CHAPTER 1.
Mob Rule.

Reggie Dacre, an extraordinarily good-looking young fellow, glanced in direction indicated.

"That—ah—boy," he drawled, "the—ah—infant who appears to be amusing the—ah—congregation of coffee-coloured gentleman. Is that what you mean, Joe?"

"Of course it's what I mean!" replied big Joe Fosdyke, pulling up and staring at the boy in question. "Do you mean you don't see anything funny about it, Reggie?"

"I—ah—perceive that the boy has blue eyes, and hair of a somewhat lighter than that of his audience."

"You've got eyes, Reggie, though you don't always use 'em. Yes, that kid's white."

"'Was,' you should say," corrected Reggie gently. "At—ah—present his complexion is—ah—dreadful. It is plain that he has taken, no precautions whatever against this—ah—abominable Egyptian sun."

"He ought to take a leaf out of your book, Reggie," he said, as he glanced at his companion's white buckskin gloves, his broad-rimmed white helmet, and green-lined umbrella which he carried.

"Joking apart, Reggie," he went on, "that kid interests me. I believe he's English. But what brings an English boy telling stories in their own language to a parcel of niggers in a Cairo bazaar? Tell me that!"

"It's too hot to answer riddles, old bean," replied Reggie plaintively. "But—ah—I admit that the youth has his points. He—ah—registers his emotions extremely well."

"Just what struck me," said big Joe rapidly. "Though I don't understand a word he says I can almost follow the story by his face. There, he's just getting to the curtain this minute."

The boy—he was about fifteen—was sitting cross-legged on a big packing-case under a gaily-striped awning, and the score or so of brown men who formed his audience were hanging on every word he spoke. Their eyes wen fixed upon his face, and some were quite breathless with excitement.

"Come on, Fosdyke! We can't stick here all day. We shall he late for dinner if we don't get a move on."

The speaker was a man of Fosdyke's height, but not so heavily built. There was strength, brutal strength in every inch of him, from his long, narrow feet to his cold, pale blue eyes. Luke Carney had once been lion-tamer in Barnum and Bailey's big show. Now he was a member of Joe Fosdyke's Golden Apple Film Company.

"I'm interested in that kid, Luke," said Joe. "Watch his face. See how he patters that lingo. I've a mind to wait till he's finished his yarn, and have a chat with him."

Before any one of the three could speak again, there was a sudden roar in the distance. An unpleasant—indeed, a terrifying sound. It was a shout from many throats mingled with the rush and trampling of hundreds of feet.

As if by magic, the little crowd that had been listening to the boy melted away and vanished.

"A riot!" the boy answered quickly. "The students are at it again. Every budmash in Cairo will be with them. Hook it for all you're worth, if you don't want to be killed!"

"Oh, is it?" returned the boy with scorn. "If you'd been here as long as I, you'd know better."

"Bah, the brats crazy! It's only some nigger-celebration. Mean to say you're going to let this ragamuffin scare you, Fosdyke? I'd be ashamed."

"Stay, if you want to," he snapped. "There won't be many mourners at your funeral! Mr. Fosdyke, please come!"

All this time the roar had been growing louder and more threatening. The sound was coming nearer. Now, just as Fosdyke and Reggie were getting ready to move, a mob of men swept into the head of the street, barely a hundred yards away.

They were a wild-looking lot, all armed with sticks or great clubs, and stones, and were led by a couple of hideous-looking, long-haired, greasy ruffians.

"Ingreezi! Ingreezi!" they yelled, as they caught sight of the white men. "Kill the Ingreezi!"

"About time we made a move," suggested Reggie in his soft voice, but the colour faded out of Carney's blotched face.

He darted off, and this time none of them hesitated about following. Straight down the street went the boy, and the way he legged it was surprising. Reggie kept up easily enough, but Joe Fosdyke was panting. The crowd, roaring vengeance, swept in pursuit.

Quick as a cat, the boy nipped sharp round to the left, under an archway. The three men pounding at his heels found themselves in an alley no more than six feet wide, with high walls on either side.

"A trap! The young fool has led us into a trap!" snarled Carney in Joe's ear. "See! It's a blind alley!"

Sure enough, the alley ended in a blank wall. Joe's heart sank. After all, he knew nothing of the boy who might very well be in league with the mob of rioters.

"To safety!" snapped back the boy. "Hurry! They'll beat us to death if they catch us. They're mad with opium, and crazy against the Government."

Joe saw they had no choice but to trust their guide. He released the boy, who led him on rapidly to the end of the alley.

In the wall was a narrow door, ancient and clamped with heavy bars of iron. The boy rapped on it twice, then a pause and a third single rap.

He stood waiting. By this time the first of the rioters were in the alley. Their yells were bloodcurdling.

Joe Fosdyke's heart thumped against his ribs, even Reggie was a little pale. Carney's face was livid. He was snarling threats against the boy under his breath.

A clank, as of a chain falling, the creak of a key in the wards of the rusty lock. Suddenly the door swung back, and as the four went tumbling inwards, it slammed to again with a heavy crash.

From outside came a yell of disappointed fury, and Joe waited breathless, expecting to hear the thud of the attack.

Nothing of the kind happened. A yell or two, then a rush of feet. After that, silence.

"You're quite safe," he said. "Even the worst budmash in Cairo would think twice before attacking the tomb of Sheik Selim."

CHAPTER 2.
The Second Appearance of Phil Fernie.

VERY gravely Reggie Dacre took off his right glove, and extended his hand to his rescuer.

"I owe you a thousand apologies, my friend, besides my grateful thanks. I—ah—confess that for a moment I came to sharing the apprehensions of our lion roaming friend."

"That's what I say, son," added Joe Fosdyke heartily. "If I'm not very mistaken, you've saved the lives of all three of us. What's your name?"

"Yes, sir! My father and mother were both English." His keen, young face went very grave. "They are both dead," he added.

"I've lived in Egypt most of my life. You see, I talk the language, and I get on somehow."

"Tough!" said Joe briefly. "If it's not a rude question; what do you do for a living?"

"Tell stories. And sometimes I write letters for my friends. Some of them are very good to me."

"Not much of a life for a white man," he said. "Hasn't it ever struck, you to get a better job?"

"Often, But what could I do? The only white people here are the Government officials and the soldiers. They've got nothing for me."

"But I have," said Joe. "See here. I'm manager of a film company, and we're going out into the desert to do a big picture. I reckon I can find you a job. Are you on?"

"Good! You come right along with us to Paster's Hotel, and I'll fix you up straight off."

"May I go home first, sir?" he asked. "I'd like to say good bye to old Achmed, the man I've been living with. I'll come in the morning."

"Go anywhere you've a mind to so long as you turn up all right," said Joe heartily.

"But you're not going to abandon us, Fernie," said Reggie plaintively. "We don't wish to waste the rest of our young lives on this sacred ground. And there's the black gentleman who opened the gate for us, and is watching us with a reproachful eye. I think he's looking for a tip, be."

Joe forked out a handful of silver, and gave the negro such a tip as made his eyes bulge.

"You shouldn't have given him all that, Mr. Fosdyke," he said. "It's enough to keep him for six months."

"He's earned it, and hadn't you better take a dollar or two yourself, young 'un? You'll need money to settle your bill for lodgings."

"Thank you, sir! I have enough for that. I'll wait for my money till I've earned it! Now I'll show you the way out."

There was a gate at the far end of the enclosure. He led them through this, and by a (line) of narrow lanes into a broad street.

"You'll be all right now," he said, and with a bow that would have done credit to a duke, took his departure.

"I think you have a find there, Joe," he said quietly, as he opened his umbrella.

Luke Carney said nothing, but the expression on his hard face augured ill for the newest recruit to the Golden Apple Film Company.

Twenty minutes after Phil had left them, the three were safe back in Paster's Hotel, and Carney went straight to his room.

Lounging in a lounge chair by the open window, was a youth of sixteen, a cub, with just the same narrow and blue eyes and thin lips as Fosdyke himself.

"The matter!" snarled Luke. Then suddenly he quieted down, and, taking a chair opposite his son, lit a cigar, and began to talk.

The boy listened, and though now and then his dull eyes glistened oddly, he said nothing.

"So you see, Paul," ended the eider man, "the first thing to do is to get rid of that brat. He's not to come with us. Somehow or other we've got to stop it."

"Don't worry about that dude. I'll find my chance to handle him, and when I've done with him his own mother won't know him. For the present it's this fellow, Fernie, we've got to think of. Something tells me he's dangerous to us, and to our plans."

"To our plans?" repeated Paul, sitting up straight. "What can he know about them?"

The dinner-gong, warning brazenly below, cut short their conversation. They got up and went down together.

Next morning dawned brilliant and cloudless, as usual, and it was not yet seven when the Golden Apple Company sat at breakfast in the big, cool dining-room of the hotel.

Joe was hurrying them up. It was their last day in Cairo, and they had a scene to do that morning in the hotel courtyard.

A minute later steps pattered along the veranda, and a boy came hurrying in. A boy so short he was almost a dwarf, yet sturdily and compactly built. He had the reddest hair, the widest grin, and the broadest brogue that ever came out of Ireland, and his name was Leslie O'Hara.

"Les," said the manager, "I'm expecting a new hand this morning, and I want you to look out for him. His name is—"

"Your ears are too long," said Joe, tweaking one of them. "Well, go ahead and meet him. If he hasn't had breakfast, give him some. Be good to him, for he's a smart fellow, and I like him."

"It's more than some do!" remarked Les, but he spoke below his breath, and the manager, who was on his way out, did not hear.

Half an hour later work was in full swing outside. A party of explorers, mounted on donkeys, were filing before the camera, and Joe, up to his neck in it, had forgotten everything else under the sun except his play.

Of course there was a hitch. There always is just, at the critical moment. This one was caused by a camel.

The play, to film which Joe Fosdyke had brought his whole company to Egypt, was called "The Witch of the Desert," and at great expense Joe had secured the services of the great French film-actress, Zolie de Chartres, to take the star part of the witch. In the first act Zolie had to appear mounted on a camel, and meeting the travellers from the hotel, warn them solemnly against the treasure-hunting expedition in which they were supposed to be engaged.

A special camel had been procured—a beautiful, white creature of the true Bedouin strain—but the Egyptian who had brought it did not seem able to manage it, and the brute refused to kneel for the lady to mount.

Luke Carney was not on the spot, but Paul, who fancied himself as a handler of animals, was there. In his hand he carried a handsome, silver mounted riding-whip.

"Get down, you brute!" he cried angrily, flicking his whip at the tall beast's legs. "Get down, I tell you!"

"'Ee vill not lie down. 'Ee was naughty!" exclaimed mademoiselle in her high-pitched, broken English. "Eet is no good, I tell you. Ve vill 'ave to get anozzer camel!"

"Nonsense!" exclaimed Joe impatiently. "We couldn't find a finer beast in Egypt. The trouble is these fellows don't understand how to manage the brute. You don't seem able to do much, Paul."

Paul's dull eyes flashed. He was furious at the slight on his powers. And all the more because he caught the amused smile on Reggie's good-looking face. He made a dive at the camel, caught hold of one of its front legs, and tried to lift it.

Now, a camel at best is a queer-tempered beast, and these one-humped, racing camels are notoriously ugly. Without the slightest warning the brute bared its teeth and struck downwards like a snake.

But instead of getting hold of Paul, its yellow teeth closed upon the shoulder of Mademoiselle de Chartres, and plucked her clean off her feet.

The scream of terror rang out high and sharp, echoing back from the walls of the courtyard, and in an instant all was confusion.

In a flash Reggie was off his donkey, and had dashed forward. Joe, too, made a rush but the trouble was that neither of them had the faintest idea of what to do.

Like a shot from a gun, a slim, active figure, dressed in native costume, came racing through the terrified crowd, and Paul Carney, who had staggered back, as much at a loss as the rest of them, felt, his whip snatched from his hand.

Quick as thought the new-comer leaped at the camel, and brought the whip across its nose with stinging force.

With a bubbling cry of rage the camel opened its mouth, dropping mademoiselle, and Joe, catching her as she fell, whirled her aside.

Only just in time, for down darted the long, snake-like neck, and some of the women screamed again as they saw it strike straight at mademoiselle's rescuer.

Before those great, yellow fangs reached him. Phil had leaped back out of reach, and down came the whip again across the camel's face, with a crack like a pistol-shot.

So fierce was the blow that the whip snapped clean in half, but it had done its work. The camel, completely dazed, was swaying its head stupidly from one side to another.

Phil never moved. He stood in front of it, and spoke to it in fluent Egyptian. Then, the utter amazement of the entire company, the creature dropped quietly down on its knees, and remained there patient and motionless.

"I am not hurt, any zing to seegnify," she announced bravely. "It ees my cloak that ze camel did catch viz his teeth. Keep 'im on ze knees, mon brave garcon, and I vill show him I do not fear him."

Joe begged her to wait and rest, but she would not hear of it, so he helped her into the saddle.

Phil spoke to the camel again, and the creature rose obediently, and with Phil leading it, walked quietly round the yard.

"H'm! I wouldn't trust him unless you were here to handle him," growled Joe. "This will be your job, Phil, and you'll get three quid a week, and all found. That suit you?"

"It's most frightfully good of you, Mr. Fosdyke," he answered. "I only hope I can make myself worth it!"

The rehearsal went on then the scene played and photographed. In a little more than hour it was all finished.

"Les, take Fernie round to Mrs. Merry, the wardrobe-keeper, and ask her if she can fit him up in a suit of reach-me-downs. He must have some English clothes."

"He'll be taking the ould camel round," said Les to himself, and made through an archway for the stables.

Sure enough, there was Phil in the yard. He was sponging the blood from the camel's cut nose.

"You think yourself clever," he said, with a sneer. "You've got round old Joe all right, but let me tell you, you won't get round me so easily."

"Sure, this fellow knows how to take care of himself," he chuckled. "I'll just be waiting and see what'll happen!"

Paul glared. He did not quite know what Phil meant, or how to take his remark. He changed his tactics.

"The one I broke over the camel? Oh, I dare say that Mr. Fosdyke will pay you for that. If not, I shall be happy to buy you a new one out of my first week's salary."

Phil's voice and manner were perfectly quiet and self-possessed. His refusal to take offence made Paul simply furious.

"If you think that a pauper brat like you is coming butting in here, doing the high and mighty, let me tell you you're precious well mistaken!" he burst out.

CHAPTER 3.
Treachery.

PAUL was three inches taller than Phil, and a stone heavier. The grin faded from the face of Les, and he dashed forward.

He had not long to wait. A boy like Phil, who had spent years in a place like Cairo, was up to every known trick of rough-and-tumble, and to a good many quite unknown in England. Never in his life had that young bully—Paul Carney—made a worse blunder than in his wanton attack on Phil Fernie.

It was all so quick that Les's astonished eyes could hardly follow what was happening. He saw Phil duck, and Paul's flashing fists pass harmlessly over his head. Next, he saw Phil's arms clasped around Paul's knees. Then, in some mysterious way, Paul was going up into the air as if shot off the end of a spring-board.

An Egyptian stable-yard is not like an English. It resembles an old type of farmyard, only is much dirtier. Paul came down, head foremost, into a pile of wet, ill-smelling filth, and lay there floundering helplessly. His whole head and shoulders were actually buried in the gruesome mess, and he would quite likely have suffocated if Phil had not caught him by the legs, and hauled him out.

Paul rose slowly to his feet. Under the filth that covered it, his face was white as paper. He was quivering all over. For a few seconds he stood glaring balefully at Phil, then, without a word, he turned and walked away.

"Sorry, is it?" exclaimed Les, coming up. "Sorry, begad! Sure, I niver was more plazed in the whole of me life!"

"Ye needn't trouble," said Les dryly. "That fellow was your enemy before iver he set eyes on ye! He's the son of his father, and now ye'll understand. Now, come on wid ye," he added. "The boss says ye are to have new clothes."

At lunch-time the order went forth that the party were to pack, ready for an early start next day.

A cinema film company has to carry a lot of props, and all the junior members are expected to make themselves useful in the way of getting things together.

Les took Phil in hand, and led him down to a big store-room in the basement, where he set him to work, and showed him what to do.

"Meself, I've to go down to the river, and see if the boat's ready," he said. "I'll be finding ye here when I come back."

It was fairly cool down, here in this underground place, and Phil, who was very happy is his new job, whistled softly as he stowed away packages of all sorts in big wicker baskets.

He had been at it for about half an hour when some footsteps on the bare stone floor made him look up. Paul Carney was coming in.

"Fernie," he said, "I lost my temper this morning, and behaved like a brute. I want to say that I am very sorry."

"Why, of course I will," he replied cordially, as he took Paul's hand. "There's nothing I hate more than rows, and particularly with people in the same show. I'm only sorry I threw you so badly this morning."

That queer gleam showed for a fleeting instant in Paul Carney's curious, dull-blue eyes, but he grasped Phil's hand firmly, and shook it hard.

"That's the way I feel about it," he said. "And, anyhow, I deserved all I got. Now, I'll give you a hand if you'll let me."

He set to work with a will, and very soon all the packages were safe in their baskets.

He led the way. This inner cellar was a great, dark, echoing place, and as Paul switched on the light, Phil saw that all sorts of rubbish was piled there.

They collected and packed the rest of the stuff. Paul talked all the time, asking questions about the country, and Phil, pleased to find him so interested, told him a story or two of some of the queer places in Cairo.

"You have seen a lot," said Paul enviously, as they strapped up the last of the baskets. "Before we go up I must have a look round that inner cellar. There might be a trapdoor or something."

He went back, and Phil stood waiting for him. Phil was really pleased that Paul had turned out decent after all. He had spoken quite truly when he said that he hated rows.

"Fernie, the floor sounds hollow!" came Paul's voice from within. "I say, have you got any matches? I do believe there's a trap or something here."

He found him standing near the far side of the big underground place, almost beyond the ring of light flung by the single electric-globe.

As Phil went across, it struck him that the air had a sort of damp, chilly feeling, in curious contrast to the blazing heat up above.

"It's hollow all right," declared Paul, stamping on the floor. "I say, I wonder if it's true that there really are other cellars below this."

"It's likely enough," said Phil, as he struck a match. "Yes, you're right, Carney. There's a hollow of some sort below. Ah, and here's a trap! See, this stone has a ring in it. Can you see it? It's almost hidden by dust!"

"I can see it all right," declared Paul. "I say, do you think it would come up?"

Phil was mildly amused at the other's excitement. He could not see much point in prizing the big flagstone, but he wanted to be friendly so laid hold of the ring.

With a creak, and a groan the big flagstone came out of its bed, and a black chasm yawned in the floor.

"Another match—quick!" said Paul. He was so excited that his fingers shook as he struck it. He held it over the hole.

"Thanks," said Phil, with a laugh. "You don't catch me risking my neck on the rungs of a rotten old thing like that!"

"It looks all right," declared Paul, holding the match down at arm's length. "Wait! I've got a bit of candle in my pocket."

"Look out for bad air," Phil warned him. "There's a queer, musty smell comes up from below."

"The fellow's crazy about this cellar," he grumbled. "I only hope the ladder holds."

All in a moment his worst fears were realised. There was a sharp snapping sound, a yell, a thud. The light went out.

"The idiot! I ought to have stopped him," he muttered, and, lighting a match, started downwards.

The ladder seemed sound enough, and Phil tested each rung carefully before he put his weight on it. Presently he found a gap where two rungs had broken clean away. But those below were firm, and in another minute he was at the bottom.

His match had gone out. He paused an instant to strike another. As he did so, he thought he heard a slight rustle. He turned quickly.

The movement saved his life, for a vicious blow from a life-preserver missed his head, yet fell upon his shoulder with such force as numbed his whole arm, and sent him reeling to the floor.

Next instant a figure leapt across him, and went rattling up the ladder towards the square of light overhead.

Dazed and sick, Phil struggled to his feet, and started after. But his right arm was useless. He could only crawl slowly upwards.

Down crashed the great stone into its bed, and Phil was left alone in pitch darkness, and in a silence that was like that of a tomb.

Trapped as he was, most boys would have lost their heads, and raved and shrieked. Some would even have gone mad with sheer terror.

Phil was the exception. Short as his life had been, this was by no means the first time he had been in a tight place, and he kept his head.

"I might have known," he said under his breath. Then he paused a while. "But it was clever," he added, "infernally clever. Paul Carney is a good actor. I'll say that for him."

He stood clinging to the ladder with his sound arm, and listening intently. But not the slightest sound penetrated the recesses of this deep vault.

The pain in his bruised shoulder was dying away a little, but the whole arm was still numb. Phil went cautiously back to the foot of the ladder. Then he felt for his match-box.

Thank goodness, it was nearly full. He struck a match and held it up. Its small flame was not sufficient to show him the walls of his prison. What it did show was the stump of candle which Paul Carney had dropped.

"That's a bit of luck!" said Phil gratefully, as he picked it up and lit it, "Now for a search."

Holding the candle well up, he started towards the nearest wall. The air was musty, but quite breathable. The floor, he noticed, was covered with a thin film of what seemed to be dried mud. The wall, too, when he reached it, had a similar coating.

"There's been water here," he said. "That's odd! It looks as if the river did reach it at high Nile. Yet I'd have thought the hotel was a long way above the reach of even the biggest flood."

He went on and made a circle of the place. It, was not so large as he had thought, not nearly so big as the cellar overhead. Walls and floor alike were of solid stone, covered with a sort of cement. One thing was very sure. There was no door or passage leading out of it. The same blank wall surrounded him on all four sides.

Apparently the only way out was the trap overhead, yet Phil was certain there must be some other opening, for it was quite clear that fresh air got in somewhere. The trouble was that he could not find the opening. No doubt it was somewhere close under the roof, and that was a good ten feet overhead.

He thought of the ladder, and went back to it. But the ladder was a hugely, massive affair. Two men could hardly have moved it. For himself, especially with his damaged arm, any attempt of the sort was simply foolishness.

The candle was burning down. He felt he must not waste it. He blew it out, and sat down on the floor in the utter darkness. Then, by way of doing something, he took off his shirt, and set to rubbing his bruised shoulder. It was abominably painful, but he knew that the one cure was to keep the circulation going, and he stuck to it.

