In the centre of the great vault stood a throne, in shape like a large chair, and ornamented with many strange hieroglyphics; and upon it, grim and silent, with mouth agape and eyes that stared unblinkingly before him, sat a man. A jewel, like to that which Chenobi, the king, wore, was bound upon his forehead, and its radiance filled the whole chamber. There was something so sinister about the silent figure that the baronet almost feared to advance; but at length, putting on a bold front, he strode forward. Halting within a few paces of the throne, he spoke the Ayuti salutation: “Wabozi” But the figure answered never a word, showed no sign that he was conscious of Seymour’s presence. Stretching forth his hand, the latter gently touched the man’s fingers. They were cold as ice, and, with a shock, the baronet realised that he was in the presence of the dead. It was a ghastly discovery. The figure looked so lifelike, seated there in state; yet it was only a corpse, the grisly relic of some past ruler of the Ayutis, preserved from decay by some wonderful mode of embalming known to that ancient people. The first shock over, Seymour quickly decided that he must have the jewel from the dead man’s forehead. No doubt it seemed like desecration; yet, as light was absolutely necessary if he ever hoped to find his way out of these caverns, he felt that the act would be excusable. Mounting the three steps which led to the seat, he reached upward to release the clasp that secured the gleaming stone. This, being fastened at the back of the head, was rather difficult to reach, and, to steady himself, Seymour--though not without a shudder of repugnance--placed his hand upon the shoulder of the corpse. As he did so, the figure seemed to leap upon him; its shrivelled fingers pressed his quivering flesh. With a startled cry the baronet stepped backward from the thing, but, forgetting the steps, fell, and living and dead rolled together to the floor. Trembling from head to foot, Seymour picked himself up, and, quickly snatching the jewel from the forehead of the corpse, he left the grim mockery of life at the foot of its throne, and dashed over the floor of the vault at a run. As he ran he noted that the walls of the chamber were honeycombed with niches, each of which contained a grisly occupant--a swathed and shrivelled mummy. So this was the burial vault of the Ayutis, he thought, their cemetery. Here slept those whose tireless energy had built up the city of Ayuti; whose engineering skill had spanned the fire gulf with a vast bridge; whose descendant, Chenobi, was his friend. Thinking thus, the silent forms lost their uncanny aspect. His temporary panic gave place to reverence, and he checked his random pace, treading lightly, as though fearing to disturb the slumbers of the dead. Ere long a third archway loomed before him, and, leaving the hall of the mummies, he passed into a small chamber which lay beyond.