How wonderful was its brilliance! It lighted the sarcophagus and the wall beyond. It lighted the floor with a broad streak of yellow light. It lighted even Kāra himself, groveling before it on hands and knees. No ordinary gem could do this. It was sorcery, it was—
He uttered a scream that echoed horribly through the vault and sprang to his feet; for a glance over his shoulder had betrayed the secret of the strange illumination.
At the lower end of the room stood a man holding above his head a lighted candle. He was motionless, gazing curiously at the prone form of the Egyptian wallowing before a tomb encrusted with precious stones.
But now he returned Kāra’s scream with a startled cry, and turned involuntarily as if to fly, when the other sprang up and advanced rapidly toward him.
Down past the rows of silent mummies sped the Egyptian, while Consinor awaited him in a stupor of indecision. Then, finally realizing his danger, he dashed the candle to the ground and ran up the passage as fast as he could go.
Kāra, although once more plunged into darkness by this action, knew the way much better than the Englishman, and did not for an instant hesitate to follow him. The curse of Ahtka-Rā was now forgotten—the talisman forgotten. Kāra realized that another had discovered his secret, and the safety of the treasure demanded that the intruder should not be permitted to leave the tomb alive.
Consinor, on his part, was slower to comprehend the situation; yet there was no doubt the Egyptian meant mischief, and the only means of escape lay up the long, narrow passage. As he fled he collided with the huge pillar that divided the library from the mummy chamber and rebounded against the wall of the gallery, falling heavily to the ground.
In an instant Kāra was upon him, his knee pressing the viscount’s breast, his slender, talon-like fingers twined around his enemy’s throat.
But when it came to wrestling, the Englishman was no mean antagonist. As the native released one hand to search in his bosom for the bronze dagger, Consinor suddenly grasped him around the middle and easily threw him over, reversing their positions, his body resting upon and weighing down that of the slighter Egyptian. Failing to find the knife, Kāra again gripped the other’s throat with his powerful fingers.
There was but one thing to do in this desperate emergency. Consinor raised his enemy’s head and dashed it against the stone floor. The Egyptian’s grasp relaxed; he lost consciousness, and, tearing himself from the fatal embrace, the viscount rose slowly to his feet, his brain reeling, his breath gradually returning to him in short gasps.