Undeterred by these vague threats, operations were commenced that day. A tiny opening, a mere crevice, had been left by Danbazzar in the reclosed entrance, some ten feet above, and to the left of the inscription on the rock. The first party set to work to enlarge this, and two guards were placed where they could command all possible approaches. By nightfall, enough had been done to show that this indeed was the entrance to a narrow, sloping shaft, carefully closed at the top with stone blocks. John Cumberland’s excitement became intense. Professor Blackwell experienced much difficulty in persuading him to sleep. Throughout the afternoon and the evening not a soul had appeared in sight of the excavation, and the first day promised well for the enterprise. Barry only deserted the job when a night shift of excavators came on duty, walking back, tired but mentally exhilarated, to the camp with Hassan es-Sugra. As they pursued their way through moonlight and shadow down to the little _wâdi_, Barry glanced many times at his silent companion. The wonder of it all swept over him--the insanity of their dreams; the almost incredible fact that less than a month before he had been leading a rather empty life in New York. Now, he was walking through a vast cemetery peopled with kings and queens, princes, princesses, councillors, of a glorious civilization which the desert had reclaimed long ages before the name of America was known to men! The stillness seemed to become oppressive. Not even the bark of a dog could be heard. And to-night no camel bells jingled on the ancient caravan road. Barry spoke at random. “How long, Hassan,” he asked, “should it take to reach the tomb?” “It is doubtful, sir,” was the reply. “Perhaps, if the stones are not too hard to be broken, only a few days, for we have many men at work. Perhaps longer; and then, we do not know if the passage is clear beyond the first portcullis. Sometimes there are two; sometimes three. And, at the bottom of the shaft, the entrance to the funeral chamber will have to be broken.” “But the way in from the top? The part you closed up again last year?” “That should be easy, sir. Perhaps by to-morrow. But there is still all the shaft.” “Is that a long job?” “Always,” Hassan replied, “it is a question of the conditions. Sometimes the air is so bad that men cannot work in these tombs.” “A question of Kismet, eh?” said Barry. “Kismet, yes!” Hassan es-Sugra smiled in his sweetly grave way. “If it is written that we succeed, we shall succeed. If not”--he shrugged his shoulders--“no matter!” Dog tired, Barry undressed and threw himself upon his camp bed. He shared the tent with Professor Blackwell, and his last waking recollection was of the sonorous snores of that weary scientist.