When, finally, the news was telegraphed from Cairo that this most coveted concession had fallen to the Yale Expedition, and that together with a substantial area of the unexplored mounds to the north and south of the temple site, great had been Professor Ranney’s joy. The recent unearthing of the body and rich treasure of Pharaoh Akhten-aton, son to that Pharaoh by whom the temple was built, and the discovery of the rich and comprehensive tomb-equipment of Akhten-aton’s father and mother-in-law, together with the marvelously preserved mummies of those ancient worthies, had fired the dampened ardor both of the workers in the field, and, more important still, perhaps, of those holders of the purse-strings, the sponsors for the expedition at home. As I have said above, the site of King Amenhotep’s Mortuary Temple had been freely acknowledged to be a very promising one, and so far these hopes had been entirely justified. Many and rare had been the finds during the season’s work now drawing to a close. And it was not improbable that some other find of the first importance might still fall to the spades of the excavators during the next few weeks of work upon the site. Think what the nearby Temple of Medinet might at this very moment hold for Professor Ranney! The tomb of Amenhotep, son of Hap; the Magic Book of the Sorcerers of Pharaoh, the Luminous Book of Thoth! Had they had the least suspicion of Professor Ranney’s secret it is safe to say that many of his brother scientists would gladly have bartered five years of their lives for a chance at the site. And yet, could any one of those enthusiasts have foreseen the disaster that would here befall him, not a man among them would have approached it. But let us take up the tale, as long as we may, in Professor Ranney’s own words. I had recently completed my work in and about the site of the Mortuary Temple of the illustrious Pharoah Amenhotep the Third and had already promised myself a trial excavation at the nearby tomb of Pharaoh’s famous architect and namesake, Amenhotep, when something unexpected occurred to effectually put an end to all my plans. What that something was you shall now hear! As near as I can piece together the amazing threads of my story, this is what happened to me that last eventful evening in Thebes. My diary, in part, supplies the clue. Under date of April 28, 1913, and immediately following the rough translation of a great memorial tablet which had been found the previous day, I note this entry: “_Sandstorm just blown over. Headache, feverish. Finished making plan of palace to scale_.” Now, in spite of the temperature and headache to which I here refer, and which, had I not been so keen on my work, I should most certainly have recognized as a symptom of trouble to come, I had evidently sought to catch up with a somewhat neglected report of the season’s work.