The Mirza bowed himself out, and Ferrers whiled away the rest of the day in vain speculations. Was he about to discover that Major Keeling amused himself with such adventures as he and his friends at Bab-us-Sahel had been wont to undertake? He thought not, for, though born and partly brought up in India, the Major had always spoken with contemptuous dislike of Europeans who aped the natives, or tried to live a double life. Of course that might be only to throw his hearers off the scent, but still--and Ferrers went over the ground again, with the same result. He had not come to any decision as to what he was to expect to see by the time the Mirza thought it was safe to start, and he could get no satisfaction from him. He was to judge with his own eyes, and not be prepared beforehand for what he was to be shown. It was a long ride over the desert, which shone faintly white in the starlight. There was no wind, and the whirling sand which made travelling so unpleasant in the daytime was momentarily still. The distant cry of a wild animal was to be heard at times, but no human beings seemed to be abroad save the two riders. It was different, however, when they had reached the mountains, and, picketing the ponies in a convenient hollow, began to climb a rocky path, for here and there in front of them was to be seen a muffled figure. Once or twice they passed or were overtaken by one of these, with whom the Mirza exchanged a low-toned greeting, the words of which Ferrers could not distinguish. Sooner than he expected they found themselves entering a village of rough mud-huts, which had evidently grown up around and under the protection of a larger building, a Moslem sanctuary of some sort. This must be the tomb of the _pir_, or holy man, of whom the Mirza had spoken, thought Ferrers; and he noticed that muffled figures like those he had seen on the way up seemed to be thronging into it. The place was built of rough mud-brick, but there were rude traces of decoration about the walls, and some architectural features in the form of a bulb-shaped dome and two rather squat minarets. Ferrers and his guide joined the crowd at the entrance, and were pressing into the building with them, when Ferrers felt the Mirza grasp his arm, and impel him aside. They seemed to have turned into a dark passage between two walls, while the rest of the crowd had gone straight on, and a man with whom the Mirza spoke for a moment, and who was apparently one of the keepers of the tomb, closed a door behind them as soon as they had entered. Still guided by the Mirza, Ferrers stumbled along the passage until a faint gleam of starlight through a loop-hole showed him that there was a spiral staircase in front. The steps were choked with sand and much decayed, but the two men made shift to climb them, and came out at last on a fairly smooth mud platform, which was evidently the roof of the tomb. The Mirza walked noiselessly across it until he came to the dark mass which represented