Quite suddenly he stopped, and sat up in an attitude of eager attention. A sound had reached his ears, and, slight as it was, it was startlingly loud in the intense silence of the subterranean place.

Very quickly he got up, and, sacrificing another of his precious matches, relit the candle, and started to investigate.

It did not take long to find out what was up. From somewhere in the roof a stream of water was pouring steadily downwards, splashing on the dry floor and spreading in a widening pool across the muddy cement.

"It's a cistern!" he said in a hoarse whisper. "A cistern! And like a fool I never suspected it! It's fed from the rain-water tanks on the roof, and Paul or his father had turned the water on!"

There was dumb despair on his face as he looked upwards to where the single jet sparkled blackly in the candle-light as it spurted remorselessly downwards.

Down it came. The flow was increasing as the long-disused pipe cleared slowly of the dust which choked it. The dark pool spread faster across the floor.

CHAPTER 4.
The Listener.

LES O'HARA, coming back into the cellar at sunset, found everything neatly packed, and all the baskets strapped and finished.

"It's a good worker he is," he remarked, with a satisfied air. "And a nice fellow, too. The thrip will be a dale nicer, wid a chap like that along wid us."

"Supper, bedad, and it's meself that's ready for it," he remarked, and went back up the stairs.

He was surprised to see no sign of Phil at the supper table, and, finishing his meal quickly, went up to the room which had been assigned to Phil and was next to his own.

Phil was not there. Instead of rushing off to Joe Fosdyke, and telling him that Fernie was missing, Les set himself to a quiet but thorough search of the whole big building. It was not until he was quite certain that Phil was nowhere about that he allowed his suspicions full play.

In his way Les O'Hara was quite as much a character as Phil himself. He was older than he looked, he had knocked about a lot, and he was very well able to put two and two together.

Knowing what he did know, and remembering the scene of the morning, he at once made up his mind that Phil's disappearance was somehow due to the Carneys.

Les, back in his room, which was on the top floor, sat on the edge of his bed, kicking his short legs, and frowning. For quite five minutes he remained there, then his brow cleared a little, and he got up briskly.

A broad veranda runs along every floor of Paster's Hotel, and French windows open on to it from each room. Les went out on to the veranda and looked down.

There was no moon, and though the stars burnt like lamps in the clear vault above, the night was dark.

Les craned over the railing till it almost looked as though he were going to take a header into the depths beneath.

Going back into his room he slipped off his boots and put on a pair of sand-shoes. Then he took a coil of rope from a drawer and went out again.

The one end of the rope he fastened firmly to the veranda rail, the other he dropped softly over. He took hold of the rope, swung his leg over the rail, and began to climb downwards.

Les had the wiry strength of a monkey, and was as good for heights as any mountaineer. In a very short space of time he was safe on the veranda, immediately beneath the one from which he had started. Here he paused, listened a moment, then, in his rubber-soled shoes, went creeping onwards quietly as a cat.

He passed half a dozen windows, all dark and quiet, and at last reached one which was covered by a drawn venetian blind. Through the slats leaked the rays of an electric light, making bars of light and shade on the boarded floor of the veranda.

Here he paused, and, crouching down, came close to the blind, and lay almost flat on the floor, listening intently.

For some time there was no sound whatever, and the slats of the blind were so tilted that it was impossible for him to see into the room.

Les waited patiently, and at last his patience was rewarded. He heard the door of the room open, and someone came in.

"You've got a nerve, father!" replied Paul Carney, "I'm hanged if I could sleep."

"Trouble—bah! What's it matter to us? The brat's fed up with work. He's gone back to his slum. That's what Joe is to hear."

Les hardly breathed. His whole body was stiff with the strain of listening. So he was right, after all. It was the Carneys who had got rid of Phil. But how? Would they betray the secret?

"Fosdyke won't believe that," said Paul, "There'll be a search. You can bet on that."

"Let them search!" snarled his father. "Let 'em search till they're black in the face. I don't suppose there's a soul in the place who knows of that hiding-place."

"You make me tired! I know for a fact it hasn't been used for years. The only reason I knew of it as that when I stayed here, six years ago, they were doing repairs to the roof, and I saw the tanks."

"Of course I did!" Luke Carney laughed hideously. "I'll lay the brat's enjoying himself. Teach him to poke his nose into our concerns."

"Or to make a fool of me before the whole crowd!" added Paul as viciously. "But see here, father," he went on, "are you sure old Fosdyke is going to this place you talked of?"

"T'zin? Yes, he says so. He wants the local colour. You know he cribbed the story from Fernie's first book."

"Not likely. The Touaregs, the masked horsemen, collared the lot. There wasn't one left of the whole expedition, so far as I know."

"That's the rub," replied the elder Carney. "I can't tell for certain, though I have a suspicion. It's in the vases, anyhow."

"Wait and see! This is our chance to get to T'zin. Once we're there we can spend our time in the search."

Lee waited no longer. True, this talk of treasure was interesting enough, but it had nothing to do with Phil. So far as Phil was concerned, he had learned all he was likely to learn. As he crept silently away he was putting his information together in his quick, active brain.

These two ruffians had put Phil away. It was in some place connected with the hotel, yet one the existence of which no one about the hotel was likely to be aware. The one clue he had to it was that it was some receptacle into which water could be turned.

Les was a boy who used his eyes. Short as had been his stay in Egypt, he knew that many of the larger houses in Cairo have rain-water tanks in the roof.

Without delay he made his way down into the kitchen regions. Though it was getting late, there were people still about, and presently he found the man of whom he was in search. This was Abdullah, the swarthy hall-porter, who, having finished his supper, was seated, cross-legged, on a wooden bench in the courtyard, smoking a long-stemmed chibouque.

Abdullah, Les knew, had been at Paster's for years, and was more likely to know the secrets of the old building than anyone else. But Les also knew that the last thing any Easterner will do is to give a straight reply to a quick question.

Abdullah, who spoke quite good English, admitted that it did sometimes, and by degrees Les got the conversation round to tanks, and heard that there was a big rainwater tank on the roof of the hotel; but since water had been laid on by the English from an artesian well it had never been used. The porter, however, allowed that it was probably full, and could be used in case of fire.

Les suggested that he would like to see it, and Abdullah was persuaded, by the offer of some small coins, to climb to the roof and show the tank.

It was a big concrete cistern and very much like any other of its kind, and Les, after opening the trap, soon discovered that there was certainly no one in it. Besides, he remembered what Carney had said about turning on the tap, and, again putting two and two together some suspicion of the real truth began to dawn upon him.

"There is a great cistern below," answered Abdullah. "It is to that the pipes descend."

"Where is that cistern?" inquired Les; and it was with an effort he kept his voice level.

"It is beneath the cellars," Abdullah told him. "In the morning I will show you."

"But we are off first thing in the morning," objected Les. "Show me now, Abdullah, and I will give you five more piastres."

"Truly the ways of the English are strange," he said. "Thou should be in thy bed, and so should I."

CHAPTER 5.
A Change of Plan.

Les' heart-beats quickened as Abdullah led him into the wine-cellar and switched on the light.

"I know not. There is doubtless a trap leading into it. But not within memory hath it been used, and I know not even where the flag lieth!"

Les paused a moment. His first impulse was to urge the man to help him to hunt, his second to let him go. If the trap had been recently used he could find it himself. In any case, he could get help from Joe or Reggie, if the need arose, and this was a matter much better kept from the wagging tongues of natives.

"Well, I'm much obliged to you, Abdullah!" he said. "It's all very interesting. But, as you said just now, it's time for us to be in bed."

He turned away, and Abdullah, only too glad that the "Ingreezi" was satisfied, flopped away in his loose slippers.

Les followed him upstairs, bade him good-night, then, watching him out of sight, secured a candle, and hurried back into the cellar.

The floor of the cellar was covered with a thin film of dust, and at once Les' quick eyes noticed two pairs of footsteps running across into the inner part of the vault. Then he began to search for the flag.

With his usual cunning, Paul had worked dust well into the cracks after closing down the trap, and it was some time before Les discovered it. But once he had found it, all his suspicions crystallised. Here was Phil's prison; not a doubt of it!

He stooped, got hold of the ring, and began to pull. But the weight of the stone was too great for him. He could not move it.

He paused. It was quite clear that he must fetch someone to help. The question was, who should it be? First he thought, of Joe. But Joe Fosdyke, good fellow as he was, had a quick temper. He might flare up, make an awful row, call in the police, and have the Carneys arrested at once.

Les was not the least averse to having the Carneys arrested but what stuck in his mind was this matter of the treasure at T'zin, of which the Carneys had spoken. They seemed to have some notion of where it was, and Les had already made up his mind that Phil and he were going to have a share of it.

He was off like a flash, and went racing upstairs. Luckily he knew Reggie's room. He knocked, heard a lazy voice say, "Come in!" and found Reggie, in a suit of blue silk pyjamas, lounging in a long chair, with a cigarette in his mouth and a novel in his hands.

"You're a bit late in the day, laddie—or is it early?" he drawled. "Don't tell me that Joe means to start at midnight!"

"It's not Joe that wants ye, Mr. Dacre. It's mesilf. Phil Fernie's in the cistern below, and I want ye to help me get him out."

"In the cistern!" repeated Reggie. "But, my dear old top, what a place to choose for his ablutions! And what an hour!"

"'Tis, no choice of his," said Les rapidly. "And it's drowned he'll be if we don't hurry!"

"Lead on, my son! Let us to the rescue! But ought we not first to call the good Brander? it appears to me that we are wasting a valuable opportunity for a scene. 'Snatched from the Cistern!' How does that strike you for a headline?"

Les' manner sobered Reggie, and he followed him quickly through the long corridors and down the stairs. There was not a soul about, and they reached the cellar unseen.

"You don't mean to say he's down there?" demanded Reggie. "How in sense did he get into such a place?"

Reggie stooped, and got hold of the iron ring. For all his effeminate appearance, there was plenty of strength in those white hands of his, and with a crunch and a creak up came the flag.

But almost before the words were out of his mouth Phil Fernie's head appeared out of the black depths. Les gave him a hand, and he scrambled rapidly up off the ladder. In the light of the candle his face was wan and lined. Those terrible hours had left a mark upon him, which would not easily disappear.

"I'll be telling ye when we get upstairs," replied Les. "Sure, this is no place to be talking!"

"A most sensible remark, O'Hara," said Reggie. "This abominable vault gives me chills all down the spine!"

Back in Reggie's room Reggie put Phil in his long chair, and, going to a cupboard, mixed a dose of brandy-and-water.

"A nip of this will do you a power of good, young fellow!" he said, in his quiet drawl. "Not a word, but just put it away. Then you can spin us the yarn."

Phil choked a bit over the unaccustomed spirit, but it was really just what he needed. Then quite quietly he told them what had happened.

"My only aunt!" remarked Reggie. "I never liked Carney, but this beats the band! I never realised that we had a real heavy villain in the cast."

"Joe will break his heart when he hears," said Reggie. "This beats the 'Witch of the Desert' to a frazzle!"

"Never dreamed of it," cried Phil. "That's the place where my father disappeared. He was looking for this treasure. It's supposed to be under what they call the Lost Pyramid."

"No. I was there once with my father, but T'zin is a big oasis out in the desert, and the old pyramid, he said, was most likely hidden by drifting sand. We hadn't the stores to make any long stay, so he came back to Cairo, refilled, and that time went without me. Then I heard Touaregos had raided the expedition and killed him."

"It all fits in," said Reggie quietly. "My young friends, I have a notion that it's up to us to see that the gentle Carneys do not handle this ancient oof. It occurs to me that we could make better use of it ourselves?"

"Isn't it what I've been saying to mesilf iver since I heard?" exclaimed Les. "Sure, that's why I came to yourself, Mister Dacre, instead of going to the boss."

"A wise precaution," drawled Reggie. "I take it, then, that your idea is to allow these two gentlemen to remain under the impression that our friend Fernie is down and out? Am I correct?"

"Sure, you're correct," answered Les. "If we lave them to be thinking that, they'd be off their guard. Sure, we'll let them do the work, and we'll scoop the goods."

"An excellent division of labour," agreed Reggie, "and one which I only wish hold good in all departments of life."

"But I don't understand," broke in Phil, frowning. "How can we manage without their knowing—the Carneys, I mean? They're bound to see me to-morrow."

"Not at all," said Reggie quietly. "You do not understand the arrangements, my son. The party travels in two divisions. One, including all of the actors who will be engaged in making the film, go down the river in a dahabeah. Joe has hired one of Cook's boats for the trip. The rest, including the camels and donkeys, are going by train as far as Feronan, and from that point will travel by the caravan route to the oasis. The Carneys, though nominally in charge of the animals, have insisted on going by boat, and rather than have a fuss, Joe has allowed their claim. You, Fernie, will be handling the white dromedary, and will therefore go by train. Now do you understand?"

"Splendid!" he said! "Now it's all as plain as paint. Which party starts first?"

"Take this," he said. "You can repay me when you like. You must leave the hotel, spend the rest of the night in Cairo, and be at the station in good time in the morning. Les, here, will tell our good friend Joe that you have gone on to look after your charge."

"That's all settled, then," he said. "I'll do exactly what you say, Mr. Dacre, and I'm tremendously obliged to you!"

"The boot's on the other leg," he said. "I'm in with you two for a share in the treasure of the lost Pyramid, and don't you forget it. Now, good-night, and good luck!"

Five minutes later Phil was slipping quietly away down a dark street of the town. He was making for his old quarters at the house of Achmed, the saddler.

Achmed and his household were asleep, but Phil had no difficulty in reaching the little room where his rug was spread. In spite of what he had gone through—perhaps because of it—he was asleep in five minutes, nor did he wake until the sun, shining through the narrow window, roused him.

He got up, washed, went down and found the old saddler drinking his morning coffee. Phil did not explain what had happened; merely said that he had wished to sleep for his last night under the old roof. He shared Achmed's breakfast, said a last good-bye, and was off.

He was at the station an hour before the train was due to leave, but knowing the officials and language as he did, had no trouble in finding the vans set apart for the Golden Apple Company. The animals, he found, were in the charge of an Egyptian named Selim, and he walked up the platform looking for this man.

Suddenly he stopped short; then, quick as a flash, dodged into the shelter of an open doorway and stood tense and watchful.

Two people were walking down the platform just ahead. They were a white man and a white boy, and it did not need more than one glance to assure Phil that they were none other than Luke Carney and his hopeful son.

Phil's brain was in a whirl. What was he to do? It was quite clear that at the last minute arrangements had been altered, and that, after all, they were going to travel by train and not by boat.

CHAPTER 6.
The Danger of Disguise.

PHIL fully realised how short his shrift would be if he fell into the hands of the precious pair, and it must be confessed that his first idea was simply to bolt and clear out altogether.

Second thoughts were wiser. The boat had left at least an hour earlier, and if he bolted he would not only lose his job, but also his friends, and his chance of a share in the Pyramid treasure.

He drew back farther into the shadow, while his brain worked nineteen to the dozen, trying to devise some way of getting out of the difficulty.

His first idea was to wait in hiding until the train left, then go on by a later one. But the money which Reggie Dacre had lent him was not enough to take him so far as Kerouan, so that was out of the question.

A native boy, about his own age, came loitering up the platform past Phil's hiding-place, and in a flash a new and daring idea darted through his brain. He himself was more accustomed to native than to English dress, and he talked Egyptian as well as any native.

He felt certain that he could disguise himself well enough to take in any white man, even Carney.

The question was whether he would have time to do it before the train started. At any rate, he would try.

Waiting only until the Carneys were out of sight, he hurried swiftly back down the platform. Having been in Cairo so long, he knew heaps of people, and among them two of the porters at the station.

Luck was with him. Darting into the porters' room, there was one of these men, Ismail by name, seated on the floor smoking.

He greeted Phil in the grave way common in the East, but for once Phil threw aside all his manners, and fairly dashed at the astonished man.

"Half an hour! Then there's no time!" exclaimed Phil, in such despair that Ismail's heart was touched, and he inquired what troubled the heart of his "Ingreezi" friend.

"I've got to go by that train," Phil told him. "But not in these clothes. I must be in native dress, you understand. The white men must not know that I, too, am white."

Ismail's dark eyes tightened. Anything in the way of a plot appeals tremendously to the native. The porter scented some deep conspiracy.

"Then, by Allah, it shall be done!" declared Ismail scrambling to his feet. "Wait for me here, Ernie Effendi; I will return soon."

A quarter of an hour passed. It seemed like four hours. Then, to Phil's intense relief, there came Ismail with a bundle over his arm. It was a complete suit of native dress, fez and all. More than that, he had secured from somewhere a bottle of hair-dye of a dark-brown colour.

"You're a brick, Ismail!" cried Phil, in delight. Then, seeing the man's puzzled face, he thanked him heartily in his own language, and at the same time began to strip with amazing speed.

Ismail helped, and, in spite of his anxiety, Phil chuckled inwardly to see how keen the man was.

It was about the quickest change on record—change not only of clothes, mind you, but complexion as well. It was an English boy in English clothes who had entered the porters' room: it was a brown skinned, bare-legged Egyptian who came out, and Phil flattered himself that it would take sharper eyes than Carney's to penetrate his disguise.

Leaving his English clothes with Ismail, Phil bolted down the platform, arriving at the siding just as the bell began to ring for the train to start.

"Fosdyke Effendi has sent me to help thee with the beasts," he told the man in fluent Egyptian.

"It is true," he said, "that I was told that another was to be here to help upon the journey, but, he was a white lad."

"That is the truth, Selim," agreed Phil. "His name was Fernie, and he it was who lived at the house of Achmed the saddler. He hath, however been sent by the dahabeah, and the order is that I take his place."

Selim realised there was no time to make inquiries. He was short-handed, and only too glad of extra help.

"Enter then," he said to Phil; "but if thy words are lies, on thy own head be it!"

Next moment Phil found himself in a box-car, in company with Selim and two Egyptian drivers and almost at once, the train moved slowly out of the station.

It gathered speed, and soon was rattling and clanking through the suburbs. Houses faded, and were replaced by fields of cane and cotton.

Phil heaved a sigh of deepest relief. He had accomplished his object, and was safely started on the first step of his adventurous journey.

It was an hour before sunset on the second day after leaving Cairo that the trucks with the animals were shunted at the siding at Kerouan.

The place was on the bank of the Nile, the broad waters of which glowed red in the light of the low sun.

The station stood upon the east bank, and a barge was waiting to ferry the contents of the trucks across the river. On the west side was a small native village, surrounded by fields of millet and cane and a few palm-trees. Beyond the enormous desert stretched golden to the sky line.

Phil stood staring out across the vast, bare expanse, noting the caravan-truck which wound away over the sand-hills. His heart beat hard as he thought of what might lie beyond that far horizon.

It was the harsh voice of Luke Carney that roused him from his musing. A whip-lash whistled and cut him sorely across the shoulders.

For the moment he forgot his assumed character, and spun round angrily. He saw the look of surprise on Carney's face, and instantly turned humble again.

"I go, Effendi!" he said quickly in Egyptian, and hurried away to help Selim. But he was conscious that Carney was staring after him, and inwardly he cursed his carelessness, which had come so near betraying him.

It was a job to get the animals on to the barge. The camels were particularly troublesome, and when the job at last was done the barge was very low in the water and almost dangerously crowded.

Selim gave the word to cast off, the native boatmen swung their wide-bladed oars, and the clumsy craft moved slowly across the stream. The Carneys meantime got into a small boat, and were rowed quickly across.

Phil, keeping carefully out of their sight, was relieved when the barge came safely under the far bank. But this bank, he saw, was high and steep, and the landing was not going to be easy.

The mules were got ashore without much trouble. Mules climb like cats, and these made no trouble about going up the bank.

It was different with the camels. Still, by dint of patience, three were got up all right, including the big white dromedary. The fourth refused to budge.

The sulky brute still refusing to move, Selim got hold of its head-rope, and tried to drag it along. Stupidly, he had taken a turn of the rope around his wrist.

Suddenly the camel whirled round. The action was so unexpected that Selim was swung clean off his feet. Phil heard a yell of terror, and saw the unfortunate man flying through the air. Next moment he had let go of the rope and gone smack into the river.

Phil picked up a rope, and sprang to the side of the barge. The Egyptian had gone under, and for the moment was out of sight beneath the dark, muddy water. When he rose again he was yards out. The current had hold of him, and he was being swept rapidly downstream.

He could not swim a stroke, and next moment was under again. Phil saw that something had got to be done, and quickly, too, if the unlucky man's life were to be saved. He did not hesitate, but jumped straight in.

Phil swam well, and, with the current helping him, reached Selim before he had gone down again. The man was mad with terror, and it was all Phil could do to avoid his clutching hands.

Seizing his chance, he got behind the man, and, catching him by the back of his coarse skirt, set to pushing him in towards the bank.

The current was far too strong to fight, and Phil saw that the only chance was to work with it. The two were carried down for a hundred yards or more before a lucky eddy swung them in towards the bank.

The other Egyptians were making no effort to help. As Phil well knew, they were one and all convinced that the man who saves another from drowning is himself doomed to die within a year.

By this time the Carneys had realised what was happening, and just as Phil felt ground under his feet he saw Paul Carney scrambling down the bank with a rope over his arm.

Phil himself was all right, but he was badly blown, and just as pleased to have help in getting Selim up the bank.

Getting firmly on his feet he made the rope fast around Selim's body, and motioned to Paul to haul away.

"What the blazes are you two fools playing at?" he demanded angrily. "Can't you land a beggarly camel without—"

He stopped short, and Phil recognised that the fellow's dull blue eyes were fixed upon him with a strange look of suspicion.

"What's the matter with your face?" cried Paul in a queer, cracked voice. "Who are you?"

Instinctively Phil put up his hand to his face, and as he lifted it he saw that the brown dye was half washed off, and that the white, skin showed in patches. In a flash he realised that his face, too, must be in the same condition.

Phil saw it was all up. He dashed at Paul caught him round the waist, tripped him, and flung him heavily. Then he bolted for dear life.

CHAPTER 7.
In the Hands of the Enemy.

