They wandered about, examining every passage that seemed to promise results, only to have their souls made sick by hope deferred. As far as they could, they endeavored to keep within a small radius of the despoiled tomb, for the diagram of Phalos had made it probable that the royal tomb of Ras-Ameses was somewhere in its vicinity.
The entire day passed without success, and it was a disgruntled trio that, when night came, sought once more the room in which they had passed the night before.
Their provisions were dwindling, and their forced abstinence was already compelling them to feel the pangs of hunger and thirst.
“Glad the boys are not in here with us,” remarked the captain. “With their young healthy appetites they’d feel this a mighty sight worse than we do. At least they’ll have plenty of provisions in the camp with Ismillah and Abdul.”
“I’ve been worrying about them all day,” said the professor, his brow creased with anxiety. “There hasn’t been a moment when they were absent from my thoughts.”
“Same here,” admitted the captain. “Though both the boys are better able to take care of themselves than any other I’ve ever seen.”
That night the awful shriek came again, rising in hideous crescendo and dying away in moans that chilled the blood. Fear once more laid its icy hand on their hearts, but this time they were prepared for it and inwardly defied it, even Phalos controlling, outwardly at least, his terror.
About noon the next day an exclamation from Professor Bruce brought the other two hurrying to his side.
They found him standing before a perfectly square stone construction measuring exactly thirty-six feet on every side. It was of polished granite, with the blocks fitted into each other so perfectly that the seams were scarcely visible.
With trembling fingers, the professor and Phalos consulted the manuscript and compared it with the symbols that were carved on the nearer side. A shout of triumph burst simultaneously from their lips.