by Harold Ward
Then, slowly, as the minds of some of the party still clung to terror that had gripped them, they faded and disappeared as a picture fades out on the silver screen.
“I admit that the old boy took me by surprise,” Holm told Ricks. “But I have gotten to know Death’s methods. With him, thought is everything. It is with thought that he handles his Zombi. It is by the power of concentration that he conjures up the elementals from the air. And I have found that, by development, my thought waves are, in many respects, as strong as his.
“In some way—how, I do not profess to know—he has learned that we are close behind. Telepathy, probably. Be that as it may, the thought suddenly came to me that I was being hypnotized. It was the same mass hypnotism that he displayed so often when we were fighting him before—that Nina told us about. He calls it the tenth degree—the one degree in advance of the nine known to science. And the moment that the knowledge came to me, the things in the water disappeared.
“It was the same with the rest of you. We had but to steel our minds against him and his influence waned.”
Ricks nodded.
“By God, it was horrible,” he said, sinking back into his seat and lighting a fresh cigar.
Chapter XIX
“Curse Him—The Ghoul!”
THE sun was just sinking over the edge of the great basin when they swung around a bend in the lake and saw, not more than half a mile away, a stone dock jutting out into the water from the foot of the mountain.
The great peak formed the background for a huge pyramid, three sides of which appeared to have been cut from the solid rock of the hillside.
“The tomb of Anubis, the jackal-headed, god of mummification and custodian of the secret of eternal life,” Holm said grimly. “Our quest, my friends, is ended. Somewhere yonder, without a doubt, lurks the monster we are sworn to kill—Doctor Death. I hope to God that we are not too late!”
To which Ricks added a fervent, “Amen!”
As they drew closer they could see people crowding to the edge of the dock—great crowds of men and women in spotless white.
The bottom of the pyramid projected almost to the water’s edge. On either side of it the rocky face of the rugged cliff was honeycombed with doors, laid out in straight rows, several tiers high, each row having a neat, flat terrace in front of it with a narrow flight of stairs leading upward.
Of houses there were none. From indications the inhabitants were a race of cliff dwellers.
The boats swung up to the dock in the midst of ominous silence. A man with flowing white beard stepped out of the crowd. He, too, was attired in the white, flowing robes that the others wore, but around his waist was a black girdle edged with cut stones that sparkled and scintillated in the dying sunlight. He carried a small, tipped wand. It was evidently a badge of office; he had but to hold it aloft and the crowd fell back a little distance, watching him expectantly.
From the distance came a weird barbaric fanfare. Instantly, at a signal from the old man with the wand, a pathway was opened through the gaping crowd. Through this pathway came a small procession. In the lead were two heralds with quaint trumpets made of hollow ivory tusks. Behind them marched a small squad of men in white robes armed with spears.
Two litters brought up in the rear, each carried by eight bearers. As the foremost drew up to the dock a great murmur went up from the crowd. Then, at a signal from the man with the wand, they dropped to their knees.
The curtain of the first litter moved. A face peered out. The litter was lowered to the ground and a woman stepped out.
Tall, slender, blonde, clad in filmy white so transparent as to reveal a glimpse of the rounded form beneath it, she was rarely beautiful, her golden hair done up in a great coil about her graceful head.
The man with the wand dropped to his knees.
“The queen!” he announced.
“The queen!” the kneeling populace echoed.
THE blonde woman advanced with outstretched hands.
“Welcome, strangers!” she said in pure Egyptian. “I welcome you even though you come as enemies to despoil that over which my people have watched for centuries. We have been isolated here since Anubis first chose my people as guardian of the tomb.
“Each generation has been faithful to the trust. Though I am young and have been queen for only a brief time, I am proud to be custodian of so great a secret.”
Holm advanced, one of the Egyptian officials by his side.
“How do you know what we came for, Queen?” he demanded through the interpreter.
Charmion, for such they afterward learned was her name, smiled again.
“Perhaps we have magicians here as great as you,” she answered enigmatically. “Perhaps they told us that you were coming and what you were searching for.”
Her voice was low, yet silvery.
“Then they lie!” Holm said boldly. “We have no wish to despoil your tombs. Rather, we come in search of a man who is so disposed.”
The shot struck home. The queen stepped back a pace.
“He said that he had been sent by the gods to take the secret of the tomb,” she said hoarsely. “We, too, are to learn the secret when it is revealed to the appointed one. Then our people will also have eternal life.”
Holm nodded.
“I understand,” he said. “Yet again I say he is a liar and a thief—a jinn who seeks to steal the charm of Anubis for his own selfish use.”
“We have been tricked!” she gasped.
As the interpreter finished his statement, there was a squeal of rage from the second litter. Then the curtains were pushed violently apart and a dwarf leaped out with an agility that was surprising for one of his age.
Very old he must have been—for he looked as ancient as the pyramids which formed the background for this strange scene. His face was dried and withered until it was little larger than a coconut, its surface a solid mass of wrinkles. They crossed and criss-crossed in a thousand different ways.