IT was madness. In his heart Phil knew it. There was nowhere to run to, no place of refuge. Joe Fosdyke and the rest of the company were not due for two days yet. Besides himself, the Carneys were the only whites within miles.

He ducked down under the rim of the high bank. It was low Nile, and the shrunken river ran twenty feet beneath the level of the surrounding country.

It was in his mind to reach the boat which had brought the Carneys across, to get into it, and pull straight down the stream. Once round the big bend below, it seemed possible that he might find some hiding-place where he could lie up and wait till night.

Phil redoubled his pace. His heart was in his throat; his mouth was dry; he felt like one running in a nightmare.

There was the boat only just ahead. It lay on the near side of the barge where the one last camel still stood defying the other drivers. Hope rose within him, and he was beginning to believe that he might actually do it, when down the bank came plunging Luke Carney.

The tamer's face was livid with rage. His eyes held a dull glow ugly to see. His big hands were knotted.

Phil stopped. He tried to dodge, but he was completely blown. In an instant Carney was on him, and his iron fingers closed on Phil's throat. In savage silence the man gripped him, lifted him, and flung him, bruised and breathless, to the ground.

"Stand back!" said Luke harshly. "You fool! Haven't you made fuss enough already? These niggers have tongues, and, remember, he's pulled one of them out of the water."

"What do you mean to do, then?" he asked sulkily. "You're not going to turn him loose, are you?"

"Go and find out from one of the men where our quarters are for the night," he continued.

"Get, up, Fernie," said Luke, in a somewhat milder tone. "Don't try to bolt again. In any case, it will be of no use. There is no cover for miles; and, I give you my word, I'll hunt you down wherever you go!"

"Do you think that the life of a brat like you is going to stand in my way?" he sneered.

"All the same," he continued, "I'm inclined to give you a chance. I believe you can be useful to me. Anyhow, you'd best understand right now that this will be your only chance. If you play the fool I'll shoot you right off, and chuck your body into the river! Then I sha'n't wait for Fosdyke, but go on to T'zin at once."

"Then you'll come there with us, Fernie," said Luke. "And if you know what's good for you, you'll make no bones about it."

Phil glanced at the man's face. It was hard as a stone, pitiless as a tiger's. He made the best of a bad job.

The house reserved for the Carneys was the best in the village, but that was not saying much.

As soon as they were inside, Luke Carney shut the door, and, opening out a camp-chair, sat down. Paul did the same. Evidently Phil was to stand, but having no intention of doing any thing of the sort, he picked up a packing-case and sat upon it.

"Dry up!" he said curly. "Just remember you're not my judge, and that I've licked you twice, and can do it again if need be!"

Paul leaped to his feet, foaming with rage. But his father caught him by the arm.

"Sit down, you fool!" he said, with a harsh laugh. "Let the bantam crow. He won't have too long to do it."

"I'll take precious good care he doesn't get off the hook a second time!" snarled Paul, livid with rage.

"See here, Fernie, in spite of what Paul says, I'm inclined to give you a chance. Are you game to take it?"

"Game? I don't know what you mean!" retorted Phil. "I don't particularly want to die, and I certainly don't want to be smothered. But since I've got nothing to buy my life with, I don't seem to stand much of a chance."

It was on the tip of Phil's tongue to say "Nothing at all." But he checked himself. In the first place, it was not quite true; in the second, it struck him the silence was the best policy. So long as the Carneys fancied that he had any information to impart, so long would they keep him alive. From what Les O'Hara had said, he was aware that the Carneys had only the sketchiest information either as to the treasure or its location.

"See here," he said, and there was a touch of eagerness in his hard voice. "You tell me where this here pyramid is, and give me your word you won't say nothing about that little matter up to Cairo, and you can go about your business, safe and free.

"You must take me for several more sorts of a fool than I really am!" he answered scornfully. "Suppose I did tell you, what earthly guarantee have I got that you'll keep your word?"

"There you are again. If I do tell you what I know, you might say it was all lies, and make that your excuse for knocking me on the head."

Luke Carney bit his thin lip. He was beginning to realise that this youngster was a sight smarter than he had imagined. At the same time, Phil had conveyed to him the impression that he knew more than he really did.

"Don't be a fool," retorted Phil. "I know you're quite capable of torturing me, but even if you did wring something out of me, it wouldn't be the truth. There's only one way of doing it. You've got to take me to T'zin, and go shares."

Luke turned furiously to his son. His language was lurid. Paul, livid and actually trembling, shrank back, and Luke addressed himself again to Phil.

"Do believe me when I say I'm not quite a fool. If I can't keep my life I can keep my counsel. I'm not going to say a word about it until I know that I'm safe, and that I get my proper share. Seeing that it was my father who was the first white man to get on the track of it, it ought to be all mine. But since, as he told me, it's worth more than a million, I can do with a part of it."

Phil saw the covetous glare in Luke Carney's eyes. He felt that he had gained his point, and with it a respite for the present, at least.

All the same, he was hardly prepared for the storm which burst, or the awful threats which Luke poured out. But he sat through it, unmoved, and at last, just as he had expected, the man gave in. Or, if he did not quite give in, at any rate, he compromised.

It was arranged that they should start first thing in the morning, Phil with them—that he should show them the pyramid, and take a third share of what was found.

"And if you don't find it for us," Luke ended. "Heaven have mercy on your soul, for you can bet I won't!"

With which grim threat Phil was bundled into the back room, given a mouthful of food and a drink of water, then tied neck and crop, and left in his wet clothes to spend the night as he best might.

"You ain't a-going to play no more tricks on us, you can take your oath to that!" was Paul Carney's last threat, as he closed the door and rammed the bolt home.

Relieved as he was to have escaped instant murder, it would not be fair to say Phil was happy. In addition to extreme bodily discomfort, he was only too well aware of the fact that he did not know where the lost pyramid was to be found. It is true he had some idea of the direction in which it lay, but that was about all.

In any case, he had not the faintest idea of letting these precious Carneys share even what little knowledge he had. He had been playing for time, and now that he had gained a little time, he had every intention of making good use of it. In other words, his one idea was to escape.

He could not hide from himself, however, that his chances looked anything but rosy. The room he was imprisoned in was small, bare, and, barring the moonlight, which shone in through the narrow, unglazed window, quite dark.

The doors were both locked and the window barred. Also, the partition wall was so thin that any sound would be easily heard by the Carneys in the larger room.

For all that, Phil did not give up hope. He believed that, if only his hands were free, he could find some way out.

There was the rub. Clearly the Carneys had had the same idea, for they had tied his wrists so firmly that there was no human possibility of wriggling free. Also, they have taken away his knife.

But even they had not quite realised the strength, activity, and, above all, will-power of their prisoner.

Phil waited patiently until he had heard his gaolers go to bed. Not till they were both snoring did he begin his operations.

By this time the moon was well up, and shining strongly through the barred windows, showed a pile of rubbish lying against one wall of the filthy little place.

Unable to rise to his feet, Phil rolled over to this and with numbed fingers began fumbling in it. It seemed to be nothing but old com husks, tobacco-leaves, and similar refuse, and his heart sank as he realised how useless this was.

But he stuck to it, and a thrill shot through him as at last his groping fingers touched something cold and hard.

With great difficulty he got it out, and found, to his delight, that it was an old husking-knife. It was broken, rusty, and the blade was gapped, but Phil was more pleased than if he had found a diamond.

The next thing was to wedge it, so that he could use it. This took a good half-hour, and, in spite of the cold of the desert night, he was sweating before he had accomplished this task.

Then at last he was able to begin sawing at the cords binding his wrists. They were of coir rope, new and hard, and for a long time it seemed as if he could make no impression upon them.

But gradually a little pile of fluff appeared, and hope, almost dead, began to dawn again within him.

By this time he was suffering from the most atrocious cramp, both in his arms and legs. The pain was so keen that he could have screamed.

The perspiration steaming into his eyes nearly blinded him, and his heart thumped like a hammer.

Still he went on, and after another hour there was a slight snap, and suddenly the cord dropped away. In a moment his wrists were free; in another his numbed fingers were wrestling with the rope around his ankles.

He got it off, only to find that he was too stiff to rise. He had to waste five more precious minutes in rubbing his legs to get back the circulation.

Now to get out. The moon shone coldly on the desert. In the distance he saw the tethered camels standing under the date-palms.

He went to the door and tried it. That was no good. He stepped to the window, and tested the bars. Of these there were two. The first seemed firm, but the other was loose in its socket.

He put his weight on it. Gently at first, then more strongly. It gave a little, then no more.

He tugged. Just when he least expected it, the bar gave. It came clean away, and so suddenly that he stumbled back, and fell heavily on the hard clay floor.

It was Paul's sharp voice, sharp with suspicion. Phil heard him leap off his bed. Another moment and he would be in the room.

Phil did not hesitate. Springing to his feet, he flung himself into the narrow gap. He got his head through, and where he got his head through he knew that he could get his body.

But the space was so narrow he could not go fast. Before he was clear the inner door burst open.

"Your pistol—give me your pistol, father!" shouted Paul! "The beggar's got free. He's getting through the window!"

CHAPTER 8.
When Dawn Came.

HOW he did it Phil never knew, but somehow he must have forced his way between the bars, for the next thing he realised was that he was sprawling on all-fours on the sand outside the window.

Instead of bolting straight towards the palms, he swerved to the right, and dashed along under the back wall of the house.

This saved his life, for the next instant a pistol was thrust between the bars, and two shots rang through the quiet night.

Both missed him, and he kept going at full speed. The house was surrounded by a low fence. He took this at a bound, and went racing across the sand towards the palms. His one chance was to reach a camel before be was caught.

Behind him he heard Paul Carney shouting furious threats. He did not hear Luke's voice, and knew from that that the man was not, like his son, wasting time. Luke was a brute, but a brute who had his wits about him.

As he had expected, the front door flew open with a crash, and glancing back over his shoulder, he saw Luke racing across the enclosure, and in his hand was something that gleamed in the moonlight. A pistol!

Luke did not utter a sound, but there was a deadly, purposeful earnestness about his rush which augured ill for Phil if he caught him. And Phil's heart sank, for he knew the man's great strength and activity, to say nothing of his ruthless brutality.

He glanced across at the camels. The nearest was two hundred yards away, and even if he reached it ahead of Luke, he had still to loosen the picket-rope before he could mount. He did not see the faintest hope of doing so, but still he kept on doggedly.

A snapping crack, a thud, a deep oath! Once more Phil looked back. Carney was sprawling on the sand. Clearly he had tried to jump the fence, had caught his foot on the top paling, and taken a heavy fall.

Phil's spirits bounded up again, and he spurted vigorously to take the best advantage of this heaven-sent chance.

Next instant he was under the ink-black shadow of the date-palms, and his fingers busy with the knot of the picket-rope.

Carney was coming again, but not so fast. The fall must have shaken him up, and knocked the wind out of him.

In spite of his desperate need for haste Phil knew too well to try to hurry the camel. From long experience of these queer-tempered brutes he was aware that anything of the kind was fatal.

He spoke quietly to the creature, and to his intense relief it knelt at once. Not till then did he realise another piece of good fortune. The busy Egyptians had left the saddle on its back. The difference this made was enormous, for it is next to impossible to ride a camel bare-backed.

Quick as a flash Phil was on the camel's back, and as he gave the word to start, it rose swaying to its feet.

He glanced back. Luke Carney was about fifty yards away. He was stopped, and, with pistol arm raised, was taking careful aim at the camel.

He was a thought too late. Before he could pull the trigger Phil drove his heels in, and the ungainly beast lurched forward, putting the trunk of the nearest palm between itself and Carney.

This saved Phil, for with the crack and the flash of the pistol came the thud of the heavy bullet, burying itself in the palm-trunk.

With cries and kicks Phil drove his beast forward into the thickest of the palms. Their close trunks and feathery foliage made a criss-cross of black shadows on the snowy sand, and though Carney fired twice more, the only effect was to force the camel into the fastest trot. A minute later Phil was out of range, and travelling straight across the desert as fast as his mount could trot.

For the moment he was able to allow himself to relax a little. Not that he was out of danger. Unfortunately, he know better than that. The Carneys would strain every nerve to catch him. Not only the treasure of the Lost Pyramid, but their very lives and safety depended upon their getting hold of him again.

So long as he was free they were in constant danger. Luke would spare no pains to recapture him, and Phil was perfectly well aware that this time there would be no question of quarter. The pair would finish him out of hand, and leave his bones to bleach under the desert sun.

He looked back again. For the moment there was no sign of pursuit, and he checked his camel a little. He knew he must save it and himself for the long and hard journey ahead.

Phil's first idea had been to go north, up the river, in the hope of meeting the dahabeah and his friends, but a moment's thought had convinced him that this was foolishness. The boat must still be a good hundred miles away. He would be run down long before he could reach it. Besides, the country along the river-bank is fields and farms, broken by irrigation canals. It is not fit ground to ride over. Worse still, the Egyptians who live in the riverside villages are a cowardly, treacherous lot. He could not depend upon them to hide or feed him.

Now he had changed his mind, and was riding westwards across the desert on the direction of T'zin. He had been at the oasis with his father, and knew the place. The people there were true Arabs, men who, whatever their faults, never went back on the stranger who threw himself upon their mercy. Phil knew that if he could reach the oasis ahead of the Carneys, and share bread and salt with the Arabs, he was perfectly safe for the time being.

Could he do it? That was the question. He had a start, certainly, and he was a light weight. On the other hand, his mount was by no means the best of the camels. Once more he looked back, and out of the dark patch of palms two figures appeared.

Though at this distance they looked no larger than toys, they were camel-riders. The two Carneys, without a doubt. He quickened his pace and went trotting swiftly through the moonlight across the vast, rolling hills of bare white sand.

* * * * *

TWO hours later he was still trotting, but now the sun was above the rim of the desert and the long, black shadow of his ungainly mount flitted over before it as it journeyed steadily eastwards.

He had improved his lead. He was now quite two miles ahead of his pursuers, and only now and then, when they were both in the same valley, did he see them. It was not only that he was a lighter weight than either of the Carneys, but also he was a better rider.

Even so, he was not happy. The dawn light had showed him that Luke Carney was mounted on the great, white, trotting dromedary, and he was only too well aware of the wonderful powers that these creatures possess, and of how they can keep up their tireless speed hour after hour, wearing down the swiftest horses, or, indeed, any other beast that is trained to carry man.

If only he himself had managed to secure this creature he knew that he would have been absolutely safe. As it was, he was sure that in the long run this beast, if properly handled, must run down the scrub camel on which he himself was mounted.

The night chill had been bitter, and in his thin, wet clothes Phil had nearly perished. The long rays of the newly risen sun gave a grateful warmth. Yet, in spite of his suffering from the cold, Phil would have much preferred that the night should continue, for he knew that within less than an hour it would be intensely hot, and that before ten the rays would beat upon himself and his mount with the blaze of a blast-furnace.

But there was no help for it. He must just keep going, and trust that his beast would last.

Another hour passed, and, as he had expected, the heat was becoming terrible. By this time he had realised that he had no water. Already his throat was dry, and his mouth parched. He wondered if he could possibly last out.

His hunters were closer now. Not much; but, still, they had made up a matter of half a mile, and he fancied they were still gaining. He now saw that his second pursuer was not Paul Carney, but a native. This was all the worse, so far as he was concerned, for the native, of course, rode far better than Paul.

Phil was not only thirsty, but hungry. He had not had a mouthful to eat since that very slender supper on the previous evening. Some fifteen hours had elapsed since food had passed his lips. Still he would not have minded this if he could only have had one sup of water.

There was a well half-way between the river and T'zin. He thought he must he getting near to it, but at present he could see no sign of it. Nothing but gently rolling sandhills, yellow under the remorseless glare of the shadeless sun.

In any case, even if he did reach the well, it was a big question whether he would have time to drink. The hunters were so hard on his heels.

He began to climb a long, slow rise, and noticed, with dismay, that his camel's pace was slowing. This was really a baggage animal, and not accustomed to going all out. His trained eyes noticed signs of fatigue. He began to realise that Luke Carney was bound to out-distance him.

At last he reached the head of the sand ridge, and the first thing upon which his dazzled eyes rested was the welcome green of a tuft of palms. They lay in a hollow, not a mile away and beneath gleamed the low stone wall surrounding a well.

Water! For the moment he almost forgot his relentless pursuer, and, giving his tired beast a cry of encouragement, sent it on at best pace down the slope.

The camel scented the water, and, stretching its neck, raced towards the well. As he fled on down into the hollow, Phil caught a glimpse of a dark patch on the far western horizon. He believed it to be the palms of El T'zin, but hardly gave it a second glance. All his energies were concentrated on reaching the water and getting a drink before Carney was upon him.

The well was a shallow, muddy pool. As he reached it Phil turned his head. Carney was just topping the slope. He was well ahead of his companions, and forcing his mount to top speed. It was clear that he meant to seize his opportunity.

Phil hardly cared. At any price he must drink. Besides, even if he wanted to, he could not have held his camel back from the water. Breaking all the desert laws against fouling a well, he allowed his beast to wade in and while it drank he stooped down and drank, too.

Muddy and thick as the stuff was, and lukewarm into the bargain, no drink had ever tasted sweeter.

Again he looked round. Carney was less than a quarter of a mile away. The white dromedary was striding along at tremendous speed.

"Get up!" cried Phil, and dug his bare heels into his mount's side. But the creature had not finished drinking, and would not move.

Phil hauled its head up. It grunted angrily, swung its long neck round viciously, and tried to bite. Phil was frantic. Carney was coming up hand over fist. In another minute he would be within pistol-shot.

He struck the brute with all his might, he reviled it in fluent Egyptian, and at last forced it out of the pool, and by main force drove it back into the track.

But the mischief was done. Carney was so close that Phil, looking back over his shoulder, could see his enemy's face, set and savage. In spite, of the heat, he felt a chill shiver all down his spine. The game was up. Unless a miracle occurred there was no longer any hope for him.

CHAPTER 9.
Alone in the Desert.

IT was not a miracle which gave Phil a breathing space; it was the most natural thing in the world, only one that he had not happened to think of.

An outburst of savage oaths, a sound of thudding blows, made him look round once more, and there was the white dromedary in the pool. Like his mount, the creature had flatly refused to pass the water without a drink.

Carney, already simmering with sullen rage, had lost his temper completely, and, having failed to hold the camel's head out of the water, was now flogging the unfortunate brute with all the strength of his powerful arm.

It didn't do an atom of good. Of all the perverse brutes that breathe there is nothing to match the camel. Not even the mule can hold a candle to it. The white dromedary kept its head down, and sucked up the muddy fluid in great gulps. If Phil had not been so worn, so desperately anxious, he could have laughed outright.

But, though this chance had given him a fresh start, he was not deceiving himself. His beast was nearly done, and, though he might get another four or five miles out of it, that would be about the limit.

The dromedary, on the other hand, was good to go all day, and the delay only meant a respite of half an hour or so. Unless he could find help or shelter he was bound to be caught sooner or later.

And where in all this great, dreary, dazzling desert was he to find either help or a hiding-place?

Once more he strained his eyes towards the west, wondering if there was a chance, or the shadow of a chance, of reaching T'zin before his pursuers.

What about that clump of palms which he fancied he had caught sight of in the distance?

Ah, there it was! But no, it was not a clump of palms. It had grown larger. It was a black pillar reaching from earth to sky, a terrifying giant which stalked across the waste.

Phil drew a quick breath. For the moment even Carney faded from his thoughts. For now he knew that he was betwixt two perils, and that the one in front was at least as terrible as that behind.

It was not the first time that Phil had met a dust-storm. But, before, he had been within reach of cover. Even then the experience had been terrible enough to make him remember it with shrinking dread. Now he had no cover, and he was absolutely aware that if the storm struck him the result would be a death compared with which Carney's bullet was a merciful end. Smothered in the burning coils of sand, he would be slowly suffocated, and probably buried alive.

The storm was approaching. Every moment the towering columns grew darker and blacker, and loomed more lofty and threatening. Such a storm is a whirlwind similar to the tornado of the western plains. The force of the wind within its radius is incredible. It picks up rocks or wrenches palms from the ground with equal ease. A simoon has been known to plough through a caravan and lift horses and camels and their riders, and sweep them away as though they were feathers.

There was no shelter in sight, and Phil realised that he must take his chance. If the storm struck him, he died; if it missed him, there was still a chance. Looking back, he saw that Carney was still at the well. His Egyptian companion had joined him, and was pointing to the threatening column of sand. Quite clearly he was urging Carney to stay where he was until the danger blew over.

The sky was darkening. The sunlight had assumed an ugly yellow tinge. The heat was worse than ever, and, although by this time he could plainly hear the roar of the central swirl—a sound, deep, sullen, and inexpressibly menacing—yet around him the air remained perfectly still.

His heart thumped against his ribs as he watched the mighty column stalking across the desert. At the bottom it seemed to be no more than a hundred yards in diameter. Higher up it was narrower, but at the top it broadened out into a monstrous hulk winch hid a quarter of the sky. Beneath, it was blue-black in colour, but above, yellow, like the worst brand of London fog.

It did not travel in a straight line, but swirled this way and that, yet its course was towards the well, and the longer Phil watched it, the more certain he became that he was bound to meet it. He did not pause. It was Fate. He could do nothing to help himself.

Nearer it came, and nearer. Now he could feel the air about him moving in quick gusts. They were hot as the breath from a furnace door. He gasped for breath. The camel's pace dropped to a shambling walk. The poor brute was terrified.

The roar increased. It was like the sound of an express train driving through a tunnel. The sky was darkened, and the sand began to lift all around him. Phil saw that another five minutes would decide his fate one way or another. He stopped his beast, made it kneel, and slipped off its back. Unbuckling the saddle, he took the pad cloth from underneath, and hung it over the animal's head. For himself, he slipped off the robe-like Egyptian tunic which he was wearing. Then he lay down alongside the camel, holding on to its head-rope, and covered his own head.

Those next few moments were as bad as any that Phil had ever known in his whole life. To the best of his belief, he lay right in the path of the storm.

