Читать книгу Daughter of Fu Manchu - Arthur Henry Ward - Страница 14

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The tomb of the Black Ape was extraordinary.

Whilst structurally it resembled in its main features others with which I was familiar, it was notable in its possession of an endless fresco of huge black apes. There were no inscriptions. The sagging portcullis, viewed from the interior of the chamber, created an odd hiatus in the otherwise unbroken march of the apes.

Low down in the corner of one wall was a square opening which I surmised must lead to an antechamber, such as is sometimes found. The place contained absolutely nothing so far as I could see except a stone sarcophagus, the heavy lid of which had been removed and laid upon the floor. Within was a perfectly plain wooden mummy case, apparently of sycamore, its lid in position.

I was defeated. Either the mummy case was the least valuable object in the burial chamber, and everything else had been looted, or the thieves had been interrupted in the very hour of their triumph!

I hope I have made the scene clear, Ali standing almost as still as a statue, holding his lantern aloft; Weymouth a dim figure at one end of the sarcophagus, and I facing him from the other; the black apes marching eternally around us. Because this was the scene, deep there in the Egyptian rock, upon which eerily a sound intruded....

“What’s that?” Weymouth whispered.

We stood listening, reduced to that frame of mind which makes sane men believe in ghosts.

And, as we listened, the sound grew nearer.

It was made by soft footsteps....

Weymouth recovered himself first; and:

“Quick,” he whispered to Ali, “through the opening!”

He pointed to that square gap which I have mentioned and which I supposed to communicate with an antechamber.

“Quiet!” he added. “Not a sound!”

Led by Ali, we crossed the chamber, and as the headman stooped and disappeared only a dim and ghostly light shone out to guide us.

“Go on!” Weymouth urged.

I ducked and entered. Weymouth followed.

“Cover the lantern!”

Ali began to speak rapidly in Arabic, but:

“Cover the lantern!” Weymouth repeated angrily. “Be quiet!”

Ali threw something over the lantern and we found ourselves in utter darkness.

In a low tone, the headman began to speak again, but:

“Silence!” Weymouth ordered.

Ali Mahmoud became silent. He was one of the bravest men I have ever known, but now his broken tones spoke of fear. Partially, I had gathered what he wanted to say. My recognition only added to the horror of the situation.

That quiet shuffling had ceased. The air was indescribably stuffy, as one finds in such places. I knelt, resting my shoulder against the side of the opening, hoping that I might have some view of the outer chamber if anyone carrying a light should enter it.

Hard breathing in my ear told of Weymouth’s nearness.

Of the size or shape of the place in which we were hiding I had formed no impression whatever.

Then, they began to advance again ... soft footsteps.

“Whoever comes,” Weymouth whispered, “don’t stir!”

There was absolute silence. I found myself listening to the ticking of my wrist watch. A minute passed.

Then dawned a dim light. It outlined the triangle beside the portcullis.

The light increased. I recognized it as the ray of an electric lamp. And in some strange way this discovery was a relief. I suppose, without recognizing the fact, I had been in the grip of superstitious fear. God knows what I had expected! But the approaching threat became less horrible at the moment I realized the presence of modern science in its equipment.

Weymouth’s breathing had ceased to be audible.

A figure appeared in the opening ... a fan of white light spread itself across the floor.

The figure stooped and entered.... I saw an Arab woman robed in shapeless black, her pose furtive. She held a flash-lamp, casting its ray all about the burial chamber. This was anomaly enough. But I was less concerned with it than with the hand that held the torch....

A delicately slender hand it was, nurtured in indolence—an unforgettable hand, delicious yet repellant, with pointed, varnished nails: a cultured hand possessing the long, square-jointed thumb of domination; a hand cruel for all its softness as the velvet paw of a tigress.

My breath came sharply. Weymouth’s fingers gripped my shoulder.

Had he seen what I had seen? Did he understand?

The woman crossed in the direction of the sarcophagus. I saw that she wore loose slippers—that her ankles were of that same dull ivory as the chaste, voluptuous hand.

She disappeared. Only by those shadows which the torchlight cast could I judge of her movements. She went all but silently in those soft slippers, but I thought that she had stooped to examine the sarcophagus. Apparently she made no attempt to raise its wooden lid. The light grew brighter—ever brighter.

She was approaching the low entrance to that antechamber in which we crouched!

At the very threshold she paused.

The light of her lamp painted a white fan which extended to within a few inches of my knees, touching nothing but rugged floor. By sheer chance—as I thought, then—no one of us came within its radius.

It moved, shining now directly upon the triangular opening beside the portcullis. I could see the woman’s body as a dim outline. She stooped and went out. I listened to the rubble moving beneath her slippered feet as she mounted the sloping passage. Weymouth’s breathing became audible again close to my ear. The sound receded ... receded ... and ceased; then:

“Quiet!” Weymouth whispered. “Don’t move until I give the word.”

My legs were aching because of the discomfort of my position, but I stuck to it, still listening intently.

Absolute silence....

“Ali,” Weymouth directed. “Uncover the light.”

Ali Mahmoud dragging his robe from the lantern, dim yellow light showed us the low-roofed, rough−hewn chamber in which we crouched.

“Effendim!” Ali exclaimed, in quivering tones. “I saw him when first we came in. Look!”

Face downwards upon a mound of rubbish in an angle farthest from the entrance, was a brown man naked except for his loincloth and dark turban knotted tightly about his head!

“He is cold,” Ali continued; “and as I knelt in the darkness I had to support my weight upon his dead body....”