He was afraid to open his eyes.
Had he done so, he would have known that the commotion was caused by a huge bat trying to escape from the inhabited tomb.
Nearly an hour passed before Max found courage enough to lift up the torch, which had nearly burned itself out.
If his torch went out, what was he to do?
He was far from being a madcap at that time.
But youth asserted itself, and Max found his spirits rising, perhaps aided considerably by his eyes suddenly perceiving another torch.
“I’ll have a gay old time. Why shouldn’t I? Eh, old fellow?”
Was Max addressing himself or one of the mummies in the place?
He lighted the torch, and began to look round his prison house.
On the walls—which had once been smoothed by sculptor’s skill—were the remains of paintings and hieroglyphic inscriptions.