In spite of the heat of the day, he was wrapped in a huge fur kaross which he dragged on the ground as he walked, while a huge cap of fur was upon his head, around the edge of which his hair hung in long gray straggling wisps. His eyes were deeply sunken—even more than those of Death—and shone like living coals. He was toothless, his hooked nose almost touching the point of his chin.
“Who was this man who lied to Hatasu, the high priest of Set?” he shrieked in a high-pitched cackle, his whole body quivering with emotion. “Who is this man who said that he was the appointed of the gods?”
“He calls himself Death,” Holm responded, when the question had been translated to him.
“Death! Death!” the old man shrieked again. “I will call upon his namesake to strike him down. Curse him! Curse this foul being who thus deceived Hatasu, Hatasu, high priest of Set, friend of Anubis! Hatasu, who has been preserved through the ages that he might preside over the worship at the tomb of one he once called friend! Hatasu, who has communed with the gods of ancient Egypt! Curse him, the ghoul! Despoiler of tombs! Dog!”
He had worked himself into a frenzy. Frothing at the mouth he tottered and would have fallen had not one of his assistants dashed forward and catching him, assisted him back into the litter.
“Curse him! Curse him!”
His voice died down as the curtains were closed.
Chapter XX
Sinister Shapes
DARKNESS was approaching and already a number of the members of the retinue had lighted torches which they carried above their heads, the better to light the way.
There were no houses, as they soon learned—only cubicles cut into the side of the mountain, the largest of which, at the right of the pyramid, was the palace, while to the left were the quarters of old Hatasu and the other members of the priesthood.
Adjoining the vast apartments occupied by Charmion were what were known as the guest chambers, although according to the information given them by the queen, these rooms had never been occupied
because of the fact that strangers never came inside the basin of rock.
Yet tradition had it that eventually visitors would arrive and that, when they came, they were to be treated with becoming courtesy. In front of the guest chambers was a wide patch of ground planted to flowers. They approached it through long rows of richly colored blossoms—flame colored pyr resembling tulips, yet much larger, while the stems were several feet in height.
Seated on a small ebony throne inlaid with ivory and pearl, torch bearers standing on either side, Charmion received them. Hatasu sat beside her, his toothless gums working spasmodically as he breathed curses against the man who had deceived him. For a short time she questioned them, asking whence they came and other matters regarding their journey. When Holm had finished, she explained her own status.
The small village over which she ruled was, she said, the remnant of what had once been a much larger group. According to tradition, these people had been confined within the walls of the great basin to serve as guards over the tomb of Anubis. With the sealing of the fissure in the mountain side, all means of exit were destroyed. Several famines, pestilence and intermarriage had cut down the population until only a few hundred people were left; the wholesale slaughter of her little army in the attack on Death and his group had practically cut off every able bodied man save the few that served Hatasu as priests.
According to an ancient prophecy, sooner or later, a man was to come out of the east to release them from their captivity in the basin. He was to be a man whose magic was greater than that of the priests, she explained again.
Hatasu, she went on, was so old that no one knew just how aged he was. For generations he had been a fixture. He claimed to have been alive when Anubis was buried and to have been a personal friend of the dead god. Since no one was old enough to dispute his claim, his story had become one of the firm traditions of the place, although she suspected he was only a descendant of that first Hatasu.
Naturally, when Hatasu had announced a few days earlier that he had had a vision that strangers were entering the basin, she had sent her small army against them, not knowing whether they came in peace or in war since they sent no heralds. The army had fallen upon the strangers during the night. Two of the latter had been killed. Only a few of her men had gotten back, she said—put to rout by some great magic which the man who called himself Death had conjured from the heavens.
As a result, when Death arrived next day, his story of being the appointed person to recover the amulet of Anubis had been accepted without question. Even Hatasu had not doubted him since it had been prophesied that someone would eventually come. He, as high priest, had appointed Atoua, his chief assistant, to accompany the stranger on his journey to the tomb, which was inside the pyramid.
“If I have made a mistake, I am sorry for it,” she said plaintively.
Jimmy Holm leaned forward and touched the interpreter upon the arm.
“Ask her if Nina—if there was a girl with him?” he said hoarsely. It was a question that he had been wanting to ask during the entire visit, but had been afraid of what the answer might be.
Charmion nodded.
“A beautiful girl,” she responded. Then, innocently; “As beautiful in a dark way as I in light. Few Egyptians are as light skinned as am I,” she went on.
She pondered deeply when the interpreter told her of Nina’s status—that she was the affianced of the leader of their party.
“I see,” she said presently. “That accounts for the despondent look that was upon her face. He has made her his slave and this young man—your leader—wishes to rescue her.”
There was no way for the interpreter to make her understand. Finally, however, he told her that the magician had cast a spell over her.
“Who will show us the way into the tomb?” Holm interrupted grimly. “We must act speedily if we are to circumvent this monster before he really has the charm in his possession.”
Charmion nodded. She turned to Hatasu.