The roar became deafening, the wind so strong that he was forced to hold his tunic tightly or it would have been whipped clean away; the whole air was full of fine sand, while the heat was beyond belief. His body seemed to be burning and shrivelling. But worst of all was the impossibility of getting a full breath. The air which he drew into his lungs seemed to scorch them. He was suffocating.

Phil lost all sense of the passage of time. He was, in fact, almost insensible. All he was conscious of was the appalling heat of the simoon and the desperate difficulty of breathing. As for Carney, the man had passed completely out of his memory.

There was a great weight upon his body. It was crushing him. He made a last effort, and struggled free. At the same time, he tore the covering from his head. He found that he was almost buried in sand, but the weight was that of the camel's neck and head. The poor brute, in its agony, had rolled over almost on him.

He staggered to his feet. He could breathe now. He could still hear the roaring, but now it was not so loud, and was growing more and more faint every moment.

Looking round, he saw the simoon away towards the east, and realised, with deep thankfulness, that the main body of the storm had missed him. How closely he could see by the huge furrow its passage had cut between himself and the well.

The air was still dark with smoke-like clouds of fine dust, but the heat was less blastingly hot, and he could breathe with comparative case.

He turned and looked at his camel. Like himself, the poor beast was reviving. Knowing that every minute was precious, he quickly buckled on the saddle again, and climbed on to it. He got the animal to its feet, and started off again.

Between himself and the well the air was still thick, and he could see nothing of Carney. Nor, of course, could Carney see him. It was a heaven-sent chance, and he vowed he would make good use of it.

Before the air cleared he was over the next rise, and again luck was good to him. Instead of deep sand, here was a wide area covered with gravel and stones. More than that, the bottom of the valley was cut by a "wadi" or mullah, an old and now dry watercourse, which ran in curves in both directions as far as eye could see.

Here was his chance. Phil saw that in a flash. Instead of going straight on, he would turn up or down the wadi. On the hard surface his camel's feet would leave no track, and the chances were that Carney would take it for granted that he had gone straight on to the oasis, and would never suspect his ruse.

The ravine was fairly broad, but in places quite deep. Reaching it, Phil looked to left and right. The right appeared to be the deepest and most winding. He turned his camel up it, and travelled steadily for about half a mile. Then, finding a deep hollow, he left his beast there, and climbing up so as to get his head above the bank, waited.

By this time the whirlwind had quite passed. All he could see of it was a blue-black blot far to the south-east. But of Carney there was no sign whatever. Time passed, still he did not appear, and a wild hope came to Phil that, perhaps, the storm had caught and destroyed him. It was too good, Phil felt, to be true, but if only it was true, what a difference it would make to his future.

The heat was cruel, for the sun was blazing down with all its former power and it was now nearly midday. Phil was thirsty again, and knew there was no water nearer than the well. What was worse, he was growing faint with hunger.

A full hour went by, and still no sign of Carney. Phil decided to climb to higher ground from which he could get a better view. There were some stony mounds a few hundred yards away, and, having first made sure that his camel was well picketed, he went off cautiously up the nullah, and, getting round to the back of the highest of these hills, climbed up.

It was fifty or sixty feet above the level of the rest of the rolling desert, and as he cautiously raised his head, the very first thing he saw was two men on camels, moving steadily along the trail he had left.

It was a sad disappointment, but it was no use grousing. At any rate, he was safe for the time. He raised himself again quietly, and got a good look at them. He saw that Carney was looking hard at the ground, and presently the man turned and spoke to his native companion.

"Looking for my tracks," said Phil to himself. "Well, they won't find 'em very easily."

He was right. The precious pair passed on, they crossed the nullah, climbed up the far side, and went straight on in a westerly direction.

"All right for the time being," said Phil, much relieved. "The next question is, which way am I to go?"

This was a real problem. If he went on towards the oasis, he was certain to run into Carney sooner or later; on the other hand, if he turned straight back to his starting-point, he could not depend on the natives there. The chances were that Carney had left orders that he was to be caught and held. Besides, there was always the chance that Carney, not finding anyone at T'zin, would come straight back.

Phil thought hard for three, or four minutes. Then quite suddenly he made up his mind.

"I won't do either," he said aloud. "I'll cut across to the north-east, and strike the river twenty miles above the landing. I can surely find some place to hide until the boat comes with the rest of the party."

Once he had come to his decision it, did not take him long to get back to his camel. He mounted and rode away. But first he decided to go back to the well and get some more water. He needed it pretty badly. Besides, there was a water-bag on the saddle which he had not had time to fill during his first visit.

There was nothing in sight when he got back to the well. He drank, filled his skin bag, let the camel drink again, and, taking his direction by the sun, rode away.

By this time he was fairly aching with hunger, and feeling uncomfortably weak. But the water had done him good, and he hoped to make the river and the villages by night.

He got on well enough for a couple of hours. Then the country began to change. The Sahara is not all desert by any means, and what Phil struck was a desert of stones and rocks, where his camel could no longer travel at anything better than a walk.

He kept on, hoping for better ground, but the farther he travelled the worse it grew. It was hilly, too, and he had to painfully climb ridge after ridge of bare rock. His camel's feet began to suffer, and the poor brute stumbled badly.

The sun set and dusk is short in the desert. Darkness caught him on ground so bad he dared not try to ride across it. For a while he kept on slowly. Then the camel slipped, and as near as possible shot Phil out of the saddle. There was no help for it. He dismounted, and stood looking up at the brilliant stars, cursing his luck, and wondering what he was going to do next.

One thing was sure. The camel was nearly done for, and must have food. Otherwise, it could never travel next day. A camel, like a goat, can eat almost anything, and there was a certain amount of thorny scrub in these dry valleys. He stumbled on till he found a patch, and picketed the poor beast there.

Then he began to search for some sort of shelter for himself. Starved as he was he knew he could not stand the chill of the desert night without cover. He took the saddle-blanket from the camel's back, and began searching about in the starlight for some hole into which he might creep.

This took a long time to find, but he got it at last. It was a mere crack in a hillside, just big enough to wedge himself into. Wrapping himself in the blanket he lay down to sleep.

It is poor work trying to sleep when you are really hungry, and Phil was just at that stage when the ache was worst. It seemed to him that he lay for hours before he at last dozed off. Then his dreams were of beef-steaks—big steaks, grilled and juicy of large loaves of fresh bread, of every sort of food which could tantalise his aching appetite.

He woke hungrier than ever, bitterly cold, and very weak, and crawled out of his refuge to see the pink dawn of another day staining the eastern sky.

His first glance was towards the spot where he had left his camel. He could not see it. He rubbed his eyes and stared again, but there was no sign of it.

As fast as his stiff legs would let him, he hurried to the spot, only to find that the creature had broken its worn picket-rope and departed.

With sinking heart, Phil climbed the nearest hill, hoping to see it somewhere in the neighbourhood.

He could see nothing. Nothing but a vast expanse of arid rock and sand, and a great red sun heaving itself over the raw edge of the eastern horizon.

It was too much. His legs gave under him, and down he dropped upon the bare summit of the little hill, and crouched there.

"Hard luck" was all he said, but life soul was bitter within him to think that he should have escaped the perils of the previous day only to come to this.

For Phil knew the desert too well to cherish false hopes. In his present state he could walk a mile, perhaps two—no more. But the river was twenty or more miles away.

CHAPTER 10.
The Last Gasp.

THE sun swung higher, and its welcome warmth put a little life into Phil's chilled and starved body.

He rose wearily and plodded on. The heat was already great, and increasing every minute. Phil was almost beyond thinking. Every step was an agony, and he was beginning to stumble as he went. Once, when he looked up, he saw three black dots in the blue overhead.

In the distance he saw what seemed to be a rock. There would perhaps be a little shade beneath it. He determined, if possible, to reach it before his strength gave out altogether.

By the time his senses were beginning to fail. Queer pictures drifted before his aching eyes. There were noises, too, in his ears. These seemed to increase and blend in a deep hum like that of a motor-engine. The sound grew louder.

"I'm going mad, I suppose," said Phil hopelessly. And just then his foot struck a stone, he stumbled, and fell full on his face in the sand.

He tried to get up, but could not, so was forced to lie where he was, with the sun's rays beating down fiercely upon his back and head.

And still that humming was in his ears, only now it had become a rattle, like a stick run rapidly along a line of palings.

"I can't be imagining that," said Phil thickly; and, with a great effort, got to his knees and looked round.

What he saw brought him leaping to his feet, shrieking like a mad thing. It was a great biplane, rushing through the hot air, barely a thousand feet overhead.

Phil went mad. He tore off his shirt, and waved it wildly. He ran—actually ran—in the direction from which the plane was coming. He shouted till his voice cracked.

The 'plane kept on, and suddenly the uselessness of it all came over Phil. They could not hear, and ten to one they had not even seen him. A sob burst from his throat, the strength went out of him, and he collapsed, insensible, upon the blazing sand.

* * * * *

"IT'S no use, Preston, The poor little beggar's done in! What beats me is, how in the name of sense a white boy came here, in the middle of the desert!"

The words came dimly, as from a great distance, to Phil's ears. He made an effort to move, but his body was like lead.

"Wait a jiffy, sir!" came another voice, quick and eager. "He's not dead yet. I saw his eyelids quiver. Try the water again!"

Phil felt the neck of a flask pushed between his lips, and fresh water, deliciously cool, gurgled into his mouth. He was suddenly able to open his throat and swallow.

"There, I told you so, sir!" said the last speaker, in triumph. "He's worth a dozen dead 'uns!"

Phil managed to open his eyes, and found himself lying under the grateful shade of the wings of the big 'plane which was resting gracefully on the sand. Two men stood over him, both wearing flying-overalls and caps, and with goggles pushed up over their foreheads. They were both young, while one was tall, thin, and hawk-faced, the other, the one who had just spoken, was a little, square-shouldered fellow, with brown checks and a cheery grin. Up inside the closed cabin of the 'piano a third man was busy over something.

A head was thrust out. The face was that of an older man, with keen, grey eyes and bald head.

"Give him a little brandy-and-water, MacLeod," he said. "I'm making some bread-and-milk."

"Gad, the poor kid's been up against it," said MacLeod, in a low voice, to the little man. Then he put a cup to Phil's lips. "You take a drop of this, my son," he said. "The professor knows what's good for you."

It was brandy-and-water, and it put new life into Phil. The boy was tough as shoe-leather, and the rate at which he recovered was startling.

The professor himself climbed down, with the bread-and-milk, and to this day Phil vows it was the finest meal he ever had in his life. By the time he had finished it he was able to sit up and talk in his natural voice.

Phil vowed that he was able to get up the ladder without help, but MacLeod, with a laugh, picked him up bodily, and next minute Phil found himself lying in a comfortable chair inside a delightful little cabin.

MacLeod nodded, and got into the pilot's seat. The little man, whose name was Preston, stood by the tractor.

Preston scrambled aboard, and Phil felt the 'plane beginning to move across the sand.

Luckily, the surface was firm enough for her rubber-shod wheels, and at once she gained speed. Before Phil realised it, the bumping ceased, and she was in the air.

It was a marvellous thing to him to see the yellow desert apparently dropping away beneath them, while the granite ridges over which he had toiled with such misery flattened out. Higher they went and higher, and suddenly the river was in sight—miles upon miles of winding blue, shimmering under the flaring sun.

He sat, with his face glued against the window, forgetful of anything else, and it was quite a shock to him when he heard a voice in his ear.

"Splendid, sir! I never thought I should have the luck to fly. And I haven't thanked you yet, sir. If you hadn't come down after me I should have been dead by now."

Voice and look were both so kind that Phil felt if would be churlish to refuse. So while the 'plane roared through the sunlit air he gave his new friend the story of the past few days.

"Upon my word," he said, "you have had the most miraculous escapes! This fellow Carney must be a blackguard of a somewhat unusual type, What are you going to do about him—inform the police?"

"I'm afraid that wouldn't be much good, sir. I don't suppose there are any police-barracks in the oasis of T'zin."

"I'm afraid not," agreed the other, with a smile. "So it's T'zin where your kinema company is going to shoot this film. It's a very beautiful place. I have been there once."

"Good heavens! I knew him well, years ago, in England. A brilliantly clever man. I heard of his explorations in Southern Egypt, and was grieved to learn of his death. I suppose there is no doubt that he was killed?"

"I'm afraid not, sir." Phil's voice shook a little. "No one has heard a word of him since he went down there nearly two years ago. It's supposed that the Touaregs raided the party."

The professor nodded gravely, and for a white neither spoke. Phil, looking out, saw that they were flying parallel with the river, heading due south.

"We are on our way from Cairo to the Cape. This is a scientific expedition, and I am to make notes on the volcanoes and geology of the route. Our next stopping place is Khem, some fifty miles south of this."

"Very good. You should be safe enough with them. Tell me, do you think this man Carney has any real idea where to find this Lost Pyramid?"

"I think he knows something, sir, though from what he said to me that night in the hut by the river I don't think it's a lot."

"I had to let on that I knew more than I really do. As a matter of fact, all I know is that the place is somewhere on the north side of the oasis. I remember my father saying that."

"I myself have heard rumours when I was in T'zin," said the professor. "There was an Arab, named Ismail, who said he knew where to find it. But he was a bad lot, and, since he demanded five hundred pounds down as the price of showing me the place, I took him for a blackmailer, and told him to go about his business. He is undoubtedly a dangerous man, and you had better warn Mr. Fosdyke against him."

"If he and the Carneys get together we shall have our hands full," he remarked. "But thanks for the warning, sir."

"Yes; here is Khem. You forget that we have been travelling at seventy miles an hour."

"I only wish I could have had a bit more of it, sir!" said Phil, with a sigh. "I never enjoyed anything so much in my life! And it's no use my trying to tell you how grateful I am to you."

"Then don't," said the professor. "But you can prove it by writing and telling me how you get on. Before we leave I'll give you my card."

At that moment MacLeod cut out the engine, and, silently as a homing pigeon, the big 'plane went gliding down to her resting-place, close to the village of Khem.

CHAPTER 11.
The Black Arab.

"'TIS lies the fellow's been telling!" said Les O'Hara, in a fierce whisper. "Sure, it's lies he tells always; but these is the worst. 'Tis certain I am, in the soul o' me, that Paul Carney knows were Phil is!"

It was to Reggie Dacre that Les was speaking. The two were together on the deck of the big river-boat, which had arrived at Kerouan just before dark, and was how tied up to the landing. They were sitting in the stern of the boat. The night air was very still, but deliciously cool, and the big stars were reflected in the calm water of the wide river.

Reggie, who looked spick-and-span in spotless white drill and white buckskin shoes, drew a mouthful of smoke from his cigarette and puffed it slowly through his nostrils.

"I—ah—quite agree with you, O'Hara, that Carney junior is incapable of speaking the truth. But as to his having any particular knowledge of young Fernie, what makes you think that this is the case? To me it seems more likely that Fernie, having discovered that Carneys were coming by train, remained behind in Cairo, and means to follow us at the first opportunity."

"Stay behind, is it?" returned Les, with great disdain. "Sure, ye don't know Phil or ye wouldn't be talking that way. Besides, how would he follow? Did ye give him enough to pay his fare thus far?"

"It wouldn't run to that, my son. But a chap like Fernie would stow himself away."

"That's just what I'm thinking he did, and came down with Carney and the camels. And some way they've found him, and—and—" He broke off short. "Bejabers, if they've killed him, I'll see the both of them swing!" he cried.

Les jumped a foot into the air. Even Reggie dropped his cigarette and gasped audibly.

A slim figure came lightly over the rail, and Les stared as if he could not believe his eyes.

"Softly, old chap!" said Phil warningly. "That beggar, Paul, is drifting about on shore there. I don't want him to know I'm still in the land of the living, let alone in Kerouan. Let's go to some place where we can talk without being overheard."

"Come down to my cabin," suggested Reggie. "It's a bit of a doghole, but we'll be safe from Paul, anyway."

The cabin was small, but comfy. Reggie sat on his bed, Les on the floor, and Phil in the one chair. Then, without waiting for questions, Phil told them all that had happened since the time they had parted at Pastor's Hotel.

"I was in luck at Khem," he ended. "Got a boat right away, and reached here early this morning. I've been lying doggo ever since, waiting for you people to turn up. Yon see, I didn't want to let Paul know I was still on deck."

"It was a bit of a temptation, I'll admit," grinned Phil. "But it was worth it. The one thing we've got to do is to keep the Carneys in the dark. My notion is to let them go on thinking they've outed me, and that they've got it all their own way about the treasure. Then we can follow them, and see where they go!"

"Let them do the work, and we collar the swag. Quite so, young Fernie," said Reggie. "But see here, my son. I've got to learn that they know where this lonely mausoleum hides itself."

"They don't," Phil answered; "but they will. You can bet your life they'll get hold of this chap, Ismail, that the professor talked about. He's the chap that knows where the swag is."

"Scared," explained Phil briefly. "They're a superstitious lot, and though a chap like that wouldn't mind handling Carney's money, or ours, to show the place, you simply couldn't pay him to break into the tomb himself. He'd think bogies would get him."

"I don't want a million. I want enough money to go to school and to college, and to start me as a doctor," he said quietly. "All I bargain is that if we do find the tomb we don't meddle with the coffin."

"I agree with you there, Fernie," said Reggie. "And now we've got to settle our plans. I'm with you so far as keeping the Carneys in the dark, but it wouldn't be straight goods to keep it all from Joe. Besides, there's no way of getting you to T'zin, Fernie, without the old boy knowing it."

"We can't be telling him. 'Tis not safe. Sure, ye know the temper of him. He'd fly out like a rocket, and—"

There was a tap at the door. Before Reggie could answer it opened, and in came Joe Fosdyke himself.

"Dacre, I came to tell you you'd best turn in early. The guide says we start at sunrise—"

"You here, Fernie?" he said sharply. "Why are you not with Carney at the oasis? My orders were that you went with the white dromedary. What do you mean by not obeying them?"

"Don't get excited, Joe. Come in and shut the door. That's right! Now sit here beside me. Fernie, I'm going to put him wise. It's the only thing to do."

When Reggie wanted to, he could talk as quickly and as much to the point as the next man, and Joe sat breathless as he listened to the tale of the Carneys' two attempts on Phil's life.

His big face got redder and redder, and almost before Reggie had finished he was on his feet.

"The infernal scoundrels!" he roared. "I'll gaol the two of 'em! I'll teach them!"

"What did I tell ye?" cut in Les bitterly. "The fat's in the fire now, and no mistake!"

"Go slow, Joe," he said softly. "They don't keep gaols in these parts, and if you send 'em back to Cairo, we've all got to go, too, as witnesses. And where's your company then? Sit down again, take a breath, and listen."

"Treasure!" he snorted. "Lost Pyramids! Never heard such bosh! This ain't any treasure-seeking syndicate. I don't pay you fellows for any truck of that sort. We're going to T'zin to do this film, and not to monkey after treasure, and don't you forget it!"

"I don't forget it, and, as ye all know that's our job. Still, we sha'n't be playing all day and night, and these youngsters are not playing at all. You can't object to their putting in their spare time keeping an eye on Carney."

"And you, too, I suppose," retorted Joe. "And just when you're wanted we'll be hunting for your dead body somewhere among the ruins.

"No, Reggie," he said, and now there was no doubt he meant every word of what he said. "I tell you straight, I'll have none of this monkey business. You've signed a contract, and I keep you to it."

"Right you are, Joe, I'll obey orders. But its different with Fernie here. His father lost his life trying for the treasure, and you must admit he's got some claim to it."

"I'm not denying it," replied Joe. "All I say is, he's not going fooling after it so long as he's in my pay. After the film's finished he can do as he pleases."

"And meantime the Carneys will have walked with the lot," said Reggie rather bitterly.

"They won't. You can take your oath on that. I'll take mighty good care they're kept so busy they won't have time for any truck of that sort. And as soon as the job's done I'll fire 'em both."

"See here, Joe. You can see for yourself that it's all important that the Carneys sha'n't know that Fernie here is with our outfit. They think him dead, and so long as they go on thinking it they won't be in any rush. Can you fix that for him?"

"How the mischief do you think we can do a thing like that? They know him, both of 'em. And I can't keep 'em separate."

"You could send Paul on to-night, or let Fernie follow after the rest of us to-morrow."

"I don't see what good it will do," growled Joe. "They're bound to meet as soon as they get to the camp."

"Try being a nigger this time," suggested Reggie. "We can make you up properly with stuff that won't wash off and a woolly wig."

"It's foolishness." snapped Joe. "Sooner or later they'll see through it. Still, so far as I'm concerned you can try it. Good-night!"

CHAPTER 12.
Robbery.

THE flap of Reggie Dacre's tent was lifted, and a head peered round the corner—a head as black as any sweep's, with a crown of short and tightly curling wool.

"Yes, come in, Phil," was the answer, as Reggie looked up from the part which he was studying.

"The whites of your eyes and your teeth show up just like a nigger's. 'Pon my Sam, I don't wonder you've managed to humbug Carney and son!"

"Oh, they'll never spot me!" said Phil scornfully. "They'd never have done it before if the paint hadn't washed off. But what's the use? They're on the track already, and Joe won't let me do anything to stop them."

"Enough to know that Carney has promised him five hundred pounds English money to show him the pyramid."

"Ask me another!" said Phil, who seemed really upset. "I suppose he must have it, for Ismail isn't the sort to take promises—not from Carney, anyhow."

"No," said Reggie thoughtfully; and at that moment there was a sound of quick footsteps outside.

Phil had already dived for cover. He was well hidden when the flap lifted again, and in strode Joe Fosdyke. His usually ruddy face was pale and drawn. So changed was his appearance that Reggie, forgetting life usual perfect manners, stood staring at him blankly.

"I've been robbed, Reggie!" said the big man hoarsely. "Someone's got at the safe and taken every quid!"

"Matter of nearly two thousand pounds! You see, I had to carry cash for the pay-roll. Reggie, I don't mind telling you I'm done! This job has cost me more than I ever reckoned, and I've been running it close. I dipped myself deep to raise the cash for the business, because I was sure I'd get it back ten times over. Now—well, I am at the end of my resources. I can't carry on. I'm finished!"

