'I am threatened with the loss of my house,' he said simply, 'if I do not find a certain sum of money within a period of twelve days.'
I sat resting my chin on my hand and staring into the face of Hassan es-Sugra. Could it be that from superstitious motives such a treasure had indeed been abandoned? Could it be that Fate had delivered into my hands a relic so priceless as the signet-ring of Sneferu, one of the earliest Memphite Pharaohs? Since I had recently incurred the displeasure of my principals, Messrs.
Moses, Murphy Co., of Birmingham, the mere anticipation of such a 'find' was sufficient to raise my professional enthusiasm to white heat, and in those few moments of silence I had decided upon instant action.
'Meet me at Rikka Station, to-morrow morning at nine o'clock,' I said, 'and arrange for donkeys to carry us to the pyramid.'
II
On my arrival at Rikka, and therefore at the very outset of my inquiry, I met with what one slightly prone to superstition might have regarded as an unfortunate omen. A native funeral was passing out of the town and the wailing of women and the chanting by the Yemeneeyeh, of the Profession of the Faith, with its queer monotonous cadences, a performance which despite its familiarity in the Near East never failed to affect me unpleasantly. By the token of the to tarbush upon the bier, I knew that this was a man who was being hurried to his lonely resting-place on the fringe of the desert.
As the procession wound its way out across the sands, I saw to the removal of my baggage and joined Hassan es-Sugra, who awaited me by the wooden barrier. I perceived immediately that something was wrong within the man; he was palpably laboring under the influence of some strong excitement, and his dark eyes regarded me almost fearfully, he was muttering to himself like one suffering from an over-indulgence in Hashish, and I detected the words 'Allahu akbar!'
(God is most great) several times repeated.
'What ails you, Hassan, my friend?' I said; and noting mow his gaze persistently returned to the melancholy procession wending its way towards the little Moslem cemetery :--'Was the dead man some relation of yours?'
'No, no, Kernaby Pasha,' he muttered gutturally, and moistened his his with his tongue; 'I was but slightly acquainted with him.'
'Yet you are much disturbed.'
'Not at all, Kernaby Pasha,' he assured me; 'not in the slightest.'
By which familiar formula I knew that Hassan es-Sugra would conceal from me the cause of his distress, and therefore, since I had no appetite for further mysteries, I determined to learn it from another source.
'See to the loading of the donkey,' I directed him--for three sleek little animals were standing beside him, patiently awaiting the toil of the day.
Hassan setting about the task with a cheerful alacrity obviously artificial, I approached the native station master, with whom I was acquainted, and put to him a number of questions respecting his important functions--in which I was not even mildly interested. But to the Oriental mind a direct inquiry is an affront, almost an insult; and to have inquired bluntly the name of the deceased and the manner of his death would have been the best way to have learned nothing whatever about the matter. Therefore having discussed in detail the slothful incompetence of Arab ticket collectors and the lazy condition and innate viciousness of Egyptian porters as a class, I mentioned incidentally that I had observed a funeral leaving Rikka.
The station master (who was bursting to talk about this very matter, but who would have declined on principle to do so had I definitely questioned him) now unfolded to me the strange particulars respecting the death of one, Ahmed Abdulla, who had been a retired dragoman though some the employed as an excavator.
'He rode out one night upon his white donkey,' said my informant, 'and no man knows whither he went. But it is believed, Kernaby Pasha, that it was to the Haram el-Kaddab' (the False Pyramid)--extending his hand to where, beyond the belt of fertility, the tomb of Sneferu up-reared its three platforms from the fringe of the desert. 'To enter the pyramid even in day the is to court misfortune; to enter at night is to fall into the hands of the powerful Efreet who dwells there.
His donkey returned without him, and therefore search was made for Ahmed Abdulla. He was found the next day'--again the long arm shot out towards the desert--'dead upon the sands, near the foot of the pyramid.'
