuade her to leave him. If she wasn't so useful she could go to the deuce for all he'd care. But it's got to end soon or I'll know the reason why. Don't you think I'm right? We've been engaged now seven years."
"I consider you a model of patience," I replied.
"Besides," said the Captain, starting off on a new tack, "the old man is positively uncanny. It's my belief he has an underhanded motive in his love for mummies, especially for his latest find, this Ptahmes. He's a spook-hunter, you know—and he told me one day in an unguarded moment that he expected to live a thousand years."
"What's a spook-hunter, Captain?"
"Oh! I mean a spiritualist. He has a medium chap, he keeps in London—a rascally beggar who bleeds thousands a year out of him. They have séances. The medium scamp pretends to go into a trance and tells him all sorts of rubbish aboutthe Nile kings and prophets and wizards and magicians and the elixir of life. It is dashed unpleasant for me, I can tell you. There's always some wild yarn going round the clubs. And as I'm known to be Ottley's prospective son-in-law, I have the life chaffed out of me in consequence. The latest was that the medium chap—Oscar Neitenstein is his name—put Ottley in the way of finding an old Theban prophet's tomb—this very Ptahmes, don't you know. And though he has been underground 4000 years, Neitenstein has fooled Ottley into expecting to find the prophet still alive. It's too idiotic to speak seriously about, of course; but on my honour the yarn drove me out of England. It got into the comic papers. Ugh! you know what that means. But I'm not sorry in one way. So I've come here to have it out with Ottley. And I'm going to—by Gad."
"You haven't spoken to him yet?"
"I have, but he treated me like a kid. Told me to run away and play and allow serious people to work. I stormed a bit, but it was no use. It made him so angry that he nearly took a fit—and I had to leave. Since then he has been shut up with his infernal mummy, in that cave temple over there—and he won't even let his daughter go within yards of the door. That's curious, isn't it?"
"Very."
"And there's that business about the mysterious Arab," went on the Captain. "The ugly horrorthat tried to throttle you and has been frightening Miss Ottley. She thinks it's a ghost. But I reckon not."
"Ah!"
"I reckon Sir Robert knows all about that Arab, though he pretends he does not know. In my opinion it's another of those spook mediums of his, and he is keeping the ugly beast hidden away somewhere. Probably the fellow is some awful criminal who has got to hide. Sir Robert would shelter Hill or even that Australian wife-murderer Deeming if he said he was a medium."
"You extend my mental horizon," I remarked. "The Arab mystery is clearing up."
The Captain simply beamed. "So glad you catch on," he said. "Do you know, I am depending heaps upon you in this business."
"How?"
The monosyllable disconcerted the Captain. He stuttered and hawed for a while. But, finally, he blurted out, "Well, you see, she won't leave her father under existing circumstances on any account, that's the trouble. But I'm hoping if we can convince the old man he is being fooled by a pack of scoundrels he will return to his sober senses and live Sensibly, and then——" he paused.
"And then—wedding bells," I suggested.
"Exactly," replied the Captain. "And see here, I have a plan."
"Ah!"
"It's to lay for that Arab, as a first step—and catch the brute."
"And what then?"
The Captain looked rather foolish. "Well," he said, "well—oh!—we'd be guided by circumstances then, of course. We might induce him to confess—don't you think?"
I could not help laughing. "If you want to know what I think," I said, "it is, that you are in the position of a man who knows what he wants but does not in the least understand how to get it. Still count on my help. If we can lay the Arab by the heels we shall not harm anyone deserving of consideration, and we will put Miss Ottley's mind at rest, at all events; I hate to think that she is worried by the rascal. What do you propose?"
"I thought of hiding by the temple to-night. I passed it late last evening, and though Sir Robert was ostensibly alone, I could swear I heard voices. What do you say?"
"Certainly."
"Shake," said the Captain. We shook. "Now let's go to lunch," said he. We went.
"That's Belleville's shanty," observed the Captain, pointing to a neighbouring tent. "I don't like the fellow, do you?"
"I don't know him."
"He's a spook-hunter like Sir Robert."
"Ah!"
"The beggar is in love with Miss Ottley."
"Oh!"
"He had the impudence to tell her to her face one day that she would never marry me. He declared that it was written—by spooks, I suppose. One of these days I'll have to break his head for him. But he is not a man you can easily quarrel with. You simply can't insult him. He comes up smiling every time."
"An unpleasant person."
"A bounder," said the Captain with intense conviction. "Lord, how hot it is!"
We entered the eating tent as he spoke. The table was already laid. Dr. Belleville stood near the head of it talking to Miss Ottley. A couple of Soudanese flitted about affecting to be busy, but effecting very little. At sight of me both shuddered back against the canvas and stood transfixed. One held a spoon, the other a plate. They looked extremely absurd. I told them in Arabic that only the dishonest had occasion to fear the evil eye, and took a seat. Instantly both rushed to serve me. My companions, not possessing the evil eye, were forced to wait. Miss Ottley became satirical, but I was hungry and her shafts glanced off the armour of my appetite. When I had finished my first helping of currie she sat down. "There's no use waiting for father," she sighed. "I shall take his lunch to him by-and-by."
Dr. Belleville echoed the sigh. "My dear younglady," said he, "permit me now," and he vanished a minute later carrying a tray.
"You see," said the Captain, sotto voce, to me.
"More currie," I said, addressing, not the Captain, but the tent. Immediately one of the Soudanese slipped and sprawled on the floor in his eagerness to serve. The other leaped over his fellow's prostrate body and whisked away my plate. He returned it loaded in about five seconds. Miss Ottley broke into a half-hysterical laugh. It kept up so long that at last I looked at her in surprise. She had a knife and fork before her, but nothing else; also the Captain. "What is the matter?" I demanded.