"Sit down, old man," said Reggie quietly, and pushed Fosdyke gently into the chair.

"When I went to my tent after supper to-night. The safe—it's only a small thing—was under my cot. I went to it to get my chequebook. Then I found that it had been forced."

"Oh, I know!" Joe answered bitterly. "But our natives couldn't tackle it. If small, it was solid, and it took skilled work to burst it. Then it was too heavy to carry away. Besides, to tell you the truth, I never dreamed of anyone trying such a thing in the daytime—and that's when it was done. It was all right this morning."

"Then it was robbed while we were doing that scene this afternoon by the lake," said Reggie.

"Must have been—though, with people about all the time, I can't imagine how anyone got in unseen."

"There were none of us about. We were all either in the show or looking on. And you were using most of the natives, too. It was the scene, remember, where the witch makes her second attempt to stop the party from entering the oasis. Seems to me, it was just chance the thief was looking for."

"Was he? Are you sure it was Carney? All those supers were either Gyppies or else dressed in native costume."

"You're right! I didn't notice particularly. I was watching Zelie, and not paying much attention to the supers."

"Dare! Of course he would! A man who doesn't blink at murder would not think twice of a mere burglary. Besides—"

"Why didn't I sack him? Why ever was I such a fool as to keep the fellow on? I wanted to get rid of him when young Fernie told me his story back at Kerouan, and you persuaded me against my better judgment."

"Steady, Joe! That's hardly fair. You couldn't sack him then, for he was already at the oasis. And you couldn't have sacked him when we got here without telling him the reason. And if you'd done that he'd still have robbed you."

"Just what I say—or, rather, was going to say, when you interrupted me. You see, I know why Carney wanted the money."

"All right! The fact is this. Carney needed the money in order to bribe an Arab to show him where this treasure is to be found."

"It strikes me," said Reggie coolly, "that just now you'd be very glad to hear the first of it! It seems to me that the one chance of putting you on your legs again is to find the Lost Pyramid—or, rather, let us find it, and to hand you over a sufficient sum from the proceeds to put you on your legs again."

"I've not come down to that sort of foolishness yet!" he exclaimed angrily. "It's Carney has robbed me, and its from Carney I'll get my money back! I'll go and tackle him this—"

The flap of the tent was flung aside, Les O'Hara darted in. He paid no attention to Joe.

"To tell him Luke Carney's gone! He and Paul, both, and that big black Arab with them. Didn't I watch the three of them slippin' out o' the camp, silent as three thaves?"

For a moment after Les O'Hara's sudden announcement there was dead silence in the tent. Joe Fosdyke and Reggie Dacre stared at the boy in utter dismay.

"Come on, Dacre!" he roared. "Get a gun and come on. By the Lord Harry, we'll stop this game!"

The voice came from the corner, and Joe, swinging round, beheld a small, black-faced, curly-headed nigger. He stared in absolute amazement. For the moment he had quite forgotten Phil Fernie's disguise. Indeed, he had forgotten his very existence.

"Follow them!" said Phil. "Les and I can track men without their spotting us. That's more than you can do, Mr. Fosdyke."

"And arrest them, and bring them back, I suppose?" he sneered. "Don't talk nonsense, boy!"

"If you go after them you'll never see them at all, Mr. Fosdyke. An Arab like this fellow, Ismail, is too smart to allow himself to be tracked by white men."

"You forget I've had a good lot of experience of them," replied Phil quietly. "I know the ways of them, and Les, here, knows the direction they've gone in. Please let us try it. I give you my word it's the best chance of getting back the money of which Carney has robbed you."

"The boy's right, Joe. He's far less likely to mull it than you and I. Oh, yes, I know you're mad to get your own back on Carney, but this business is a bit too serious to risk taking chances. You'd best let there lads go."

"If we don't start soon we'll never see them at all," said Les sharply. "And it's only myself that knows which way they've gone."

Reggie gave him a quick look, and Joe realised that his permission had not been particularly gracious.

"Do your best," he added. "Never mind this infernal treasure, but if you can get back the money of which Carney has robbed me, you can take it that I sha'n't be niggardly. I'll see to it that you two are well rewarded."

"No, sir, thank you! It is not going to come to shooting. If it did, we should probably get the worst of it. Our game is to trail them, and find out what they're up to. If we can overhear them talking, the chances are that we shall hear something of where the money is hidden."

A crescent moon was within a couple of hours of setting. The white light fell upon the tents dotted among the palm trees, on the calm surface of the lovely lake, and on the rugged ranges of hills lying to the north and south of this exquisite valley in the desert.

"This way, Phil!" whispered Les, and started off sharply in a northerly direction. Not a word was spoken as they crossed the grassy ground, which sloped gently upwards through the palm grove. Soon they were on the edge of the open ground, and here Les stopped. "'Twas under that tree I saw them," he whispered, "and that black beggar, Ismail, was pointing up to those hills there."

The moon gave light enough to see the three pairs of footsteps, which led straight away in the direction of the hills. Phil stopped, and took a long look towards the steep, lone ridges which rose out of the sandy plain.

"Can't see a sign of them, Les. But it would be awkward if they spotted us crossing the open."

"Sure, we'll have to chance it. I'm thinking they're away in the hills by this time."

Phil nodded, and they started. Soon they found that the ground was not nearly so level as they had fancied. The desert is always deceptive, and the moonlight made it more so. They were soon passing over waves of hard sand, with gullies between. It was along the bed of one of the deeper gullies that the tracks led.

Once in this they were fairly safe from being seen, and could quicken their pace. The gully led them right up to the foot of the hills, which here rose, black and barren, straight up out of the sand.

"They didn't climb them. The tracks run to the left along the foot of the hills," said Phil, turning in that direction.

"I wonder where in sin they're going to?" grumbled Les. "Them ancient chaps never built pyramids in the mountains—not as I've heard."

"No; there were no pyramids in the mountains, Les. I'll allow this is a bit puzzling."

For some distance the trail led close along the base of the towering crags. Then, without the slightest warning, the two boys found themselves at the month of a monstrous fissure, a ravine which cleft the cliffs as though by a stroke of a giant's axe.

The entrance of the place was not more than twenty yards in width, and on either side the black rocks towered skyward, stern and forbidding.

The wind had drifted a certain amount of sand into the opening, and on the yellow surface the three pairs of footprints showed clearly enough.

A few steps, and they were in deep shadow. The lofty walls cut off the moonlight, and though, up above, the silver gleam fell softly on the higher part of the cliffs, the bottom of the gorge was almost as dark as a tunnel.

Low as his voice was, the cliffs walls caught it and sent ghostly whispers creeping up the sides.

"Be careful!" he said, under his breath. "They'll hear us if you don't look out. We've got to go straight ahead. As you said just now, a squirrel couldn't climb these cliffs. And tread lightly. These echoes will give us away if we make the slightest sound."

Les merely nodded, and, with Phil leading the way, the pair passed on up the ravine. The sand gave place to rock, and the place widened a little. The bottom was littered with crags fallen from above. They moved cautiously in and out and out among them, every sense alert.

Without warning the stillness was broken by a diabolical laugh—a perfectly fiendish sound, which echoed up and down the ravine like the cry of a lost soul. Both pulled up short and stood like statues, their hearts thumping, and the breath pumping from their lungs.

"A hyena, ye say? Sure, I thought it was ould Nicholas himself. It made the blood fair freeze in my veins."

Again they went on. The gorge still widened, and the moonlight shone brightly on the upper parts of the cliff. Phil stopped once more and pointed.

"Les, there's the end of it. And look! Those black marks are the mouths of caves."

"Caves, is it? Why, there are scores of them! 'Tis like a honeycomb the cliff is."

"Tell you what we've struck, Les. This is one or those hermit colonies. You find them here and there in the East, though I didn't know there were any so far south as this. Fourteen or fifteen hundred years ago each one of those caves was occupied by a holy man. They were rather like the Indian fakirs. Didn't speak, and each kept to himself, lived on next to nothing, and stayed there till he died."

"Faith, it wouldn't take me long to die, living in a rabbit burrow like that!" replied the irrepressible Les. "But ye don't think Carney's tired of his sins, and going to do the same thrick?"

"Hardly! But, don't you see, here's the very spot for him to hide his stolen money, and perhaps to hide himself until Ismail can show him the treasure."

"That's good sense. But what I'm asking ye is which one of all them hundreds of caves we're to find him in?"

"There you've got me. All I can suggest is that we hide ourselves and watch, and—"

Sure enough, he was right. The curious echoes of this strange ravine were bringing to their ears a sound of low voices. The question was where they came from, for, as in the whispering gallery at St. Paul's, the sound seemed to arrive from both sides at once.

Quiet as two rock-rabbits, the boys crouched behind their boulder, breathlessly listening, and looking this way and that in the hope of getting a glimpse of the Carneys.

The maddening part of it was that, while the voices seemed to come from quite close at hand, the boys could not distinguish a single word of what was being said.

Minutes passed. Still the queer, echoing whispers went on and on, yet, to save their lives, the boys could not imagine where their enemies were. Phil was getting cramp in his legs from keeping still so long, when, all of a sudden, a fresh sound made him jump nearly out of his skin.

This was a sharp crack, so sharp that it took him a second or two to realise that it was made by a stone falling from a point almost exactly overhead and to the right-hand side. Peering up, he distinctly saw dark figures moving along a ledge high above.

He not only saw, but heard them. So did Les, and pointed eagerly. Phil nodded, and signalled to him to wait.

The three figures moved steadily along the ledge towards the inner end of the ravine. Reaching this, they were in the moon light and in plain view, and Phil saw that they were the two Carneys and an Arab.

"Ye are right, Phil," said Les. "'Tis a cave they're looking for. Begob, they've found it! Watch them!"

Sure enough, the three, with the Arab leading, entered the mouth of one of the numerous caves. Phil waited no longer, but rose quickly.

CHAPTER 13.
Trapped.

"QUIETLY, Les!" muttered Phil. "For goodness' sake don't stumble or kick a stone over!"

The two were now on the ledge along which they had seen the others pass. The way up, once they had found it, had been easy enough. The steps cut in the living rock by hands long since dust were almost as good as the day they had been made. The ledge, too, was fairly broad and smooth. The danger was that it was littered with fragments of stone broken away, in the course of ages, from the sharp pinnacles above. Through these the boys had to pick their way. Both knew that to knock one over into the depths below would be fatal to their plans.

Both knew, too, if that they were running the most appalling risk. Suppose that their three enemies came back out of their cave, they themselves were bound to be seen. They would simply have to run for their lives, and neither had much doubt what that meant.

Almost Phil was sorry that he had taken each a tremendous risk. His one hope was to reach the spot where the path turned sharp to the left, across the face of the end of the gorge. Once they had done that without being spotted, they were fairly safe, for there were dozens of caves in which they could take refuge.

Phil's heart was in his mouth. His eyes were fixed upon the mouth of the black hole into which his enemies had disappeared. He hurried all he dared, but it was flatly impossible to go fast, for the ledge was like a new metaled road, with stones great and small.

But nothing happened, and at last he and Les turned the corner, and found themselves opposite a row of caves set as close together as doors in a street. All seemed to be about the same size—all, that is, except the one which the Carneys had entered. That looked larger.

Les stopped, and, stepping inside the mouth of the first cave, beckoned Phil to follow.

"We must get after them," replied Phil at once. "Les, I'm puzzled to death to know what they're after. You see, they have picked on one particular cave. They must be after something that's in it. I'll lay all you like on that."

"Ye don't think the treasure's in the cave, Phil? As ye said yourself, there's nothing like a pyramid here."

"That's true. At first I thought they'd come here either to hide the money Carney has bagged from Joe, or else to talk over their plans. But if you watched, you'd have noticed it was Ismail led them to this particular cave, not Luke Carney. And if they'd merely wanted to talk there are heaps of caves like this one, without going so far along the ledge."

"I'm bound to find out what they're after. I've a sort of notion that everything hangs on it. Besides, there's Joe to think of. He's been awfully decent to me, and we've simply got to get him out of this fix. It's ruin to him if he doesn't get back his money. He can't pay the salaries of the company or the wages of the Gyppies or anything. And I'll tell you another thing, Les, that I wouldn't say to him. If he doesn't pay the natives, ten to one they'll turn crusty and clear out with everything they can lay their hands on. Then we shall be in the soup, and no mistake."

The ledge was broader here, and there were not so many stones. On the other hand, the path was brightly lit by the rays of the low moon. Phil kept close to the rock wall, ready to dodge into the nearest cave at a moment's notice.

There was no sign of the enemy, and presently he and Les arrived at the mouth of the big cave.

A glance was enough to show that this one was quite different from the rest. The caves they had passed were mere dogholes; this was a tunnel high enough for a man to stand upright. The entrance was arched, the floor smooth. The ancient chisel-marks were as plainly visible in the rock as one the day—perhaps sixteen centuries earlier—when they had been cut.

Phil stopped on the near side, and cautiously poked his head round the angle of the entrance. For a moment or two he stood in breathless silence, then drew back and put his mouth close to Les' ear.

Phil nodded. It was true that the hollow echo was plainly audible outside. It sounded as though someone was knocking with a hammer on stone.

Phil listened a while. It seemed clear that he was right. But what on earth could they be at? Was it possible that the story of the pyramid was a mistake, and that the treasure of Queen Hatasu was, after all, hidden in this strange place? He burned with curiosity.

"I'm going in. You stay here and wait. If you hear steps, bunk into the mouth of the next cave."

"I'll not do it!" retorted Les indignantly, "I'm here to do the same as you, and don't you be forgetting it!"

He slipped into the cave. The hammering continued, but he could see nothing. Either the entrance passage was crooked, or else the Carneys and Ismail were in some side chamber.

He moved slowly forward, treading on tiptoe. As a matter of fact, there was not much fear of their being heard. The pounding was loud enough to drown other sounds.

Paul had an electric torch in his pocket, but of course dared not use it. To guide himself, he kept one hand on the right-hand wall of the tunnel. Les did the same.

"It is hard work, Effendi," said another voice, smoother and less harsh, yet with a dangerous quality, like that of a cat's purr.

Phil stopped again. It was odd that, though he could hear so plainly, he could not even see the light by which Carney's party must be working.

After a little pause the hammering began again. It was plain enough that the others were trying to cut a hole in a wall of some sort, but what their object could be, that was quite beyond guessing.

Thump, thump! came the sound of mallet on chisel. Phil could hear fragments of stone and mortar dropping away.

"The stone is loosening," came Ismail's voice again. "Hold the light higher, Effendi."

Phil noticed, subconsciously, not only that Ismail spoke good English, but that there was a touch of scorn in his tones. He gathered that the Arab had no very high opinion of the two Carneys. If the situation had not been so perilous, the knowledge would have made him smile.

Thump, thump! again. Phil leaned forward eagerly, expecting every moment to hear the stone fall. He was so keen that, for the moment, he had almost forgotten the danger in which he and Les stood.

"It's only the first stone," said Ismail. "I can put my arm through, but no more. It will be a long time yet before the hole is large enough for a man to pass through."

"Let's have a look," answered Paul. "Let's put the torch through and see what's in there!"

Now Phil could see a faint glow in the distance, but for the life of him could not make out exactly where the men were.

There was a moment's silence. Phil could tell that the light was moving. That was all. Suddenly Paul screamed. It was a high-pitched yell of infinite terror.

There was a clatter as of something dropped, a sharp tinkle of broken glass. Then Luke Carney himself yelled, and his panic was as bad as Paul's.

"A light—give us a light!" he screamed. Then, with a frantic oath: "It's come out! It hit me! Let me out! Let me out!"

Footsteps came thundering back up the passage. A light flashed into view, and Phil suddenly realised that he and Les had waited too long. They were trapped!

CHAPTER 14.
The Monk's Mummy.

PHIL turned to bolt. He felt, in the soul of him that it was no use. These others would be on top of them in five seconds.

"In here!" he hissed in Phil's ear. And Phil felt himself dragged back into the recess in the wall.

The place was barely a yard deep. As a hiding-place, it was the forlornest of forlorn hopes. Yet Phil realised that it was their only one, and he pressed himself tight against the back wall.

On the instant a figure came rushing blindly past. Then came a second carrying an electric torch. This was Luke Carney, and Phil caught one glimpse of his face as he tore by, and wondered at the drawn terror on it. Last came Ismail, a dark faced, thin-lipped Arab, with a big, high-arched nose and deep-set eyes. And he, Phil saw, was not a whit less frightened than the others.

Like a whirlwind they shot past, looking neither to right nor left, and in a moment were clear of the cave.

Phil waited no longer, but walked straight up the passage. For himself, he was almost too excited to feel really frightened. He had an advantage over Les in the fact that he had been in places of this sort before.

As he had expected, the main passage took a bend to the right. A dozen steps farther on and they were in utter darkness. The curve had cut off the moonlight that shone in at the mouth.

Groping with his hands, Phil found himself apparently at the mouth of another passage running sharp to the right. He stepped into it, then took out his torch and cautiously switched it on.

It was not a passage at all. The two were standing in a chamber carved in the solid rock. It was long, narrow, and the roof was arched. Curious carvings of saints and devils ornamenting the walls and roof were revealed in the white electric ray, but for these Phil had not a second glance. What at once took all his attention was the fact that the far end of the place was cut off by a wall of solid masonry made of squares of stone cemented together with a black mortar. One of these stones had been broken out, leaving a gap about nine inches square.

"It's a church, Les, or, rather, a chapel," he said eagerly. "The chancel has been walled off for some reason or other, and whatever those fellows are after lies behind that wall. My word, if we can only open it up! And, see, they've left their hammer and chisels on the floor."

"And how long would they be laving us to work?" returned Les scornfully. "'Tis a place we want where we can hide. Sure, that's mere use to us than all the hammers and chisels in the worrld."

Les' hard common sense brought Phil back to reality with a bump. If Carney & Co. returned and found the boys where they were, they would be in a trap with a vengeance. He flashed his light back swiftly to the west end of the rock chapel.

"There's a bit of a hollow back there," said Les swiftly, and hurried across towards it.

"Not much space in either of them," muttered Les. And, indeed, they were nothing but two little alcoves cut in the rock, each about four or five feet in depth.

"They'll have to do," said Phil. "Get into this one. There's less chance of the light falling into this side."

"What's the matter?" whispered Phil sharply, then as the light fell full into the rock-hollow, he, too, started back.

Erect against the wall, at the back of the recess, stood a figure, ghastly enough to scare the stoutest-hearted man alive. It was a monk in a long brown robe, and with a cowl over his head. Under the cowl was a dreadful yellow face, with empty sockets for eyes, and the yellow skin drawn tight over the high cheekbones.

For a matter of several seconds the two boys stood staring, horror-stricken at the apparition. It looked so lifelike that each instant they expected it to step forth from its niche.

"It's only a mummy," he said, in a shaky whisper. "It's all right, Les. It's been there hundreds of years!"

"Yes. Get in there, quick! They may be back any minute. You can just bet they've found out by now that what scared them was nothing but a bat."

But Phil had also heard the steps returning up the tunnel, and he switched his torch off in all haste. A pang of fright shot through him lest their enemies might have caught a glimpse of the light. He huddled close beside Les, with the mummy of the monk towering above them.

Luke Carney was the first to enter. He came slowly, holding his torch high. He did not look happy, nor did Ismail, who followed. As for Paul, who came last, he was shaking like a jelly with pure funk. His eyes had a glassy glare. Phil could have laughed at the terror on the youth's hoary face.

"Don't jiggle it like that!" snapped his father. "Don't you know by this time it was nothing but a bat?"

The elder Carney did not answer, but went to work at once again on the wall. The sound of his heavy blows rang hollow through the thick, close air of the rock chamber.

The wall, it was clear, was almost as hard as the virgin rock. The black mortar was between set-like granite, and the blows, heavy as they were, had little effect.

"It's like working on solid steel," he snarled. "Here, Ismail, you take a turn! It's your job, anyhow."

Phil and Les, from the dark corner, watched every stroke. Phil was tingling with excitement. For the life of him he could not imagine what Ismail's object could be. The only guess he could make was that possibly the treasure from the royal tomb had been transferred to this spot in some past age.

In his eagerness he had completely forgotten the mummy. Suddenly Ismail stopped hammering. A fleck of mortar or stone had got into his eye.

Paul turned the light, and Phil stepped back quickly. He must have brushed against the mummy, for, suddenly, the rotten cords which held it to the wall parted and before either Phil or Les could catch it, it fell forward, and dropped with a thud on the smooth stone floor.

Every drop of blood in Phil's body seemed to freeze. There was no escape this time.

CHAPTER 15.
A Stick of Dynamite.

He thrust the torch into his father's hand in such a hurry that in doing so he somehow switched it off, and instantly the place was plunged in a darkness that might be felt.

Phil, who for once was really at his wits' end, heard the elder Carney swear savagely at his hopeful son, and on top of this came such a hideous groan as fairly curdled his blood.

"Oh!" screamed Paul Carney. It was a long, high-pitched, quavering scream. "Oh, it's that devil again!"

Then he ran for dear life. Ismail did not scream, he merely gasped; but he was gone nearly as quickly as Paul. As for Luke, Phil heard him make a sound as if he was choking; then he, too, was off like a scared rabbit down the passage leading to the entrance.

"Is it safe, think ye, to be putting on the light again?" whispered Les to Phil. "To tell ye the plain truth, I don't be liking the dark here much more than Carney himself."

"Yes, I think it's safe to switch on. I agree with you that Carney & Co. got the sort of scare they won't get over for quite a bit. But can't we find out what's in behind there before we go?"

"I'd not risk it," replied Les gravely. "'Tis on the cards they might come back. My notion is this Phil. Let's get outside, hide in wan of them other caves, and wait there an hour or two. Then, if thim spelpeens don't come back, we can have another thry."

Phil had to admit that Les' plan had everything to recommend it, and, after waiting just long enough, to be sure that the coast was clear, they came cautiously out.

By now the moon was lying on the very rim of the western hills. But she still gave light enough to show that the ledges were clear. Quickly and quietly as possible the pair stepped into the dark mouth of the next cave, and stood there, listening.