I looked into the face of the speaker; beyond doubt he was in deadly earnest.
'Why should Ahmed Abdulla have wanted to visit such a place at night?' I asked.
My acquaintance lowered his voice, muttered 'Saham Allah fee'adoo ed--din!' (May God transfix the enemies of the religion) and touched his forehead, his mouth, and his breast with the iron ring which he wore.
'There is a great treasure concealed there, Kernaby Pasha,' he replied: 'a treasure hidden from the world in the days of Suleyman the Great, sealed with his seal, and guarded by the servants of Gann Ibn-Gann.'
'So you think the guardian ginn killed Ahmed Abdulla?'
The station master muttered invocations, and--
'There are things which may not be spoken of,' he said; 'but those who saw him dead say that he was terrible to look upon. A great Welee, a man of wisdom famed throughout Egypt, has been summoned to avert the evil; for if the anger of the ginn is aroused they may visit the most painful and unfortunate penalties upon all Rikka...'
Half an hour later I set out, having confidentially informed the station master that I sought to obtain a fine turquoise necklet which I knew to be in the possession of the Sheikh of Meydum.
Little did I suspect how it was written that I should indeed visit the house of the venerable Sheikh. Out through the fields of young green corn, the palm groves and the sycamore orchards I rode, Hassan plodding silently behind me and leading the donkey who bore the baggage. Curious eyes watched our passage, from field, doorway, and shaduf; but nothing of note marked our journey save the tremendous heat of the sun at noon, beneath which I knew myself a fool to travel.
I camped on the western side of the pyramid, but well clear of the marshes, which arc the home of countless wild-fowl. I had no idea how long it would take me to extract the coveted ring from its hiding-place (which Hassan had closely described to me); and, remembering the speculative glances of the villagers, I had no intention of exposing myself against the face of the pyramid until dusk should have come to cloak my operations.
Hassan es-Sugra, whose new taciturnity was remarkable and whose behavior was distinguished by an odd disquiet, set out with his gun to procure our dinner, and I mounted the sandy slope on the southwest of the pyramid, where from my cover behind a mound of rubbish, I studied through my field-glasses the belt of vegetation marking the course of the Nile. I could detect no sign of surveillance, but in view of the fact that the smuggling of relics out of Egypt is a punishable offence my caution was dictated by wisdom.
We dined excellently, Hassan the Silent and I, upon quail, tinned tomatoes, fresh dates, bread, and Vichy- water (to which in my own case was added a stiff three fingers of whisky).
When the newly risen moon cast an ebon shadow of the Pyramid of Sneferu upon the carpet of the sands, I made my way around the angle of the ancient building towards the mound on the northern side whereby one approaches the entrance. Three paces from the shadow's edge, I paused, transfixed, because of that which confronted me.
Outlined against the moon-bright sky upon a ridge of the desert behind and to the north of the great structure, stood the motionless figure of a man!
For a moment I thought that my mind had conjured up this phantasmal watcher, that he was a thing of moon-magic and not of flesh and blood. But as I stood regarding him, he moved, seemed to raise his head, then turned and disappeared beyond the crest.
How long I remained staring at the spot where he had been I know not; but I was aroused from my useless contemplation by the jingling of camel bells. The sound came from behind me, stealing sweetly through the stillness from a great distance. I turned in a flash, whipped out my glasses and searched the remote fringe of the Fayum. Stately across the jeweled curtain of the night moved a caravan, blackly marked against that wondrous background. Three walking figures I counted, three laden donkeys, and two camels. Upon the first of the camels a man was mounted, upon the second was a shibreeyeh, a sort of covered litter, which I knew must conceal a woman. The caravan passed out of sight into the palm grove which conceals the village of Meydum.
I returned my glasses to their case, and stood for some moments deep in reflection; then I descended the slope, to the tiny encampment where I had left Hassan es-Sugra. He was nowhere to be seen; and having waited some ten minutes I grew impatient, and raising my voice:
