A woman--in that place--at that hour! The idea simply wasn’t admissible. Yet he had heard her voice! His hands closed like a vise upon the rifle. He gripped his pipe between his teeth desperately. Compromise with himself was no longer possible. For this was no trick of his imagination. Beyond shadow of doubt he had heard a thing admitting of no reasonable explanation; and he was definitely, dreadfully scared. Intently he listened, but could hear only a drumming in his ears. The tinkle of a camel bell up on the caravan road would have been as balm to his fevered mind; for it would have offered a possible solution of the mystery. But nothing stirred. He longed to join his father, to tell him of the phenomenon. But he knew that he must not desert his post. Nor could he conscientiously convince himself that there was justification for blowing the whistle he carried--a signal that would summon John Cumberland. And so he stood there, holding grimly onto his slipping courage--while minute after minute passed in profound silence, that great, deep silence of the desert which can almost be heard. Hours seemed to elapse in this way. But, when Barry glanced at the luminous dial of his wrist watch, he learned that he had been on guard for less than half the allotted span. In the act of consulting the watch, his heart gave a great leap. Another sound had broken the stillness. Then he heaved a sigh of relief. It was the signal, higher up the valley. Someone had clapped his hands three times. Immediately, John Cumberland’s voice came: “Who’s there?” “Danbazzar,” Barry heard. After this, words became indistinguishable; but a human link had been established; he no longer felt alone with the shadows. And his dread slipped from him like a discarded garment. He wondered, practically, if he should report the occurrence. He decided to wait until he was relieved by the next watch. So the second hour of his duty wore on, uneventfully, and at last came the familiar signal again. Some conversation there was; then an interval of silence. Finally, he heard the voices of John Cumberland and Danbazzar drawing nearer as they walked down the slope. Coming around the last bend: “Two more loads will do it,” Danbazzar was saying. “I’ll bring them up while Blackwell and Mahmoud are on watch. Then everything will be safely planted by daylight.” As they came into view: “Hullo, there!” Danbazzar called. “All clear?” “Yes,” said Barry, “except that I heard a most extraordinary thing about an hour ago.” “What?” Danbazzar demanded sharply. He bent forward, so that even in the darkness of the _wâdi_ Barry could see the gleam of his fierce eyes. “A woman’s voice!” “Eh!” John Cumberland exclaimed. “You must have been dreaming, Barry!” “I wasn’t dreaming, Dad.” “Where did it come from?” Danbazzar asked rapidly. “Which direction?” Barry pointed. “Down there--where we saw the mummy man.” “Good heavens!” said his father--“the haunted valley!”