"Nor any other, I don't believe," replied Phil. "But, Les, I'm not going back yet. The air in that place is beastly, and my head feels like lead. Keen as I am to find out what's behind that wall, I'm bound to have a bit of a rest first."

"Ye've said what I was going to say mesilf, Phil," Les answered. "We'll be sitting down for a bit. Sure, this night air is lovely and cool."

They were both absolutely done, and before he knew it Phil had dozed off. Les heard his deep, regular breathing.

"Sure, an' hour's nap won't hurt me, either," he said drowsily, and closed his eyes.

He did not open them again until the first rays of the newly-risen sun were striking over the cliff-top above them into the depths of the great rift.

Phil was still sound asleep. He lay with his head back against the rock, and was smiling a little, as if his dreams were happy ones.

"He's a wondher!" said Les to himself. "Shure, I never knew anyone take throubles so aisy."

Phil was awake in an instant. He glanced round, and an expression of dismay crossed his blackened face. He whistled softly.

"Just so. But suppose Carney and Co. are lying up somewhere among the rocks. I don't believe for a moment they've gone back to the camp."

"Nor I, either. But why would they be awake? 'Tisn't as if they'd be watching for us. Let's be moving."

"No," he said, with decision. "One of us must stay and watch, in case the beggars do pluck up courage to come back. I'll go back to the camp, tell Reggie, and fetch some grub for you."

Les had to agree that Phil was right; and, after taking a good look all around, to make sure the enemy were not in sight, Phil left the cave.

"No. It's what we call the simoon, a regular gale, which fills the air with sand. It's pretty beastly; but, as it happens, it may be a help.

"Sit tight," he added. "Don't run any risks. I'll bring a stick of dynamite to shift that masonry."

Les watched him as he went quickly along the ledge. Though Phil had taken it coolly enough, Les was none too happy. The danger was very real, for it was quite on the cards that Carney had set a watch on the ravine. With the money he had stolen he could buy more Arabs than Ismail.

Phil's small figure grew less and less in the distance. He reached the end of the ledge, and scrambled down the cliff. Les saw him going swiftly in and out among the rocks at the bottom of the ravine, and breathed a sigh of relief as at last he passed safely out of the mouth of the gorge.

The sun rose quickly, and Les saw that, as Phil had said, it was curiously red. A coppery haze seemed to hang in the upper air. Soon heavy gusts of wind began to sweep over, though sheltered in the cave, Les felt nothing of them.

He was very hungry, and stilt more thirsty. He and Phil had emptied their water bottles overnight.

An hour passed, and now the sun was like a crimson globe suspended in a dull, red mist. It was blowing so bad that not only sand was whirling through the air, but fine shingle was being ripped from the cliff-tops and falling in a stony spray into the gorge. The heat was simply infernal, and Les felt half-choked.

Another hour, and Les was getting very anxious. The storm was now raging furiously, and the dust filling the air with such a fog that it was impossible to see more than a couple of hundred yards. Les knew that out in the open the wind must be something fearful. He began to fear that Phil would be unable to get back.

He got up and went outside, but next moment had dived back into his refuge. Two people were coming along the ledge, and one was a man.

Very cautiously he peered out again, and sighed with deepest relief. It was not the Carneys, but Phil, and with him Reggie Dacre.

A minute later, and they were up. Both had their heads wrapped in cloths which covered their mouths, and both looked utterly done. They dropped down inside the cave, and, pulling off the clothes, lay panting.

"Bah! It was simply Hades!" panted Reggie. "I wouldn't go through it again for all Queen Hatsu's diamonds! I never thought we'd get here!"

"It's blown half the tents down, and most of the company are taking refuge in the lake," added Phil. "It's a mercy to be out of it. But here's your breakfast, Les, and here's some coffee in a thermos."

"That's the best ever!" he said, with a sigh of relief. "Take some yourselves, and give me some grub, Phil. And how did you get away, Misther Dacre?"

"Took french leave," replied Reggie, with a smile. "But, it's all right. Nothing can be done in the way of film work so long as it blows like this. I say O'Hara, this is a wonderful place. We ought to stage a scene here."

"Sure, we staged a beauty last night!" grinned Les. "If Joe could have seen the great ghost act, wid Paul as the hero, and Carney as the villain, he'd have been fair out of his mind wid envy."

"Must have been a good stunt!" replied Reggie, who seemed for the moment to have dropped his usual dandyism. "Phil's told me something about it, and I'm dying to know what's behind that big wall inside there."

"Then we won't be long finding out," was Les' answer, and, stuffing the last of a sandwich into his mouth, he rose to his feet, and entered into the other cave.

All three pulled up short, and looked one at another. Naturally, the job of watchman did not appeal to any of them.

"Then I'll be staying, Phil." said Les. "Ye see, I can't be setting a cartridge, and ye'll need Misther Dacre for the heavy work."

"In that case you can chuck the 'Mister'" smiled Reggie, "especially as Phil here is going to boss the job."

Hot as it was inside the cave, it was a relief to be out of the driving dust and the ever-lasting war of the hot gale.

Reggie was enormously interested to find a Christian chapel in the heart of the desert.

"Seems rather ghastly to use dynamite in a place like this," he said. "Still, if we don't smash that wall, Carney will. So let's go ahead! But how do you do it?"

Phil's knockabout life had taught him many things, and he was quite equal to fixing a dynamite cartridge. He made the charge a very small one, for there was, he knew, the danger of bringing the roof down.

At last all was ready; but before lighting the match he made Reggie move right out round the bend into the passage. Then he touched off the fuse, and bolted out after him.

A few seconds' breathless pause, a dull thump, and a blast of air rushed out. Phil made Reggie wait a few moments until the air had cleared, then both hurried back together.

Two stones had fallen out. Half a dozen others were loose, and, with a big chisel which Carney had left behind, they very soon had a hole big enough to crawl through.

Phil thrust his torch into the opening, and flashed the light on. Reggie was peering over his shoulder.

"Why—why, there's nothing!" exclaimed the later in a tone of blank disappointment.

"There doesn't seem to be much," answered Phil slowly. "Nothing but an altar and a cross over it."

CHAPTER 16.
Cornered.

INSIDE there was nothing more to be seen than from outside. Just a tiny, bare little chancel, with an altar carved from the living rock, and a plain cross above it.

Reggie quietly took his hat off, and Phil, did the same. It was strange to feel that they were treading in a place that had not been trodden on for perhaps many centuries, and yet which once had echoed to the chants of the Christian monks. The carving of the altar and the cross was as clean and sharp as if done yesterday; but it and everything else were covered with a thin film of fine dust.

"This seems to be where Carney tripped up," observed Reggie, "or perhaps the Arab gentleman was kidding him."

"I'm not so sure. Ismail would want to earn his money, and you can bet that Carney doesn't pay him in advance. I've a strong notion there's something useful here, if we only knew where to look for it."

"Doesn't seem to be anywhere to look," said Reggie. "Floors, walls, everything else are solid rock. The place don't seem to run to trapdoors or secret treasure chambers."

Phil did not answer. He had gone forward to the altar, and was passing the ray of his lamp this way and that about it. Reggie saw him stoop and begin to press his fingers here and there over the stone surface.

There was a click, a slight grating sound, and a small square slab of rock swung outward like the door of a safe.

"It's this sign," replied Phil, pointing to a curious shaped mark cut in the stone. "It's an old Egyptian sign meaning a hiding-place. Wait, let's see what's inside!"

He thrust arm-deep into the dark space, and brought out—a roll of yellow parchment.

He unrolled it very carefully, and spread it on the altar step. It was stiff with age and very brittle; but Phil handled it like one accustomed to such material.

The parchment was partly covered with writing—or, at least, what looked like writing. It was the queerest, most crabbed old script imaginable.

"Oh, I don't know!" replied Phil amiably. "It's Greek, I think. Yes, it's all in Greek. Let me see. Something about the 'Place of the Dead Gods.'"

"You don't mean to say you can read it?" exclaimed Reggie, looking at Phil in amazement.

"Not right off," Phil answered modestly. "But give me a bit of time, and I'll puzzle it out."

"We mustn't stay here," he said. "Too risky. Carney's sure to get over his scare, and come back here sooner or later. We'd best get back to the camp. Then we can translate the script, and see what it means. But before we go it would be best to build up that wall again."

"Because we don't want Carney to know we've raided the place. If we can humbug him about that the chances are he'd turn on Ismail, and if he did the Arab would scupper him."

"'Pon my Sam, you think of everything!" declared Reggie, with real admiration. "Right you are! We'll make it look as good as new."

He turned, and was just beginning to lift the displaced stone into place when Les came flying in.

"They're coming!" he said breathlessly. "And there's five of them this time. Two big black beggars, besides Ismail. And, begorra! they're on the ledge already. It's sorry I am I didn't see them sooner," went on Les hastily. "But, sure, it wasn't my fault. 'Twas the dust clouds hid thim from me."

"That doesn't follow," said Phil. "If the dust hid them it may hide us. Come on!"

Stuffing the parchment into his pocket, he hastened towards the entrance, and peered out.

"Yes," he said, "they're on the ledge, and between us and safety. We must do what we did past night—hide up in another cave. Only this time I think we'll go to the right, not to the left. Much less chance of being spotted. Wait, now!" he added. "Wait till a big gust comes. Then when I give the sign, follow me quick!"

He stood by the cave mouth, tensed to spring. Overhead the gale roared furiously. The sun was invisible, the sky a thick brown haze of flying dust.

A lull, and the first men on the ledge came on more quickly. As Les had said, there were two men, Arabs, as big and black and dangerous-looking as Ismail himself.

Phil's heart-beats quickened as he watched them striding in single file along the narrow, rock-strewn path.

"A snowball in a furnace would have a better show than we should if they caught us!" he said to himself.

There came a fresh thunder of wind. Hot as the blast from a furnace door, the simoon roared in fury over the mountain-tops. Phil saw the five flattened against the cliff by the tremendous pressure of the gale. Next moment they were lost to sight in a smoke of steaming sand.

To the right of the mouth of the big chapel cave the ledge sloped upwards, and narrowed somewhat. But Phil had already noted that the cave mouths opened all along it. He chose one which looked a little larger than the rest, and sprang into it. The others followed helter-skelter.

"So is the storm, I believe," said Phil. "A gale like this always ends up with one or two real good smacks. Now don't talk above a whisper, any of you. Remember that rock carries sound."

Les nodded, and the three stood waiting. Phil was right. The gale was certainly blowing itself out. The gust had quite passed, and, though there was still a fog of fine dust suspended in the air, Carney's party were in plain view.

Luke Carney led the way. There was light enough to see his hard face and the rifle he was carrying. The Arabs were carrying a pick, a large crowbar, and a bundle of something, probably food.

They came on quickly, and the three watchers drew back as the invaders reached the entrance to the chapel cave.

Here they paused, and Luke Carney and Ismail spoke together in low, quick tones. It seemed to Phil that Carney was urging Ismail to come in with him, and that Ismail was refusing. In the end Luke Carney, with the two new Arabs, went in, leaving Paul Carney and Ismail outside.

"Sure I'd love to see the face of Luke when he finds ye've been there before him!"

Phil was right. In Less than five minutes the elder Carney came striding out. His face, not pretty at any time, was twisted hideously with fury and disappointment.

"You fool!" he exclaimed, addressing Ismail. "I told you it was no ghost. Someone has got ahead of us! The wall's broken, and the hole under the altar is empty."

Phil, peeping around the corner of the cave, held his breath. For a moment he seemed as though his hopes would be realised, and that Carney and the Arab would come to blows. Paul Carney thought so, too, or seemed to be, judging by the greenish hue of terror which spread across his face.

But it was not to be. Luke Carney, realising the odds against him, made a great effort, and pulled himself together.

"I mean no harm," he said sullenly. "The disappointment drove me mad. See for yourself! It is men, not ghosts, who have broken down the wall. They have used dynamite."

"It is as the giaour says. The wall hath been broken with powder, and the hiding-place is empty," answered the man in Arabic.

"It's that Irish brat—O'Hara!" burst in Carney. "I'll take my oath to that. He was in with old Fernie's son!"

"Art thou certain that Fernie is dead?" demanded Ismail. "None that hath not knowledge of the ancient signs could have found the hiding-place in the stone."

"Dead! Of course he's dead!" snapped Carney. "His camel came back without him. His bones are bleaching on the sand!"

"Then thou hast enemies more powerful than thou didst suspect, oh, white man!" said Ismail, with a sneer. "But, seeing that watch was kept, during the night, the seekers are not far. Didst thou search the cave?"

"Then do so, and with speed! And have thy gun in thy hand. Fes'n shall carry the torch in."

Once more Carney entered the cave. Phil turned and told the others, in a whisper, what he had heard.

"Sure, he won't find many in the cave!" grinned Les. "There's only the ould monk."

"Just so! But Carney will soon see that the monk is only a mummy, and how he was tricked last night."

"That won't be helping him any," replied Les. But Phil did not answer. He had turned, and was again watching Ismail.

The storm had almost passed, the air was clearing, and the sun showed again. The heat was great, though not so suffocating as it had been during the simoon.

"There's no one there," he answered. "No one alive, anyhow. But I found that infernal ghost. It's nothing but a mummy. We were crazy to take it for anything more than it was!"

He turned away contemptuously. Clearly there was not much love lost between these companions in crime.

Phil began to hope that they would leave. Carney, indeed, seemed completely discouraged; but Ismail, it seemed, had not yet given up the idea of winning Carney's bribe.

"It is my belief that the takers of the parchment are still within the hills," he said. "Let us search these caves."

"He's smart, that chap Ismail." whispered Phil to the others. "He's going to look for us."

A startled look crossed Reggie's face, but his voice was steady enough as he drawled:

"Chances are he'll not come this way," Phil answered. "There are ten times as many caves on the far side. But if he does"—Phil took something from his pocket—"on his own head be it!"

"I'd never have dreamed of that, my son. But, come to think of it, it's better than a gun."

"Heaps better—at close quarters," replied Phil, with a grim smile. "There won't be enough left of Carney and Co. to sweep up in a dustpan!"

They were. Under Ismail's directions all five of Carney's party were working back along the edge, and looking into each cave as they came to it.

"They've spotted our tracks," said Phil. "It's the storm. It's left a film of sand all over the rock and he's seen our footprints in it. What an ass I was! I never thought of it until this minute!"

"Then this is where your patent bomb comes in," said Reggie quietly. Now that real danger threatened all Reggie's mannerisms had dropped away, and Phil saw that there was a fighting light in the young man's blue eyes.

"I sha'n't use it till I have to," Phil answered gravely. "You've got to remember that it means wiping out five lives."

"I don't think that would worry me a lot," said Reggie dryly. "The world would be the cleaner without 'em."

Phil struck a match and lit his fuse. Ismail, who headed the party, heard the sound, and started slightly.

"Get back!" he cried, in Arabic. "Back, all of you, or I'll blow you to blazes!"

Ismail had no gun. True, there was a long-barrelled, silver-mounted pistol in his belt, but he had no time to draw that. For an instant he stood quite still, facing Phil, and glaring at him with furious menace in his deep-set eyes.

He raised his arm as if to throw his deadly missile, and this was too much even for the fierce-hearted Arab. Ismail turned and ran, following the example which the rest of his party had set already.

The fuse was burning dangerously short, but Phil's fingers were perfectly steady as he plucked it away from the dynamite.

Ismail had stopped just out of range of Phil's power of throwing, but not out of ear-shot. Now he faced round again.

"White boy," he cried, "come forth! I give the word of a Bedouin that nothing shall befall thee."

Phil stepped out into the open. He saw Carney stare at him unbelievingly for a moment, then, as he realised who he really was, the man gave a yell of fury, and rushed forward.

Luke was foaming with rage, and if Ismail had been alone his life would not have been worth a pin.

"White boy, with the black face, thou and thy friends are our prisoners. Yet will I spare thy life and theirs if thou dost restore the parchment thou has taken from the secret place under the altar."

"That cannot be, O Ismail. The parchment is ours by right of discovery. If thou dost wish it, come and take it."

Phil had fully expected the Arab to fly into a furious rage at his defiance. Instead, a grim smile curled his thin lips.

"The bantam crows," he said. "Yet methinks he is foolish. Listen, boy! Behind thee the path ends. Nor even were thou a cat could thou climb the rocks above thee. Thou hast but little food or water. I have but to keep watch so that thou canst not pass this way, and the end is sure. Thou and thy friends must die!"

"Then I'm afraid we shall have to die," replied Phil, with a smile which covered a most unpleasant sinking sensation at his heart. "Anyhow, we mean to hang on to what we have got. I'd rather burn it than let Carney there have it!"

"In so saying thou art right." Now he spoke in Arabic. "This Carney is a dog, and the son of a dog. But I have taken his gold, and I am therefore bound to his service. For all that, I make thee an offer. Give over to me the paper that speaks, and I, for my part, will promise thee not only thy life, but sufficient of the Treasure of the Dead Gods to buy thy happiness for life."

"I'm obliged to you, Ismail," he answered, "but I cannot agree. Nothing would induce me to let Carney touch one single piece of gold, or even to know where the Treasure of the Dead Gods lies hid."

"On thy head be it, then!" he snarled, and, snatching a long-barrelled pistol from beneath the folds of his jibbah, fired straight at Phil.

It was exactly what Phil had been expecting, and when the bullet arrived where he had been he was no longer there. One leap had carried him back behind the angle of the rock, and he was quite safe in the mouth of the cave.

As he jumped back Reggie Dacre sprang out, and his pistol cracked an instant later. But if he was quick, the Arab was quicker, and he, too, took cover.

"Stalemate!" remarked Reggie, as he stepped swiftly back. "What was it all about, Phil, my lad? That lingo you were talking sounded to me more like a pair of cats having an argument than anything else."

"Hallo, Les!" exclaimed Reggie, when Phil had finished. "I'd forgotten all about you. Where have you been?"

"Working—not talking," replied Les sarcastically. "Sure, I've been hunting around the cave to see if there is any way out at the back."

"Sorra a wan! But there's more caves than this. And why wouldn't one of them have a back door?"

"No reason at all," answered Phil. "Reggie, this may be a better egg than mine. The whole of this cliff is honeycombed like a warren, and it's quite on the cards that there may be communication between this tier of caves and the one below it."

"But we've got to get to the other caves," objected Reggie. "And there you're up against the same trouble. It means going out into the open, and bring potted at or chased."

Les stooped and picked up the bag which Phil and Reggie had brought that morning. From this he extracted a yellow stick of dynamite and held it up.

All three were perfectly well aware that in taking this step they were cutting off their own chance of escaping back across the ledge. Yet none of them so much as mentioned this.

Phil quickly completed his preparations, cut the fuse, lit it, and, making sure it was well alight, took the stick and tossed it gently on the ledge, a few yards back from the mouth of the cave.

Quiet as he was about, the job, Ismail must have heard, for next second a shot rang out.

"It's all right," said Phil quietly. "It was meant for me, not for the charge. Ismail will have to be pretty nippy if he's going to bust that up before it goes off."

The last word was hardly out of his mouth before the solid rock quivered under the dull thud of the explosion. There followed the rattling crash of heavy rocks thundering down into the depths below.

Five minutes later he himself peeped around the corner. There was a satisfied expression on his face when he returned.

"That's done the trick all right. There's a gap there yards wide. Now suppose we sit down and have some grub. I'm as hungry as a hawk!"

CHAPTER 17.
A Night Flight.

"NOT as dark as I'd like to see it," whispered Phil, as he peered out of the cave mouth.

It was about an hour after sunset, and the last glow of daylight had not quite disappeared. But after the storm of the morning the air was singularly clear, and the black vault of the sky powdered with the gold-dust of stars.

"If they spot us. We'd better go one by one and creep. Oh, and take our boots off."

"Doesn't sound attractive!" grinned Reggie. "But needs must when Ismail drives. Come on!"

He had his boots off already, and before Reggie could remonstrate, was outside and creeping like a shadow along the ledge. He seemed to melt into the darkness, and Reggie breathed a sigh of relief as he realised that Ismail had not spotted him.

Reggie slipped off, keeping very close in to the cliff. Still there was no sign from the enemy, and presently Les followed. A few moments later he was crouching beside Phil and Reggie at the end of the ledge.

And Les, looking over saw that he was right. The fact was that the lower ledge ended at the same point that this one did. In some past age a mass of rock had fallen from the summit of the cliff high overhead, and shorn away both ledges, as a knife cuts cheese. From where they stood it was one dizzy drop of nearly two hundred feet to the floor of the ravine below.

"You are right, Phil," said Les. "It would take a mighty long rope to reach the bottom."

"And we can't climb up," added Reggie, glancing up at the great rook wall which frowned above them. "Bit of a wash-out, eh?"

A flash of fire, a crack which echoed, clattering all along the cliff-front, and a bullet buzzed past like an angry bee.

And, leaping to his feet, he ran, bent double, for the nearest cave. Two more shots were fired before they reached it, but in the uncertain light the three escaped, and flung themselves, panting, into the shelter.

Phil did not answer. To say the truth, he was pretty near his wits' ends. It was no use blinking the fact that they were in a very tight place indeed. It was little use waiting for help, for even if Joe did send to look for them, Ismail could easily drive off any rescue party.

"The villain of the piece holds all the cards," said Reggie, who seemed to be reading Phil's thoughts.

"It looks rather like it," agreed Phil. He turned and glanced round. "Where's Les?" he asked sharply.

They followed the light of his torch, and found him right at the back of the cave, bending over the mouth of a square shaft out in the solid rock.

"You're right, Les. This must go down to the cells beneath. Yes, look at these holes on each side! There were staples in these which hold a ladder."

"I can see the bottom," replied Les, turning his light downwards. "'Tis a bit of a dhrop, but I'm thinking we can do it."

He set the example himself, and with his knife began cutting the various garments into strips. He worked slowly and deliberately, and by the time he had finished, the three stood up in their underclothes, socks, and boots—nothing else.

Phil now had about twenty feet of rope not to bear a good weight. The next best thing he did was to attach one end to the crowbar which, luckily, they had brought with them, and placed this across the opening.

Les began to protest that he was the lightest, but Phil would not hear him. Next moment he had swung off and was going down, hand over hand.

