Once more the wavering ghostly light gave luminance to the splendor of the tomb, and showed where, fallen sideways among the golden treasures and mementoes of the past, lay the dead body of Armand Gervase. Above him gleamed the great jewelled sarcophagus; and within touch of his passive hand was the ivory shield and gold-hilted sword of Araxes. The spectral radiance gleamed, wandered and flitted over all things,—now feebly, now brilliantly,—till finally flashing with a pale glare on the dark dead face, with the proud closed lips and black level brows, it flickered out; and one of the many countless mysteries of the Great Pyramid was again hidden in impenetrable darkness.
* * * *
Vainly Denzil Murray waited next morning for his rival to appear. He paced up and down impatiently, watching the rosy hues of sunrise spreading over the wide desert and lighting up the massive features of the Sphinx, till as hour after hour passed and still Gervase did not come, he hurried back to the Mena House Hotel, and meeting Dr. Maxwell Dean on the way, to him poured out his rage and perplexity.
“I never thought Gervase was a coward!” he said hotly.
“Nor should you think so now,” returned the Doctor, with a grave and preoccupied air. “Whatever his faults, cowardice was not one of them. You see, I speak of him in the past tense. I told you your intended duel would not come off, and I was right. Denzil, I don’t think you will ever see either Armand Gervase or the Princess Ziska again.”
Denzil started violently.
“What do you mean? The Princess is here,—here in this very house.”
“Is she?” and Dr. Dean sighed somewhat impatiently. “Well, let us see!” Then, turning to a passing waiter, he inquired: “Is the Princess Ziska here still?”
“No, sir. She left quite suddenly late last night; going on to Thebes, I believe, sir.”
The Doctor looked meaningly at Denzil.