"Look," she gurgled. Following her finger I turned and saw both Soudanese standing like statues behind me. "Wretches," I cried, "have you nothing else to do?"
They uttered a joint howl of terror and fled from the tent. But the joke had staled. I took after them hot foot, caught them and drove them back to work, to find that my companions in the meanwhile had helped themselves. Dr. Belleville, however, entered a moment later, and at a nod from me the trembling Soudanese became his abject slaves.
Dr. Belleville had something to say. "The negroes are frightened of you," he began.
"They fancy I have the evil eye."
"Humph!" cried the Doctor. "Talk German—they understand English. It's not that."
"What then?"
"Sir Robert Ottley sent one of them to you—with a message—last night. He returned this morning with three ribs broken. He is lying in the hospital tent now—in a high fever."
"A tall, thin man—the eyes set far apart in the skull?" I asked.
Dr. Belleville shook his head. "No. Short, thick-set, snub-featured, but a giant in strength."
"How did he explain his accident?"
"That unwittingly he angered you."
"The man is a liar," I declared indignantly. "I had a set-to with a skulking rogue last night. That is true enough. But the fellow I encountered and threw was taller than myself."
The Doctor shrugged his shoulders. "It was a dark night, I believe." Then a minute later—"Ottley is much annoyed. This Meeraschi was an excellent subject. Ottley was experimenting with him."
"How?"
"Hypnotically."
I glanced at the others, but they were talking apart.
"Ottley sent me a message?" I asked, returning to the Doctor.
"Yes," replied Belleville between mouthfuls. He was gulping down his lunch like a wolf in a hurry. "He wants you," he went on.
"Needless to say I received no message."
"Needless?" repeated Belleville. "And you here?"
The tone was so insulting that I arose and walked quietly out of the tent. The sun was blazing hot. I thought of the cool cave temple and wandered towards it. Why not see Sir Robert at once? Why not, indeed. Two black sentinels guarded the middle pylon, skulking in the shadow of a column. When I approached they stood bolt upright. They were armed with rifles. They barred the way.
"Ottley!" I shouted. "Ottley!" and once again "Ottley!"
At the third the little baronet's face appeared in the stone doorway.
"Oh! Pinsent," he said, and stared at me. I read doubt in his glance, some fear and anger and uneasiness. But there was much else I could not read. His skin was as yellow as old parchment, and he did not look a well man by any means.
"It is roasting—here," I observed.
He swallowed audibly, as a woman does recovering from tears. "Ah, well," he said. "Come in—here."
The blacks vastly relieved, it appeared, lowered their arms and gave me passage. Sir Robert, however, still blocked the door. I traversed the pylon and stood before him. "We can talk here," said he.
But I had no mind to be treated like that. I looked him in the face and talked to him like this: "I am not welcome. I can see it. But it mattersnothing to me. I have rights. I gave you back your life. You made me a promise. You broke your promise. That relieves me of any need to be conventional. I am curious. I intend to satisfy my curiosity. Invite me into the cavern and show me what you have there to be seen. Or I shall put you aside and help myself. I can do so. Your blacks do not frighten me, armed or unarmed. As for you, pouf! Now choose!"
"Dr. Pinsent," said Sir Robert. (He was shaking like an aspen.) "In about ten minutes my dragoman is setting out for Cairo. If you will be good enough to bear him company he will hand you at the end of the journey my cheque for a thousand pounds."
"I ought to have told you," I murmured, "that it is a point of honour with me to keep my word."
"Two thousand," said Sir Robert.
"At all costs," said I.
"Five thousand!" he cried.
"You rich little cad!" I growled, and looked into the muzzle of a revolver.
Sir Robert's eyes, seen across the sights, glittered like a maniac's. "Go away!" he whispered. "Go—or——"
I thought of an old, old policeman trick and assumed an expression of sudden horror. "Take care," I cried. "Look out—he will get you."
The baronet swung around, gasping and ghastly. In a second I had him by the wrist.
"What was it?" he almost shrieked.
"A policeman's trick," I answered coldly, and disarmed him.
"Curse you! Curse you!" he howled, and doubling his fists, he rushed at me, calling on his blacks the while. The latter gave me momentary trouble. But it was soon over. I propped them up like lay figures against the columns, facing each other, afterwards, and extracted the charges from their guns. Looking over the sand, I saw Miss Ottley and Dr. Belleville and the Captain walking under umbrellas towards the tanks. I felt glad not to have disturbed them. Sir Robert had disappeared within the cavern. I followed him. He had put on a large masque which entirely covered his face, and he was fumbling with the screw stopper of a huge glass jar at the farthest corner of the cavern. The sarcophagus had been overturned. It now rested in the centre of the cavern, bottom upwards. And on the flat, leaden surface of the bottom was stretched out, stiff and stark, the naked body of a tall, brown-skinned man. The body glistened as if it had been rubbed with oil. It was almost fleshless, but sinews and tendons stood out everywhere like tightened cords. One might almost have taken it for a mummy. It had, however, an appearance of life—or rather, of suspended animation, for it did not move. I wondered and stepped closer to examine it. I looked at the face, and recognised the Arab who had attacked me on the previous night, theArab who had frightened Miss Ottley and myself more than once. His mouth was tight shut; his eyes were, however, open slightly. He did not seem to breathe. I put my finger on his cheek, and pressed. The flesh did not yield. I ran my eyes down his frame and uttered a cry. Three of his ribs were broken. Then I felt his pulse; it was still. The wrist was as rigid as steel—the arm, too—nay, the whole man. "He is dead," I exclaimed at last, and looked at Sir Robert. The little baronet was re-stoppering the glass jar, but he held a glass in one hand half filled with some sort of liquid. Presently he approached me—but most marvellously slowly.