Yet the very shadows that befriended him held their own terrors. Some spies of the fanatical Arabs might lurk there. But without sight of the band, and having heard no sound to indicate the presence of any living thing on the plateau above, he came to that midnight gully which opened out immediately above the tomb. Peering from the end of it, he clapped his hands very softly. An answering signal came from the top of the slope. He surmised that the guard at the lower end was out of hearing. Mentally reviewing what he knew of the course of the caravan road, he determined that from no point upon it was this valley visible. He surveyed the rocky face of the mountain before him, his glance travelling along uninterrupted by any oddity due to Danbazzar’s screen--that miracle of camouflage. He crossed and hurried to the trap, pausing a moment before he raised it. Very softly he clapped his hands again. An answering signal came from beyond the canvas. Gently he lifted the shallow box of sand, turned, and groped with his foot for the first of the wooden steps below. Finding this, he stood upon it, ducked his head, and lowered the trap. He took three steps, walking backward, then turned, and stared up a little incline. Above him, a lantern was set upon a heap of débris in the yawning entrance to the tomb. And where dim light shone upward upon his ascetic face stood Hassan es-Sugra, smiling with gentle melancholy. No sound came from the depths of the tunnel. “Hassan!” said Barry. “The Hawwara Arabs are here!” Hassan bowed gravely and extended his hand to help Barry up the slope. “I know, sir,” he replied. “We heard the shot, and I ordered everyone to be silent.” “Did they fire at one of the watchmen?” Barry asked, scrambling up beside the speaker. Hassan shook his head slowly. “No,” he said, “I do not know why the shot was fired, but everything was stopped until news came from outside.” His gentle eyes, which were so like the eyes of a gazelle, held a curious light. Later Barry determined that it had been an indication of excitement. Now, squatting about among the débris of the excavation in the curious artificial cave created by the screen, he saw a group of workmen. Some chewed, one of them was smoking, and they all regarded him with glances in which only smiling curiosity could be read. He stared down into the haunted depths of the shaft, and then back again to Hassan es-Sugra. “It was written that we should succeed,” said Hassan. “What?” Barry demanded, conscious of a new tingling in his veins. “It was the work done last year,” Hassan continued calmly, “which made it possible. If we had known, sir, with a little more time and trouble we could have completed. The second portcullis is broken. I cannot say how it was broken. But we have made a way through.” “Well!” Barry cried. “What’s below?”