The route they followed was merely a native path and not one of the roads ordinarily used. For a goat or a barefooted Egyptian it was navigable enough, but what with leaping over chasms of unknown depth and scrambling up narrow funnels composed of crumbling rock, brittle as a cracker, it was not all that might have been desired by a party of townsmen out for an evening stroll. At last they came out on the hummock of a hill, and below them, magnificently outlined in shadow, lay the Valley of the Queens. Above towered that strangely shaped mountain once sacred to the goddess Hathor. Breathless, Barry leaned upon a block of stone, listening to a duet in hard breathing contributed by his father and Professor Blackwell. Danbazzar’s cigar glowed in the shadows of a neighbouring rock, and Hassan es-Sugra exhibited no evidence of fatigue. Awhile they paused there, and then set out again, Danbazzar and Hassan leading, John Cumberland and the Professor following, Barry bringing up the rear. Thus they went, except where broken formation of the ground necessitated single file. By what sailing marks the pilots traced their course was not apparent. But through the desolation of this land of tombs they passed, the way twisting and turning, their route being sometimes upward and sometimes downward, until at last: “Here it is!” said Danbazzar. Barry’s weariness departed; his heart leaped. They stood before a sheer rock face, its irregular surface pitted with openings. Above a mound of drift, Hassan es-Sugra began to dig with his stick, clearing sand and rubbish away. Barry watched him abstractedly: he was fighting to conquer the reality. Somewhere here, deep in the heart of this rock, she lay, the princess of long ago! She whose picture, portrayed in the papyrus, was a vivid representation of the girl he had seen on that balcony in faraway New Jersey! Here! somewhere in this ancient mountain where she had lain for thousands of years! What was the link? What did it mean? Useless! His mind refused to grapple with so monstrous a problem. “See!” Hassan es-Sugra turned, extending his palms. “The cartouche, sirs! As I found it a year ago!” A ray from Danbazzar’s electric torch shone on to the rock. All bent forward eagerly. “Quite! Quite!” murmured Professor Blackwell. “Yes, it is the same, unmistakably!” Deeply carved in the surface, it was there for all to see--the curious sign which translated, meant: “She Who Sleeps but Will Awaken.” CHAPTER XIII. THE EXCAVATORS Nothing succeeds like impudence. The original plan had provided for work at night only; but the flooded state of the Nile Valley was so discouraging to tourists and interruption of labours in the remote spot where the tomb was situated so unlikely that Danbazzar at the outset decided upon day shifts and night shifts. Now definitely launched upon this unlawful project, a sort of unholy joy fired the party. It was even shared by Professor Blackwell.