“I, Hatasu, high priest of Set and guardian of the tomb, will lead you against the despoiler,” the old man quavered. “But we must move fast, for I am old and walk slowly. And they have had a great start on us. In fact, I have been pondering for a long time,” he continued, “why they have not returned before. They should have been back long ere this.”
He arose. As he did so, from out of the night came a strange whispering. It was faint at first, gradually growing louder and louder until the air was filled with wild, rodent-like squeaks and screeches.
Then, out of the darkness they suddenly swooped—horrors from beyond the veil—dancing, bounding, whirling black shapes; twisting vortices, they swept down like a horde of devils. Men were picked up bodily, whirled, twisted, dashed against the rocky floor of the little plateau. Charmion screamed as the lights were twisted from the hands of the torch bearers, leaving the little company in total darkness.
There was no moon, no stars. Only that horrible black pit of darkness which seemed to be spewing forth its ungodly hordes as from the very womb of hell. Men shrieked. Pandemonium reigned.
“God! He’s sent the elementals against us!” Holm gasped.
ALL around him men were writhing on the ground as the horrible creatures sucked the vitality from their bodies. The moon swept from under the cloud, revealing the horrible scene. The air was filled with the screams of the dying.
It was like that night, only a few weeks before, when Ricks and Holm had led their men against the house of Harmachis, the Egyptian. Only now—now there was no iron with which to combat the monsters.
Through it all Hatasu had stood in apparent amazement, his toothless gums working as if he pondered over some great problem. His skinny body was leaned far to the front, his cavernous eyes glaring into the night. He seemed to be listening.
“Fool!” he shrieked. “Despoiler of tombs! Ghoul! Robber of the dead! And you think that your magic can prevail against that of Hatasu, high priest of Set, guardian of the tomb of Anubis? Work your best, dog! Ha! Is that your best? It is but child’s play. And now I will show you some real magic, such as we of ancient Egypt were wont to work—something that Anubis, the jackal-headed, taught me himself.”
He waved his skinny arm in a great circling gesture. There was a screaming, wailing noise. Again the air was filled with strange, weird shapes—great, gray diabolical creatures seemingly from the very pits of hell. For a moment they stood swaying rhythmically as if keeping time to some strange runic music. From everywhere they came until the heavens were filled with them—huge, flopping creatures with bloated bodies and long, tentacle-like arms. At a signal from the high priest, they rushed forward, swarming over the elementals in a gray, verminous horde.
For what seemed an eternity the plain was filled with the horrible gray of their vaporish bodies. The unspeakable elementals were shattered—scattered in a thousand different directions—torn bodily apart. The air was filled with their agonized wails as they were crushed beneath the weight of their antagonists.
“Elements of iron ore from the mountain,” Hatasu snarled. “And yet the fool thought that his magic was as strong as mine.”
From within the palace guards were rushing, their torches lighting up the night.
The ancient high priest turned to Holm.
“It is written that a greater magician than I shall come out of the east,” he said, “and, by defeating me, shall discover the secret of life which is buried with Anubis. Fool that I was, I thought that this stranger was that man. Bah! Have I not proven that beside my magic, his is but the play of children?”
Holm nodded in affirmation.
“And now let us seek the tomb of Anubis,” the ancient went on. “Methinks that my time grows short. I feel death approaching.”
He stopped and held up his skinny forefinger.
“I prophesy!” he shouted. “Blood! I smell blood! The rivers will run with it. Blood!”
Turning, he led the way into the mouth of the pyramid.
; Chapter XXI
River of Souls
IT had been decided that the party was to be divided, a majority of the soldiers and Egyptian officials remaining outside to guard against treachery, although none was anticipated, one squad only accompanying Holm. With the young detective went Ricks, Blake of the Secret Service, Caminetti and the other members of the Secret Twelve as well as the assembled scientists.
To the latter, forgetting, in the excitement of the chase, their own peril, the affair had taken on the aspect of an adventure. Only Holm and Ricks, grim manhunters that they were, realized the significance of what was transpiring. They were making history—history that would never be recorded.
Despite all that he had seen, Edgeworth was still a skeptic. Always loquacious, Holm could hear him arguing with Darrow.
“You will have to admit, my friend, that science believes in nothing that is not true,” he was saying. “There can be no truth in this story of the magic charm of Anubis. Why? Because you and I both know that it is not possible to raise the dead. Once dead, always dead...”
“Simply because you have never seen a man raised from the dead, you refuse to believe that it can be done,” Darrow growled. “Does that prove that it never will be done?”
Their voices died away as they dropped back among their fellows.
Entrance to the tomb was through the front of the pyramid, the door of which, made of hammered metal, swung back on creaking hinges when opened by one of the younger priests. He closed it behind them, but not until Hatasu had selected several wooden knots apparently soaked in oils, one of which he lighted at a smoldering brazier and handed to Jimmy to carry.
“We must use the lights sparingly and one at a time,” he said warningly. “We will need them all before we have negotiated the length of the shaft into the cave.”
For some reason, none of the assistant priests accompanied the party into the tomb. Holm, through the interpreter, asked Hatasu the reason for this.