THE VOICE IN THE VALLEY
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!”