Les held the light. He and Reggie watched breathlessly while Phil's slim figure grew smaller and smaller down the well-like pit. The rope swung badly, bumping Phil against the rough sides. But he did not pause and kept straight on.

At last he was at the end of the rope. The others could see that there was still a considerable drop, but how big they could not be sure.

They saw him rise slowly to his feet, and, after lighting a candle-end, limp away.

"Three for you!" answered Les. "I'm thinking he's hurt bad, but he'll not say so. What's he afther?"

"He's got something," muttered Les, after a pause. "See, he's dragging a bundle behind him!"

There was not light enough to see what it was, but presently Phil sang out that it was all right.

Les glided down, and dropped lightly. Reggie followed. The improvised cord stretched and creaked under his extra weight, but it held, and he, too, dropped safely on something soft and bulky, from which the dust rose as he struck it.

"No, it's not so old as that," answered Phil. "There's been someone here since those days."

"See here," he went on, "I'm not sure we haven't dropped out of the frying-pan into the fire. There's no way out of this show."

"That's it. There's been a fall at some time, or perhaps the people who were exploring here blew it up for some reason."

Phil led the way to the mouth. It was blocked with a great pile of loose rock, at which Reggie stared in dismay.

"Sure, it might be worse!" he said. "I can see a chink o' starlight. We'll just have to shift them stones and crawl out."

It sounded all right; but when they came to tackle the job, it proved an awful business. Many of the fallen stones were huge and enormously heavy, and as they moved them the rest rolled and slipped in most dangerous fashion. The dust was choking, and soon their throats were like lime-kilns. But they had finished their coffee and had nothing left to drink.

Long before they had finished their hands were blistered, their throats sore, and every muscle was aching. The two boys would have stuck to it without a break, but Reggie insisted on their taking a rest. He looked at his watch, which, luckily was a wrist one, and found it was past two in the morning.

"We've got to get out before light," he said. "If we don't, they'll see us, and start shooting." But Reggie saw that Phil was white and exhausted, and Les little better. He insisted on an hour's rest, and saw that they had it.

After that they pitched in again, and about half-past four at last broke through and crawled out into the cool of the early morning.

Now they found themselves on a sound path, and cautiously as cats they crept along it. They were only a dozen yards below the level of the upper ledge, and they knew that if so much as one stone rolled under their feet the sentry above would come instantly.

It was a nerve-racking business, and all three were intensely relieved when at last they turned the corner and began to make their way towards the mouth of the ravine. But even now the utmost caution was necessary. There was not one breath of air stirring; the silence was like that of a tomb, and the slightest sound would still betray them.

At last they reached the head of the steps leading down into the bottom of the ravine. When they got to the bottom Phil suddenly staggered and dropped.

"It's all right!" he said hoarsely, as Reggie bent over him. "I went a bit giddy. Let me rest a minute. I'll soon be fit."

"He hurt himself when he fell," whispered Les to Reggie. "It's not fit he is to walk at all."

Reggie glanced up at the sky. Already the stars were dimming a little. It would be dawn within half an hour.

Phil protested, but Reggie paid no attention, and Phil was too done to offer any resistance. With help from Les, Reggie hoisted him up, and they went slowly away down the ravine.

At last they felt the blown sand of the desert under their feet, and Reggie stopped a moment to take breath.

From out of the darkness, yet quite close at hand, came the faint tinkle of a bell.

"A camel bell," he whispered hoarsely. "For any sake, be careful! There must be a picket here—some of Ismail's men."

"Let me down," said Phil. "I mean it, Reggie. It's our only chance. I can catch the beast. You can't."

"That we can ride back. There's more than one camel. If we can get hold of a couple of them, we can use them to get back to camp. If we don't, we'll be nabbed to a certainty."

"I can. I'm well rested. I know how to handle camels. You wait here, and don't wove until you hear the camel-bell clank twice over."

Reggie let him down, and in his usual soundless fashion Phil slipped away and vanished into the gloom.

CHAPTER 18.
The Shifted Scene.

NO one could accuse Joe Fosdyke of being a sluggard. At the same time that Reggie and Les were crouching under the sheer wall at the mouth of the gorge, waiting for what would happen next, Joe, roused by his alarum-clock, was getting out of his cot in his tent.

He put a kettle on a spirit-stove, then shaved and dressed by candle-light. Next, he made himself a cup of strong coffee, and having drunk this and eaten a biscuit, went across to the tent which was occupied by Brand, the camera-man, and Reggie Dacre.

"Get up, you sleepy beggar!" he growled. "Have you forgotten that we have that dawn scene to do this morning?"

"Lord, no; I was dreaming of the darned thing!" Brand answered, with a yawn. He flung the light blanket aside, jumped up, and struck a match and lit a lamp. It was then that Joe first noticed that the other cot was empty.

"Search me!" said Brand. "I haven't seen him since yesterday morning. He went out just before that infernal dust-storm started. I took it he was in some other part of the camp. I was busy all the afternoon, cleaning up the mess, and I turned in early."

"Nothing! Get a hump on you, Brand. It'll be light inside twenty minutes. I must see that those natives are ready. This is the scene where the Arabs come down out of the desert just as the sun rises. You'll want a couple of hundred feet of film, and you'll have to use a bigger aperture than later in the day. The light won't be so good."

Joe always had to have a finger in every pie, and was apt to fancy that he knew everybody else's business as well as his own.

Presently Joe hurried off to rout out the natives, and Brand, dressing hastily, got busy with his camera.

The sun had not yet risen when he took it out to the spot which had been previously arranged upon. Here there was a break in the palms, and a sort of avenue sloped down from the outer desert towards the lovely little lake which lay in the centre of the oasis.

The sky was growing ruddy as Brand set up his camera, and its crimson tints were reflected in the lake, turning the calm water into a mirror of red and gold.

In the distance Brand heard the shrill chatter of the natives who were being driven out by Joe, and presently there came a cool breath of wind, and the dawn breeze began to sway the branches of the palms.

"My word, it's pretty!" said Brand half-aloud; and just then a new sound broke upon his ears. It was the soft thud of hoofs upon the hard sand.

"Gee, but they're coming already!" said Brand. "The old man hasn't wasted much time."

Thud! Thud! They were coming nearer. Brand looked round, and through the opening in the palms caught sight of a couple of camels coming hell for leather across the desert. Behind them a party of a dozen Bedouin Arabs rode like smoke, the dust rising in a thick cloud under the pounding feet of their camels.

"Some stunt!" said Brand, with his hand upon the crank of his machine. "It's the real goods! Joe certainly does know his job!"

The riders came on at a tremendous pace. It was not until the two leading camels were actually among the palms that Brand saw that the second animal carried two riders.

"That's a rum go!" he said. "And where's the witch? Joe's changed the whole scene."

He glanced round behind him, but, to his surprise, saw no sign of Joe. He was much puzzled, for Joe was always on the spot when a scene was on.

But there was no time to worry about Joe or anyone else. The fugitives were almost level with him, and to began to turn the crank. He was counting the turns mechanically, with one eye on the camera and the other on the riders, when he heard loud shouts behind him. The voice was Joe's, and he was yelling a warning of some kind.

Exactly what he said Brand could not hear, and he was far too busy to look round again.

The voice was one that Brand knew well, It was Les O'Hara's. More than that, it rang with such intense appeal that Brand knew in a flash that this was no acting.

Brand was American born, and one American habit he had always clung to was the carrying of a pistol. His right hand shot round to his hip-pocket, but before he could draw his pistol a shot rang out. One of the Arabs had fired.

The bullet struck the doubly laden camel, and the long-legged, clumsy brute lurched forward, stumbled, and fell with tremendous force, flinging its riders off its back and sending them both rolling over and over on the ground.

The Arabs gave a yell and came on all of a bunch. As the foremost reached the fallen camel he stopped his beast, slid off, and made a dash for the two on the ground.

At that moment Brand fired, but the distance was considerable, and his bullet went wide. He ran forward, firing again as he went, but still without effect.

The Arab—a great, swarthy six-footer—flung himself upon the smaller of the two fallen riders, swung him up bodily, and dashed back towards his camel.

Brand's finger was still on the trigger, but he dared not fire again, for fear of hitting the boy, whom he now saw to be apparently a little negro.

The rest of the Arabs had now pulled up. They had unslung their rifles and were beginning to fire. Bullets whizzed past Brand. Brand knew the trick of this sort of lighting. He flung himself flat on the ground, and from this position kept on firing. His very next shot got one of the mounted Arabs somewhere in the body, and he came out of his saddle like a dead bird off a bough.

But, meantime, the Arab who was carrying Phil had reached his fellows, and had flung the boy into the arms of the nearest rider. The latter at once turned his beast, and, with Phil slung across the saddle in front of him, rode back up through the clearing at top speed.

The rest also turned, and, waiting, only until the man on foot had mounted, retreated, leaving their wounded companion on the around.

Brand, who, almost by a miracle, had not once been hit, sprang up and started firing again.

"The black boy! It's Phil Fernie! The devils! This is Carney's work! We've got to stop 'em! They'll kill him by inches or hold him for ransom!"

"Phil Fernie!" repeated Brand, in amazement; and then another voice broke in, shrill and desperate:

"Phil's got the paper—the secret of the treasure! They'd be taking him straight to Ismail. Mr. Fosdyke, if we don't save him, 'tis all lost!"

Brant looked at the Arabs, who were already nearly out of the palm-grove, and racing out towards the hills. He shook his head.

All three swung round, and stared. For in that harsh, hoarse, bitter voice not one of them would have recognised the usually soft and gentle drawl of Reggie Dacre. And Reggie himself, black with dirt, his eyes reddened, his hair on end, and dressed in nothing but his underclothes and boots, was so wildly different from the Reggie of their acquaintance that Joe and Brand could hardly believe their eyes.

"It is not too late. It sha'n't be too late," snapped Reggie. "Is there a horse?"

"Get off that horse," ordered Reggie, so fiercely that the man almost collapsed. He simply fell off.

"That rifle," said Reggie to Joe, still in this strange tone of almost savage command.

"What are you going to do?" he began. Reggie did not answer one word. Rifle in hand, he flung himself into the saddle, drove in his heels, and was off like the wind.

Joe was nearly wringing his hands. It was bad enough to have lost his money. If he was going to lose his star as well, he felt he might as well shut up shop at once.

"Crazy!" repeated Les O'Hara with scorn. "He's the only one of the lot that's got any sense. Watch him!"

There was no need for Les' admonition. Every eye was fixed on Reggie as, rifle in hand, he rode hard across the billows of yellow sand, beyond the rim of the oasis.

"Watch him!" said Les again. "He knows what he's up to. See, he's not following the beggars straight at all. He's making a round. Sure, he'll catch thim just whin they're laste expecting it."

Les knew what he was talking about. Over a short distance a horse is a lot faster than a camel. Reggie knew this, and instead of chasing the Arabs, had gone off to the left. They could see him galloping up one of the many gullies that seamed the wind-blown sand, then he vanished, and the watchers stood silent and breathless.

By his time nearly every one in the camp was on the spot, including the gipsy workmen and camp followers, of whom there were a score or more.

Joe also had a revolver. "Come on," he said, and, followed by Weston, Court, Brand, and Les, he hurried forward.

As they reached the top of the first rise outside the palms they caught sight of the Arabs crossing a ridge, nearly half a mile a way. The man who had hold of Phil was riding in the middle of his companions. For the moment there was no sign of Reggie.

Les' heart was in his mouth. Once the Arabs gained the month of the gorge it was all up. He knew, too well, that they would never see Phil again or his precious parchment.

The suspense was frightful, and Les, utterly done up as he was after the experiences of the past thirty-six hours, felt his legs quaking under him. But excitement gave him strength, and he ran on.

Far out to the left Reggie had shot into sight. He was nearer to the mouth of the gorge than the Bedouin riders. He was off his horse and on the top of a steep ridge.

Les could hardly breathe. He saw that everything hung on whether the Arabs could spot Reggie before they came within rifle shot.

"It's all right," said Brand, who seemed to read the Irish boy's thought. "They can't see him. He came out of that gulley, and has the ridge between him and them. Watch him! He knows the game!"

Reaching the top of the ridge, Reggie had flung himself down and crawled forward. The Arabs were almost out of sight again. Les could just see the heads of their camels as they bobbed along, dipping and rising in the oddest way.

The camel-riders were making straight for the mouth of the gorge, and hope revived in Les' heart, as he saw that they must pass near to Reggie.

The words were not out of his mouth before the report of a shot came crackling across the sand.

But Les could not see what was happening. He sprinted for all he was worth, recklessly clambering to the top of the nearest ridge.

Yes, one of the camels was down. Instantly the rest wheeled away to the right, and Les saw them going full speed up rising ground in that direction. Worse—the one who had Phil a prisoner was among them.

He saw Reggie lying full length on top of the ledge, and taking careful aim. To Les the next few seconds were a positive agony of suspense.

At last Reggie's rifle spoke, and Les gave a hoarse scream of triumph as he saw the camel on which Phil was held stumble forward and go crashing down.

But it was not over yet. One of the remaining Arabs pulled up and fired back. From his lofty perch Les could actually see the bullet strike the ridge-top close to Reggie, raising a puff of sand.

Deliberately as ever, Reggie aimed and fired once more. The Arab flung up his hands, dropped his rifle, and went clumsily galloping after the rest.

Les began to run again, but by this time Joe and the others were far ahead. By the time he caught them up, they were already picking up Phil.

"I'm all right," replied Phil hoarsely, then he collapsed, and fainted dead away.

"Poor little beggar! He's had a rough time of it, Joe," said Reggie. "Let me tell you, if we get out of this hobble, it's owing to him."

"H'm! I guess your shooting has got something to do with it," grunted Joe, as he pulled out a flask, and stooped over Phil.

"I'd almost forgotten it in the excitement," said Reggie. He whispered something in Joe's ear, then slipped his hand inside the loose tunic which Phil was wearing.

"It's all right," he said, with a sigh of relief, as he pulled out the ancient, yellow document.

"I'll take charge of it for the minute. Joe, make some of these natives carry the poor kid back. And then you and I have got to have a yarn."

CHAPTER 19.
The Treasure-Seeking Syndicate.

IT was food, and, above all, drink that Phil wanted worse than anything else. After a thorough good breakfast, plenty of hot coffee, and a cold bath, he was himself again, and though desperately sleepy, declared himself quite ready to tackle the translation of the parchment.

His father, Professor Fernie, had known Greek almost as well as English, and Phil had been thoroughly well-grounded. Over and over again he had helped his father to puzzle out ancient documents of a similar kind.

He did the whole thing in less than an hour, then he, Reggie, and Les met together in Joe's tent to discuss the matter.

Reggie, in clean clothes, newly shaven, with his hair beautifully brushed, and his canvas shoes perfectly pipe-clayed, was himself again. No one would have recognised him for the filthy-looking savage who had done such deadly work on the Arabs a couple of hours earlier.

"Yes," Phil answered quietly, yet with a certain, subdued excitement. "If you ask me, I should say it was jolly well worth it! Here it is," he added. "I've written it out in English."

"Read it out!" snapped Joe impatiently. "For goodness' sake, let's hear it, Reggie!"

"All in good time," replied Reggie, knocking the ash off his cigarette. "No; I'm not going to read it aloud. I'll run through it, and give you the gist of it."

"It's all very well for you, Reggie," he said, almost angrily. "You're not faced with the same sort of smash-up that I am. You haven't got back my two thousand from that scum, Carney. If this treasure game don't work out, I'm done in!"

Joe muttered something under his breath, which was not complimentary, but since he knew Reggie of old, he obeyed, and dropped heavily into a chair, where he sat bolt upright, breathing heavily.

"My dear old thing, gods of this kind can always be converted into cash of the realm. Now sit still, Joe, and listen. This document is written by a gentleman who calls himself 'Aphra.' He don't give the date, but it must be a dickens of a long time ago. According to his account, the priests of the old Egyptian religion, getting worried at the spread of Christianity, collected all their temple treasures, carried 'em down in this direction, and hid 'em at or near the pyramid of Queen Hatasu. This, I take it, is the Lost Pyramid that Phil Fernie's father was after.

"The worst of it is, the directors are somewhat cryptic, and Mr. Aphra hasn't left a map. Can you make anything out of that tail-end part of it, Phil?"

"Look on the other side of the sheet," said Phil. "You'll see I've worked it out roughly."

"Oh, yes, here we are! Ah, seven to eight miles south-west of the western end of our lake here. Jolly smart of you, Phil. Are you sure of it?"

"I think so," said Phil modestly. "The funny thing is that it's all hills down that end, and as a rule they didn't build pyramids in the hills. But the word used for pyramids may mean simply tomb, and I believe there was a time when the old Egyptians buried their dead in caves or rock vaults."

"That sounds more like it. But seems to me it would take a mighty big vault to hold all the gods of old Egypt!"

"They didn't hide 'em all," said Phil, with a smile. "It would only be the most holy things and the temple jewels and valuables."

"I've heard it. I've heard my father speak of it," said Phil. "The legend came through the Copts, who were the principal sect of Christians in Egypt in those days—that is, before the Moslem conquest in the year 640. I might tell you that the parchment is written, in Uncial Creek, which is still used by the Copts in their religious services."

"That's it!" said Reggie. "Joe, we'll have to resolve the Golden Apple Company into 'Lost Gods Limited' for the time being."

"Don't be harsh," said Reggie plaintively. "There's no reason why you shouldn't combine the two."

"I reckon I've got to try it," he said doubtfully. "I hate the whole business, but since there's no help for it, I'll go. Your plan seems all right, Reggie. What time do you want to start."

"Yes, if you can wake me by then," said Phil, with a smile. "At present, I feel as if I wanted to sleep for a week."

"You've got about eighteen hours ahead of you. Make the most of it," laughed Reggie. "Incidentally, I'm going to spend most of that time, myself, in making up arrears. As for you, Joe, you'd best spend your time in fixing up for the trip. And don't forget guns and grub."

CHAPTER 20.
The Pit.

IT was a very silent party that filed away down the lake bank rather more than an hour before dawn next morning. The word had been passed to make no noise, and not to speak above a whisper, for it was all important that Carney and Ismail should get no inkling of what was happening.

No camels were taken. Camels are noisy brutes at best, and the party were all mounted on horses except Phil and Les, who rode big Egyptian donkeys.

There was not much risk in being seen, for the palms grew thickly all along the lake.

"Phil," he said, "there's one thing I can't be making out at all. If this ould chap, Aphra, knew where the treasure lay, why in sense didn't he lay his hands on it?"

"I've thought of that," answered Phil. "It's on the cards that he did, but it's not a bit likely. These monks were sworn to poverty. They had no use for gold or jewels, or anything of that sort. The queer thing to me is that he kept that parchment."

"Faith, he hid it for good and safe," said Les. "If ye hadn't known their funny signs we'd niver have found it."

"The signs are Egyptian. Aphra must have known a good deal about the old religion, or he couldn't have cut them. My own idea is that he was originally a priest of the old cult, and got converted."

Les nodded, and for a time the two rode on in silence under the brilliant stars.

"The distance is given in parasangs. It was easy enough to get that down to miles. And the direction is clear enough. What's more, the place is pretty carefully described. Aphra speaks of it as the valley of the circle, through which runs the river from the Lake of T'zin."

"Sure, that's clear enough. I wouldn't think we could miss it. More betoken, there's the river!"

They had reached the western end of the lake, and, sure enough, a stream ran out of it, gurgling away through a rocky bed. Low bushes edged it, and small hills rose on either side of the valley. But the light was not enough to see much of the surroundings.

"But it runs the wrong way," said Les, with a puzzled air. "The Nile's to the east of this."

"We're a long way over the Divide," replied Phil. "All the land has slopes south and west. Chances are that the stream runs out into the desert and disappears. Lots of 'em do."

The party went on at a foot's pace, and a very keen look-out was kept on both sides. But the silence was broken only by the bubbling of the brook which ran through a deep, stony channel to their left.

The valley narrowed. It became a regular ravine, with low cliffs on either side. Presently the leaders pulled up, and Phil pushed forward to see what was the matter.

"The gorge splits," Reggie told him. "Which way ought we to take? follow the brook, don't we?"

"It's a nasty place to cross," said Reggie. "Looks to me as if another brook had run in here once. But the channel is dry now."

It was a nasty place, and no mistake. The dry channel, which seemed to come down from the right, was, luckily, not very deep, but the sides were desperately steep. All got off, and Reggie and Phil went forward on foot to see if they could find a way of crossing.

The stars were beginning to pale a little, and there was a faint grey light in the east, but in the gorge the darkness was intense.

"It'll be a nice job to get the horses down here," said Reggie ruefully. "Looks to me as if we should have to wait for daylight."

There was a way, but it was desperately steep and difficult, and some of the horses gave trouble. It was a long time before they were all across, and now dawn was breaking in earnest. The sharp, rugged ruins of the cliff stood up sharp and jagged against the pink sky.

They were able to move faster, and the sun was just rising when they came to the end of the defile and the place where the river ran out into the open desert.

Phil looked all round. The stream, rolling out on to the sand, spread in a wider and wider channel, until it was swallowed up—simply mopped up, as if by a huge sponge. Beyond, the yellow sands rolled away in vast stretches till the blue distance was blocked by a chain of barren hills.

"I knew it!" snapped Joe. "It's all tommy-rot and moonshine. That monk didn't know what he was talking about, or, more likely, he was playing a joke on posterity. If we'd spent our time hunting that blackguard, Carney, we might have done some good. As it is, we've simply chucked away our time and chances!"

"I'm thinking we've come too far. 'Tis a dale more than seven miles from the camp to here."

"Les, old bean, you've hit it in once! This is more like ten miles than seven. We've over-run our fox."

"Nonsense!" retorted Joe, who was very much upset. "The directions told us to stick to the stream, didn't they?"

"That's true," allowed Phil, "but they also spoke of a circular valley through which the river ran."

"And where's your circular valley?" asked Joe scornfully. "I cant see one, and I'll swear we haven't seen anything of the kind all the way down."

"All my eye!" snapped Joe. "We couldn't have missed it. The whole thing's a frost! All we can do now is to get back as quickly as we can, and trust to goodness that those Arabs haven't raided the camp during our absence."

