He said: "Let me help you through here."
"Are you sure?" I began. "I have never been here before."
"No. Your husband has just discovered that it is here."
"But what is this hole?"
"You will see. Give me your hand."
I stepped through and was surprised to find myself at the top of a flight of steps.
"If you will let me help you, we will descend these stairs."
"Is Tybalt here then?"
"You will see. There are lanterns here. I will light them and then we can have one each."
"It seems strange," I said, "that you, who are a stranger here . . ."
He smiled. 'Well, Lady Travers, I have explored a little. Your husband has been very kind to me."
"They knew of this place then. Is it connected with the tomb?"
"Oh yes, but I don't think it was considered worth exploring until now." He handed me a lantern and I could see steps which had been cut out of the earth. They turned and there facing us was a door. It was half open.
"There," said Leopold Harding as we went through. "This is the spot. I'll go ahead, shall I?"
Tybalt had never mentioned this place to me. It must be a new discovery. But then lately I had been aloof. I was not able to prevent myself being so; for while I could not bring myself to talk of my suspicions, at the same time I could not behave as though they did not exist.
We were in a small chamber not more than eight feet in height. I saw that there was an opening ahead and I went towards this. I looked up and saw three or four steps.
I mounted these and called: "Tybalt, I'm here."
I was in another chamber; this one was larger than the other. It was very cold.
The first shadow of alarm touched me. "Tybalt," I called. My voice sounded rather shrill.
I said: "There is nobody here?"
I looked over my shoulder. I was alone.
I said: "Mr. Harding, I think there's been a mistake. Tybalt isn't here."
There was no answer. I started down the steps. I went back to the smaller chamber. Leopold Harding was not there either.
I went back to the opening. It was completely dark because the door was shut.
I called: "Mr. Harding. Where are you?"
There was no reply.
I went to the door. I could see no handle, no bolt . . . nothing with which to open it. I pushed it. I tried to pull it. But it remained fast shut.
"Where are you? Mr. Harding, where are you?"
No answer. Only the hollow sound of my own voice.
I knew then what it meant to have one's flesh creep. It was as though thousands of ants were crawling over me. I knew that my hair had risen on my scalp. The awful realization had come to me. I was alone and only Mr. Harding knew I was here.
Why? Who was he? Why should he do this? My imagination was running wild again. It was so senseless. He had stepped outside for a moment. He would come back. Why should a tourist, an acquaintance merely, shut me in a tomb?
I tried to be calm. I lifted the lantern and looked about me ... at the steps cut out of the earth, at the earth walls of the little chamber. Tybalt must be here. He would come out in a moment.
Then I remembered my suspicions of Tybalt. Could it be that he had had me brought here to ... to rid himself of me. But why did he send Leopold Harding to bring me here? Who was Leopold Harding? Why did Tybalt not bring me himself? Because he did not wish to be seen coming here with me? When I did not return . . .
Oh, this was folly. This was madness.
To be shut in a tomb alone could drive one mad.
I set down the lantern and banged my fists on the door. It did not give. How was it shut? How had it opened? All Leopold Harding had appeared to do was to push it and we stepped inside. It was as easy as that. And now it was fast shut and I was on the wrong side of it.
He must be hiding to tease me. What a foolish trick. I remembered myself suddenly rising from the sarcophagus in Giza House. I could almost hear Theodosia's shrieks.
"Oh God, let somebody come. Don't let me be alone in this place."
Tybalt must be here somewhere. It was better to look, to assure myself before I allowed this creeping terror to take a grip on me.
I picked up the lantern and walked resolutely towards the steps. I descended them and was in the larger chamber. I must explore this. There might be a way out here. Tybalt might be somewhere beyond, waiting for Leopold to bring me to him.
I held my lantern high and examined the walls of the chamber; there was no decoration on them, but I saw that there was an opening. I went through this and was in a corridor.
"Tybalt," I called. "Are you there, Tybalt?"
No answer.
I lifted my lantern. I saw that these walls had been decorated. Rows of vultures were depicted there, their wings stretched as though they hovered. Now I had reached yet another chamber. I examined it with care. There seemed to be no outlet from this one. I had come to the end of my exploration; and there was no one here.
I felt my legs trembling and I sank down onto the floor. Now I knew a fear that I had never known before. I had been brought here for some purpose. All the warnings I had received, all the premonitions, they had some meaning. I should have heeded them.
But why should Leopold Harding wish to trick me? Why had he lied to me? I remembered coming out of the Temple and running straight into that man. He had been the one who had stalked me there. He had meant to kill me. Oh, but this was a better ideal
Had Tybalt ordered him to do this, and who was he that he must take his orders from Tybalt?
I was sure something moved overhead. Something was looking down at me. I held up the lantern.
On the ceiling had been carved a great bat with enormous wings. Its eyes were some sort of obsidian and the light of the lantern catching them had made them seem alive.
I fancied I could hear the soothsayer's voice: "The bat is hovering, waiting to descend."
I stared up at it, hideous, malevolent; and I said to myself: "What is to become of me? What does it mean? Why have I been brought here?"
I was cold. Or was it fear that made me shiver so violently that I could not keep still? My teeth chattered . . . an unearthly sound.
I could not bring myself to stand up and go back. I was fascinated by that hideous bat on the ceiling of the chamber.
Now I could make out drawings on the walls. There was a Pharaoh offering a sacrifice to one of the gods. Was it Hathor the Goddess of Love? It must be because there she was again and her face was that of a cow, and I knew the cow was her emblem.
I was so cold. I must move. I stood up unsteadily. I examined the walls. There might be a way out of this place. There must be a way out. Now I could see the drawings of the walls more clearly. There were pictures of ships and men tied upside down on their prows. Prisoners I remembered. And with them were men without one or more limbs. And there was the crocodile who had maimed them, sly, ugly, with a necklace about his neck and earrings hanging from his ears.
Where was I? At the entrance to a tomb? Then if I was at the entrance it must lead on. Somewhere ahead perhaps was a burial chamber and in it the stone sarcophagus and inside the sarcophagus the mummy.
One can grow accustomed to anything, even fear. Fear was creeping up on me and yet I felt calmer than I had at the first realization that I was alone in this gruesome place.
I walked a few paces. If there was a way out of this chamber . . . but to what would it lead . . . only to a long dead mummy. What I needed was a way out into the open, the fresh air.
I thought: There is little air in here. I shall use what there is in a short time. I shall die; and I shall lie here forever until some archaeologist decides to explore this place just in case it leads to a great discovery; and his discovery will be my dead body.