“Too far,” he whispered back. “Pass me the telescope.” We had brought the telescope along with us luckily. I passed it to him, and he undid the strap, fitted in the high-power eye-piece, and slid it into position with as much care as though stalking a markhor. He studied it a minute, and then turned to us. “_Greek_, and it’s more like the old Greek than what’s on the picture, though not quite the same,” he said. “It runs like this: ‘To those to north, the gate of life; but to those to south, the gate of death.’” “It seems to be that, all right,” whispered back Wrexham; “this is the south side of the gate, and there are plenty of poor devils who have looked their last on life the last time they looked up at the arrow-slits. There’s a man there under the birds--foul beasts--or rather it _was_ a man some time ago. They pulled his foot up just now while I was watching through my glasses. He’s not new.” “Wish I could smoke,” muttered Forsyth; “not safe now, I suppose. This is foul!” “Guess I know now why they diverted the water,” said Wrexham. “The stream probably comes down on the far side of that gateway, and they diverted it to keep the entrance clear. Any one seen any movement in front?” “Not a sign,” said Forsyth. “I’ve been putting my telescope on the loopholes. I should say they were real, not fakes like the rest of the carving.” We lay there for perhaps three quarters of an hour watching, but never a sign of life in the gateway. At last I said to Wrexham, “Well, what’s the next move?” He turned over and slid back down the rock. “‘When in doubt put out pickets.’ Isn’t that what your frontier experts say? We must have some one always here in case any one appears. One of us three with one of the men. I propose that we do three shifts during the day, say six to ten, ten to two, and two to six. They may not use this place often; depends on the number of people they have to kill off, and we don’t want to miss a chance of seeing what sort of creatures they are. It’s after two o’clock now, and, if you two will stay here, I’ll scuttle back and get one of the men and then come and relieve you for the evening watch. Then to-night we can talk over the future.” “What’s the programme if anything turns up?” asked Forsyth. “Question of discretion, I think. Have a good look, and if they’re peaceful you might venture conversation. If not, don’t, but at least we shall know something about what they’re like. I’ll be as quick as I can.” And, picking up his rifle, Wrexham trotted off down the valley. “Well, of all the d----d family graveyards I’ve ever struck,” said Forsyth as we settled down to our watch. “I wonder if it is a graveyard, by the way, in spite of Wrexham’s theory about killing people. We may have found the back entry into a sort of Parsi Tower of Silence place, where they put their dead because earth and fire are sacred elements and mustn’t be contaminated by corpses.”