“There are no inscriptions to be seen on the walls of the passage,” Barry remarked. “No,” said the Professor; “but I understand that this is usual. Am I right, Cumberland?” “Quite right. But we may look for something very _un_usual in the chamber itself.” They were all feverishly restless, but as their presence at the excavation merely interfered with the work, for this restlessness there was no proper outlet. Dinner concluded, and Mahmoud having cleared the table, the Professor and John Cumberland, shirt sleeves rolled up and cigars lighted, settled down to poker. Barry, pipe in mouth, sauntered out into the _wâdi_, vaguely wondering why Danbazzar had not returned. Without consciously intending to do so, he found himself following the familiar path, to which he no longer required a guide. On he went and down, until he came to that little ravine which opened into the valley just above the tomb. In the nick of time he remembered the usual routine and clapped his hands sharply three times. Had he forgotten, the result would have been a blast of a police whistle and the suspension of operations! The ingeniously screened working lay in deep shadow. He could see neither of the guards, but, standing there, silent, he could hear vaguely, deep in the heart of the rock, a sound of regular muffled blows. He was tempted to open the sand trap and to penetrate to the scene of activity, but overcame the impulse and turned right, walking up the valley to where it came out on the shoulder of a hill. Here, squatting under a curious mass of rock roughly resembling a giant skull, was one of the guards, who stood up as Barry approached. “_Lêltak sa’ îda!_” said the man, saluting him. Barry echoed the words, to which he was now becoming accustomed, and passed on. The guard reseated himself under the rock. He determined to walk up as far as the ancient caravan road which crossed the crest above, a spot from which, Danbazzar had informed him, the view by moonlight was remarkable. He had counted, however, without the natural difficulties of the route. The path which he had intended to follow disappeared into midnight gullies and twined about upstanding crags. The shadowy places might be full of pitfalls. Barry paused, looking up at the ridge sharply outlined against the clear blue of the sky. Perhaps, after all, discretion was the better part of valour. He might quite easily break his neck if he attempted this climb in the darkness. He stood there for a while looking about him, and knocking out his pipe upon the heel of his bass-soled shoe. These slopes above and below he knew to be literally honeycombed. This weird place, almost unreal in its colouring under the moon, was no more than a vast necropolis. A month before, with New York’s life pulsing around him, the thought of this desolation and of being lonely amid it would have been appalling. Yet so adaptable is human nature that already he was growing accustomed to these haunted solitudes.