My hands carefully felt the ring, but it was rough and deeply rusted, showing that it had not been used as a handle. It was curious, though, why the dust should have been removed from the floor at that spot, and why at that place only should there remain a trace of blood. With the hilt of my knife I rapped upon the stone, but there was no sound to give rise to further suspicion, neither was there any opening around the block. It fitted closely like the others, and had probably been built in there for centuries.
Taking the ring in both hands, I tugged at it, at the same time, however, feeling the effort was useless. The idea of moving a gigantic block of stone of that size was preposterous, and when I found I had expended my strength in vain, I laughed aloud as I wiped my brow. Pausing, I again examined its surroundings minutely. Though there was nothing whatever to show the block was movable, I instinctively felt that some secret mode of exit lay concealed there.
Again a voice startled me. Like a muffled wail it sounded, and I was undecided as to whether it might not have been caused by the wind passing over the crevice above that admitted light and air into the charnel-house. Having rested to regain breath, I essayed another attempt. Setting my feet firmly on either side of the block, I threw my whole weight backward, and pulled frantically at the ring of iron. Holding my breath, and setting my teeth firmly, I was exerting every muscle, when suddenly there was a harsh, grating sound.
The great block of stone moved forward nearly six inches!
In my weak state the smallest exertion produced hard breathing, therefore I was compelled to pause for a few moments in intense anxiety. At last I had discovered the secret!
Again I tugged at the great rusty ring, moving it towards me still further. Then, on careful investigation, I discovered that the block of stone was not solid, but formed the front of a great stone drawer, long and narrow like a coffin, and just large enough to admit the body of a man.
By dint of herculean effort I drew the great drawer out nearly four feet, then, taking the Crescent of Glorious Wonders in its worm-eaten case, together with some ajwah for sustenance, I entered the coffin-like receptacle. With difficulty I squeezed through the shallow trough, that proved several feet longer than the thickness of the wall, and, to my relief, I found myself, a moment later, in a narrow, subterranean passage, enveloped in an impenetrable darkness. With feet falling silently in the thick white dust, I felt my way along for some distance, taking several abrupt turnings, until strange noises caused me to halt, listening breathlessly.
Human voices were raised in a solemn, mournful chant!
Noiselessly I crept forward in the darkness, coming at length to a blank wall, and then, turning sharply to the right, a thick plush curtain arrested my progress. Drawing it aside slightly, and with infinite care, I gazed in wonderment upon a scene weird and remarkable. It held me spellbound.
The underground apartment was about fifteen feet wide, forty feet long, and nine feet high, with one end slightly raised as a kind of platform. Illumined by a great fire that burned in a sort of brazier in the centre, there were nine flat stones ranged round, and upon these sat aged, white-bearded Arabs. They were councillors of one of the secret societies of Al-Islâm. Around were assembled other younger Sons of the Desert, presenting a strange and weird appearance. Each bore an ostrich feather, stuck in the rope of camel’s hair that encircled his head, and carried in his left hand a green-painted derbouka.