CHAPTER XXI
In the Labyrinth
All the culture and self-restraint acquired in years was stripped from Zeta Phalos for the moment, even his religion dropped away, and the superstition of his ancestors took possession of him, as he lay moaning and beating his head on the floor of the cave in the hope of propitiating the angry gods of his remote forebears who were making those weird, ghost-like noises.
It would have been idle for the captain and Professor Bruce to have denied that they were terribly frightened. They were brave men who had often faced death unflinchingly. But just now cold, stark terror had a grip on their souls.
Again that awful scream rang through the vaulted halls, and this time after one mighty paroxysm of fear, the Egyptian lay still. He had fainted.
The necessity of doing something to help him broke the spell that had fastened on his companions, and they sprang to his relief. They chafed his hands and wrists. After a long time he opened his eyes, only to close them again with a cry, as he remembered his experience.
“The gods! The gods of my forebears!” he moaned. “They would not be defied. They are punishing us for our presumption.”
“Come, now! Come!” urged the captain, not unkindly, his own self-possession having been restored to him by the necessity of action. “Pull yourself together. After all, a sound doesn’t kill anybody.”
It was a long time, however, before the old Egyptian regained his composure. He maintained a listening attitude, and at intervals kept casting uneasy glances toward the unseen body with the severed head that lay there so quietly, but, as he thought, so menacingly, in the darkness.
The professor rightly interpreted his thought.
“It won’t do any harm to remove the mummy to some other place, Frank,” he suggested quietly to his brother. “They used to pass them around at Egyptian banquets to remind the diners of the brevity of life. But to my mind they’re not very cheerful adjuncts of a feast.”
The captain agreed, and together he and Professor Bruce took the mummy into a distant passage and laid the poor relic of humanity down reverently.
The act itself and the fearlessness with which his companions went about their distasteful work helped Phalos markedly to resume his usual philosophical attitude.
“Old traditions were too strong for me,” he murmured apologetically. “Then, too, my years are telling on me and we’ve been under an unusual strain to-day.”
“I can well understand how you feel,” replied the professor with a genial smile. “And I don’t mind admitting that I too was unnerved. What do you think it was, Frank?” he asked, turning to his brother.
“Can’t say,” replied the captain. “Of course, we’ll cut out right now any suggestion of the supernatural. That yell had either a human or a mechanical origin. It may have been some freak due to natural causes and the configuration of these catacombs. Or it may have been a trick to frighten us away on the part of some one who doesn’t dare meet us in the open. As it stands, one guess is as good as another.”
“If only it doesn’t come again!” ejaculated Phalos fervently.
“Let’s hope it won’t,” returned the captain. He smiled grimly and added: “I know when I’ve had enough. But if it does, it won’t be so startling as the first time, for now we’re prepared for it. But now that we’ve had our supper, what do you say to starting on again?”
All agreed to this, but when Phalos tried to walk he found that his trembling limbs would hardly support him.
There was no help for it, and they had to defer their attempt until the morning. They composed themselves to sleep as best they could, though the captain, who always slept with one eye open, kept his rifle close at hand so that he could clutch it instantly in case of need.
Nothing occurred through the night to disturb them, however; and as the old Egyptian woke refreshed and much stronger, they resumed their search after they had partaken of a scanty meal and finished the rest of Ismillah’s coffee.
They wandered about, examining every passage that seemed to promise results, only to have their souls made sick by hope deferred. As far as they could, they endeavored to keep within a small radius of the despoiled tomb, for the diagram of Phalos had made it probable that the royal tomb of Ras-Ameses was somewhere in its vicinity.
The entire day passed without success, and it was a disgruntled trio that, when night came, sought once more the room in which they had passed the night before.
Their provisions were dwindling, and their forced abstinence was already compelling them to feel the pangs of hunger and thirst.
“Glad the boys are not in here with us,” remarked the captain. “With their young healthy appetites they’d feel this a mighty sight worse than we do. At least they’ll have plenty of provisions in the camp with Ismillah and Abdul.”
“I’ve been worrying about them all day,” said the professor, his brow creased with anxiety. “There hasn’t been a moment when they were absent from my thoughts.”
“Same here,” admitted the captain. “Though both the boys are better able to take care of themselves than any other I’ve ever seen.”
That night the awful shriek came again, rising in hideous crescendo and dying away in moans that chilled the blood. Fear once more laid its icy hand on their hearts, but this time they were prepared for it and inwardly defied it, even Phalos controlling, outwardly at least, his terror.
About noon the next day an exclamation from Professor Bruce brought the other two hurrying to his side.
They found him standing before a perfectly square stone construction measuring exactly thirty-six feet on every side. It was of polished granite, with the blocks fitted into each other so perfectly that the seams were scarcely visible.
With trembling fingers, the professor and Phalos consulted the manuscript and compared it with the symbols that were carved on the nearer side. A shout of triumph burst simultaneously from their lips.
“Eureka!” shouted the professor. “We have found it! The tomb of Ras-Ameses!”
“The greatest of the Tombs of Gold!” cried Phalos exultantly.