Phil did not say a word as they rode back. His face was rather white, and his lips tight-set. Reggie Dacre, watching him, understood.

"I know. We must simply set ourselves to hunt down Carney, and get that money back from him."

"We shall never do that. Think of all the places where he may have hidden it. Besides, those Arabs will fight. There'll be lives lost if we try it."

"I can't think that paper is a fake. It's certainly enormously old, and from what my father has taught me, I'd vow it was genuine."

"That's what I believe," cut in Les. "Kape your eyes open, the both of ye. Maybe we'll find the place going back."

They did keep their eyes open, but there was nothing to remotely suggest the circular valley that old Aphra had written of. And presently they arrived at the spot where the cross gorge cut the path, and all had to get off in order to lead their horses across the ugly dyke.

Reggie saw Phil staring down at the dry bottom of the ravine with a startled expression on his face.

"The ravine, I mean. This is no tributary—never was. It's the old bed of the stream."

"It's been altered. You can see for yourself. Most likely an earthquake opened up the fresh bed of it."

"That's it!" said Phil, and scrambling up the far side to Joe, who had already crossed, told him.

Reggie came up and backed Phil. Between them they persuaded Joe to at any rate wait for them until they could go a little way down the cross gorge and have a look. In any case, the gorge was no place for horses.

They had not far to go. Quite suddenly the walls on either side broke away, and before them was a circular hollow rimmed all around with scorched, naked woods.

He was right. The basin, which was from two to three hundred yards in width, was nothing but yellow sand.

"There's a hollow in the rocks over there to the right," said Reggie. "It might be a cave mouth. Let's have a look!"

"Steady on, you chaps!" It was Brand, who was puffing up behind them, with his camera. "Joe thought there might be a chance for me."

"Not a fat one, I'm afraid," said Reggie, as he walked slowly across towards the hollow under the rock.

The words were hardly out of his mouth before there was a snarling roar, and a leopard came bounding out from the hollow, straight at him.

Reggie flung up his rifle and fired. It was the quickest kind of a snap shot, but it stopped the leopard. The brute rolled over and over, then picked itself up and ran as if dazed straight out across the sand basin.

"Shoot—shoot again!" roared Brand, who had stuck up his camera, and was turning the crank for all he was worth.

The barrel of Reggie's rifle was swinging again upon the flying brute, when, before all the four watchers, happened a thing so amazing that they could not believe their eyes.

The sand opened. For a second or two the great spotted brute seemed to struggle in a cloud of yellow dust. Then it was gone—gone as if it had never been!

CHAPTER 21.
The Bolting of the Wild Camel.

Reggie, Les, and Brand stood stock still, absolutely silent, not speaking, hardly breathing.

"I—" Phil passed his hand over his eyes in a dazed sort of way. "Y—yes, I saw it."

"But I don't understand," said Reggie. "This beats me utterly. How can this possibly be a pitfall in the middle of the dry sand? It's crazy! It's out of the question!"

"It may be, but that's what it is," said Phil dryly, "No; keep back, Reggie. You've lost your leopard, but there's no reason why you should follow it."

"It's the most infernally uncanny thing I ever ran against," he said, at last. "A pitfall—a pitfall in the middle of that sand! It's enough to make one doubt one's own eyes!"

"It's a rum go, and no mistake," added Brand, who had left his camera and come up to the others. "But there's no getting away from it. I've got it all on the film, and I'll lay there's a picture there as'll make Joe sit up and take notice when he sees it."

Joe came puffing out of the mouth of the dry ravine. His big face was red and wet with perspiration. There was a scowl on his usually good-humoured face.

"Are you going to stay here all day?" he demanded. "And what the blazes are you shooting at?"

"It's good goods, Mr. Fosdyke," said Brand. "The leopard, hard hit, bolted across the sand, and, just as he got to the middle of the basin, where you see that little hollow, he simple dropped through and vanished."

There was a look of angry puzzlement on Joe's face as he stared from one to another.

"We're not pulling your leg," continued Brand. "If you don't believe us I can give you plenty of proof. I got pictures of the whole show."

"This beats Banagher," he said. "That there scenario will have to be rewrote all the way through. Well, I'm darned glad you did get that picture, Brand. It was real smart of you. That and the charge of the Arabs yesterday morning are going to make two mighty fine scenes."

"But what's the good?" he added despairingly. "As you chaps know, I can't carry on. Carney's got my cash, and this treasure hunt business is a dead frost!"

"Frost, is it?" cried Les indignantly. "Is it crazy ye are. Misther Fosdyke? Can't ye see this is the very valley ould Aphra wrote of?"

Joe looked round. His eyes took in the desolate expanse of yellow sand rimmed with blackened, sun-scorched cliffs. He laughed harshly.

"The pyramid may be a wrong translation," said Phil. "The word may mean simply a burial-place."

"Do you mean to tell me that you've got the notion that all these old gods and things are in this valley?"

"Don't be a fool, boy!" he said curtly. "This may be the right place. I'm not prepared to say it isn't. But as for digging—why a thousand men might dig for a year, and you wouldn't see what they'd done at the end of it. Besides, the first sand-storm would fill it all up again!"

"But if you don't try to recover the treasure, what are you going to do, Mr. Fosdyke? You've told us that you must have money."

"That's true. And before I quit I'm going to make one more try to get it back out o' Carney. Now, come along, the lot o' you! Talk of a burning, fiery furnace. If I stayed here another five minutes there wouldn't be enough left to mop up with a sponge."

Phil still hesitated, but he caught a look from Reggie which made him change his mind. Without a word, he followed Joe back up the stony ravine.

It was a very hot and weary party who arrived in camp about nine o'clock, and never was anything more welcome than a bathe in the cool lake and a good breakfast.

Joe gave orders to be ready for doing a new scene later in the day, but for the present the heat made anything of the kind impossible.

"Come on, Les," said Phil after breakfast. "We'd best get an hour or two's sleep. And, anyhow, I want to think things over."

The pair went back to their own quarters and lay down. Les was soon asleep, but Phil lay with open eyes, thinking and thinking, and getting no nearer to any way out of the horrible hobble.

At last he, too, dozed off, and when he woke it was four o'clock, and the camp was all astir.

It was the ruins more than any thing else which had induced Joe Fosdyke to bring his company to T'zin. There was nothing quite like them anywhere else in Egypt. At some time there must have been a good-sized city in the oasis, and here still stood its remains, covering several acres of ground. Massively built of huge blocks of hard stone, they were still in splendid preservation.

The scene went splendidly. Zolie de Chartres as the witch was so beautiful and terrible that she fairly made Phil's skin creep. He and Les watched, spellbound. Even Joe forgot for the moment all his troubles, and fairly bubbled with pride and excitement.

Reggie, too, was fine. He was not only a remarkably good-looking man, but he could act. The way he sailed into Nella's guards was a treat. If the gun had been a real one instead of a flimsy imitation, he would have cracked their skulls for them.

Seizing the heroine he flung her into the saddle of one horse. He himself sprang on to the other, and the two went off hell-for-leather, the sand spurting under the galloping hoofs.

At once Mademoiselle Zolie, otherwise the witch, gave chase. The camel seemed to enter into the spirit of the thing, for he went off at a tremendous pace. Now, Mademoiselle de Chartres, though a magnificent actress, was by no means a magnificent camel rider, and had never quite got over her original dislike of the big racing camel.

Of course, for the sake of the picture, it was only necessary that she should ride a couple of hundred yards. But at the end of that distance the camel was going harder than ever, and they heard her scream.

Reggie and Miss Berners—the girl who had taken the part of Nella Bourne—had let out their horses, which were both pretty fresh, and were enjoying a gallop away down towards the lake. The big dromedary had gone right off in the opposite direction, towards the desert.

Joe was yelling for Selim, but Selim was a long way off, and did not hear. A couple of horses that had been used earlier in the scene were standing tied under a palm close by, and, with his usual quickness, Phil spotted these, and ran up to them.

Picking the better of the two—a leggy, half-bred Arab—he untied it, leaped on to its back, and was off in pursuit before anyone else realised what he was about.

The Arab could go, but so could the dromedary. A racing dromedary is in a very different class altogether from the ordinary camel. What was more, the brute had got a very considerable start.

Before Phil was anywhere near it they were both a long way out of sight of the rest of the party. The dromedary was going all out, its long legs taking the most tremendous strides. Mademoiselle de Chartres had given up all attempt to hold it, and was simply hanging on to her saddle.

Phil saw that she was heading out into the desert, and he was not happy. It was quite on the cards that some of Ismail's blackguards were hanging about, and if they were they would certainly steal the camel, and probably the lady, too. Mademoiselle was a wealthy woman in her own right, and well worth holding to ransom.

Once beyond the outermost fringe of palms, Phil began to overhaul the runaway. But the worst of it was that the ground was all ridge and furrow, steep sandhills with deep hollows between. It was none too easy to keep the chase in view.

Phil drove his heels in, and the air fairly whistled past his ears. He gained fast, and was within a hundred yards of the camel when the ground in front dipped sharply.

He saw the white camel check, or, rather, try to check, but the ground seemed to give way beneath its forelegs. There was a scream of terror. Then camel, rider, and all, disappeared from sight.

CHAPTER 22.
The Pit of Asps.

PHIL'S horse was all out, and it was only by the smartest work that he himself pulled up in time to save himself from sharing the fate of the white camel and its rider.

He brought his beast to a standstill on the very edge of a tremendously steep slope of sand which ran down at an angle of forty-five degrees into a most curious cup-shaped hollow. What it was or how it had been made Phil had no time to consider. His whole attention was occupied by the fact that camel and rider had reached the bottom of the pit, that the camel was sprawled out, with its long neck straight out on the floor of the pit, and that mademoiselle had been flung clear, and was lying on her face a little way from the prostrate animal.

At first glance Phil thought she was dead. Next moment he was hugely relieved to see her move slightly. He jumped off his horse, pulled the reins over its head, and, without a moment's hesitation, sat down and let himself slide over the edge.

Down he shot, the sand flying, the dust almost blinding him. But the depth was no more than thirty feet, and he reached the bottom safely.

"Are you hurt, mademoiselle?" he cried, as he sprang up and dashed the sand from his face and eyes.

"Be careful! Oh, be careful!" breathed mademoiselle, in accents of extremest terror, and while she spoke she lay as still as a frozen statue.

For a moment Phil supposed that she had broken a limb and was afraid lest he might move her. The next, he saw the reason for her terror.

Coiled in the sand, within a yard of her face, was a small snake. It did not need a second glance to assure Phil that it was a horned viper, the deadly asp of the Egyptian desert, the same terrible reptile by which the famous Queen Cleopatra met her death.

Phil had no weapon, not even a riding-whip. For a moment he was at a loss. He might take his chances and jump on it, but if he missed—.

It didn't bear thinking about, for in such a case it was all odds the brute would strike full at the face of the beautiful French girl.

Then he glanced towards the camel, and saw that beautiful jewelled whip which Mademoiselle de Chartres had carried lay on the sand beside it.

Two swift steps, and he had it. Two more in the other direction. The whip hissed through the air, and, striking the snake across its upraised neck, practically beheaded it.

A slight hiss made Phil whirl around. Another of the evil-looking serpents had crawled out from behind a rock. Phil was only just in time. The venomous thing was in the very act of striking at him as he struck and killed it.

He turned to the girl again, raised her into a more comfortable position, and began to rub her hands.

"I've killed them," Phil told her quietly. "There are none anywhere close. You are quite safe."

"You are ze brave boy!" she cried. "Twice you have saved me. Never vill I forget. Vat can I do to show 'ow grateful I am?"

"Why, let me help you out of this horrid pit, mademoiselle. You're sure you are not hurt?"

"Not ze little bit," she answered, and rose to her feet. "Ah, ze poor camel!" she said pitifully, "I fear 'ee is killed!"

He took her hand, and they started to scramble up the bank. They got up a few feet, then the loose sand gave way beneath them, and they slipped back helplessly.

Mademoiselle laughed, but Phil was dismayed. He realised at once that it was going to be most difficult job to get out. Indeed, it was probably impossible, without help from above. They were a long way from the camp, and it was possible that the others would find it very difficult to track them over this rough patch of desert. What was worse, it was rapidly getting dark.

"I'm afraid we shall have to wait until some of them come to help us," said Phil.

"Zen ve 'ad better call for 'elp," said mademoiselle; and immediately suited the action to the word by giving a long, high-pitched cry.

Paul looked round. Almost at once he caught sight of a head peering over the rim of the pit opposite to where they stood. It ducked away instantly, but not before Phil had recognised it. His heart stood still, for the face was that of Paul Carney.

"Bah, zey vill find us!" she answered. "Meester Joe, 'e vill not leave us here."

"It vas no use," said mademoiselle. "Ve vill just vait till ze others come to help us. Sit down, Meester Ferni, and talk to me. And if you please I vould like you to tell me somezing I can do to show 'ow grateful I am."

So Phil, sitting beside her on the sand, with one eye on the rim of the pit and the other keeping a sort of subconscious watch for snakes, told her the whole story.

Mademoiselle had known nothing, or next to nothing, for Joe had kept the loss of his money a secret from all but Reggie, Brand, Phil, and Les. She listened with breathless interest, and in telling his story Phil almost forgot for the moment the dangers that surrounded them.

"But thees is splendid!" she burst out. "Magnifique! Oh, but it is an epic 'Place of ze Lost Gods'! What a play he make! What a film! Ze 'vitch' is vell enough, but zis—zis is ze greatest story!"

His heart almost stopped beating as he pointed to a figure black against the yellow, evening sky. It was a man on horseback, who had just ridden to the edge of the pit.

"We can't get out!" he said. "We can't climb up! The sand keeps slipping! We must have a rope. And I say, Reggie, hurry! This beastly pit is full of snakes!"

"All right! The others are not far off. I'll hail them. Ah, here's Joe and Selim!"

He shouted to them, and presently they were all on the edge of tine pit, A rope was improvised out of bridle-reins, and the end flung down. With Phil's help, mademoiselle climbed safely out of the pit, and Phil put her on his horse, which had stood waiting, good as gold.

Phil himself got up behind Reggie, and they all made the best of their way back to camp.

"I'm thinking they're spying on us, Phil," said Les wisely. "Ye see, Luke knows we've got the ould monk's parchment, and he takes it we'll be looking for the Place of the Lost Gods sooner or later. So I make no doubt he's just watching us all the time."

"Why shouldn't we find out?" suggested Les. "Sure, the sand shows thracks plain enough. I'm thinking we might slip out and have a look round."

"We shall have to be quick about it, then," said Phil bitterly. "Just remember that we're leaving to-morrow. Carney has spiked his own guns by stealing Joe's money."

"'Tis true. I never thought of that before. But if he hadn't stole the money we'd never have chased him, and then we wouldn't have found the parchment. So it cuts both ways."

"There are a lot of 'ifs' in the business; But the one thing plain is this—that if we can't do something to-night, we sha'n't do anything at all. We certainly can't stay here, alone. Carney & Co. would mop us up in very short order. And once we're away back in Cairo, what earthly chance have we ever got of getting back here?"

"No; he's told me that he is not well off. Of course, he is getting a good salary now, but he hasn't saved much. To fit up an expedition from Cairo would cost at least a thousand pounds. We should need some good men, not only for the digging, but so as to hold our own against Ismail's black Arabs."

"Then it comes to this, Phil," said Les, with unusual gravity. "'Tis the last chance for us, this night."

"You've got it in once. We've got something less than twelve hours before us. If we don't do something in that time it's good-bye to the treasure. Good-bye for good and all."

Les looked at him in silence. Phil was usually so quiet and self-contained that this outburst startled him. Yet in his heart he knew what Phil meant. Phil's father had given his life in this search, and Phil himself had the feeling that a share of the dim hoards in the Place of the Lost Gods was his by right.

"We'll go tonight," he said. "We'll thrack young Paul. We'll find where he and Luke are hiding. We'll get that money from them so that Joe will stay here. That's what we'll do."

It was an hour before dawn that the pair left the camp. It was no use starting earlier, for they needed light to follow the tracks. They had the day before them, for overnight the word had been passed that the party would not leave until four in the afternoon. The heat was too great for a day march.

The first grey light found them on the far edge of that strange pit in the desert.

"Sure, they're going back towards the ruins," replied Les, wrinkling up his nose in evident surprise.

There was no doubt about it. The tracks, after leading some little way to the west, curved towards the south again, and as the light began to increase the two boys found themselves entering the ruins of the strange old city in which the big scene had been done on the previous evening.

"They must be living here," said Phil. "They've probably been here all the time."

"And why not?" demanded Les. "Sure, there's room for a whole tribe to be hiding itself, and no one the wiser."

CHAPTER 23.
The Bag of Gold.

LES was right. Now, coming into the city from the other side, Phil realised that it was much larger than he had at first thought. There were hundreds of these low, one-storeyed buildings, and he was struck afresh by the gigantic size of the blocks of which they were built.

Some were in ruins, with palms growing up almost as sound as the day they were built.

The ground was harder here, and the tracks more difficult to follow. Phil was stooping to examine the faint marks, when Les caught him by the arm.

"So do I. The wind's west. It's coming from over there. Come on. Let's follow it up."

Quiet as two cats, the pair crept up-wind. They dodged from palm to palm, and crawled from wall to wall.

The smell grew stronger, yet for the life of them they could not make out where it came from. For this part of the ancient city was simply a mass of ruins. In front was nothing but broken walls, none more than breast height.

The dawn quiet had been broken by a scratching sound, followed by a rattle of falling stones. On top of this came a voice.

There was no need to ask whose voice it was. No one who had once heard it could mistake the deep, harsh, grating tone for that of anyone but Luke Carney.

And the terrifying part of it was that it seemed to come from almost under Phil's feet.

"Footsteps," Paul answered. "I heard someone coming. I was getting up to see who it was, when these rotten old steps broke under me!"

Phil did not dare to speak. Carney was too terribly close. He had realised by now that the two Carneys had taken up their abode in some vault under the ruins, and that only the low wall immediately in from was between him and the entrance to the place.

He felt Les' hand on his arm. Les was pointing to another wall at right angles to the one in front of them. It was higher, and almost exactly opposite them a gap yawned.

In an instant they were both crawling towards this gap. It was a nerve-racking moment. Behind them they could hear the elder Carney scrambling up out of the cellar. Every second counted, yet if one of them moved so much as a pebble the man was certain to hear them.

It was the step and the slight delay it caused that saved them. They were both through the gap and under the cover of the cross wall before Carney reached the surface.

Phil and Les had not stopped. They had struck a patch of low scrub on the other side of their friendly wall, and were going through it like snakes, flat on their stomachs. Beyond it was another of the ancient-houses. They dipped in through the doorway to see if any hiding-place offered.

Luck was with them again—great luck. The end wall of the place had fallen in such a way as to leave a narrow triangular space between its base and the fallen part. It was only about four feet high, and perhaps a yard wide at the bottom. But there was room for them both to creep in and lie hid.

In they went, and there they lay quiet as two mice. Les put his mouth close to Phil's ear.

Phil did not answer. He was listening to Carney. He was not thirty yards away, and they could hear every word that he and Paul said.

"Look yourself, you thick-head! And tell me who'd be likely to be messing round here at this hour of the morning!"

"Ismail don't know where we are. I took precious good care of that. Catch me sleeping anywhere in the neighbourhood of that black-faced brute!"

Les pinched Phil. Phil, anxious as he was, could not help chuckling inwardly at the knowledge of what Luke thought of Ismail. He felt sure that Ismail reciprocated the dislike.

There was no more shuffling of feet, and presently steps came in their direction. Paul Carney seemed to have taken his father at his word, and was searching around.

The steps came actually past the door of the ruin, and the pair in hiding held their breath. Nearer came the steps. Paul was actually inside the place. They could hear his heavy breathing as he stood there looking round.

But the opening in the broken wall was not noticeable. At any rate, Paul did not notice it. And so after a while he went tramping out again.

"If you're quite satisfied you can come and get breakfast," continued Luke Carney.

By the sound Paul went back into the subterranean retreat, and Les and Phil felt happier.

"Stop where we are. We've found where they hang out. The next thing is to discover their plans."

Safe they might be, but their quarters were most cramped and uncomfortable, and time dragged slowly. Once or twice they caught faint odours of food. Phil had had the foresight to bring some sandwiches, and they munched a couple of these as they waited.

The sun was well up, and the heat rapidly increasing, before a fresh sound showed that the Carneys were stirring. There was a scrambling and a rattle of masonry. They heard Luke curse the broken step again, then he was evidently above ground once more.

"To find out what that fat fool, Fosdyke, is about. That spy of ours, Kasim, says he's leaving, and I shouldn't wonder if it's true. One thing's certain—he can't carry on without cash!"

"But if he does he'll carry off the parchment with him!" objected Paul. "That filthy little brute, Fernie, has got it safely!"

"Bah, I don't care that"—they heard him snap his fingers—"about the parchment!"

"Never mind what I mean, You'll know in good time. I tell you, Fosdyke 'ud have to be up early to get ahead of me. Just wait till he's gone, and I'll show you a thing or two!"

"Come on!" he said, with a sudden change of tone. "Sharp's the word! We're to meet Kasim by the upper well."

Two pairs of footsteps were heard moving away. Phil felt Les quivering with eagerness, but he himself refused to stir until at least five minutes after the last sounds had died away in the distance. Then at last he began to back out of the niche in which they had been hidden.

It was good to stand straight again and get a full breath of air. Phil looked cautiously out of the door.

There was no need to explain his purpose to Les. Both of them went back through the gap in the wall, and cautiously approached the spot where they had first heard Paul's voice. Peeping over the bit of broken wall they saw a small, square hole in the ground. A clump of tall, dead-looking grass nearly hid it.

Phil pushed the green grass aside, and there was a flight of broken stone steps leading down into the bowels of the earth.

"Gold!" repeated Les breathlessly. "Gold! But, Phil, I'm thinking Luke's given the gold to Ismail!"

"Some of it, perhaps, but not the lot. Oh, no; Luke's not the sort to part with more than he can help!"

As he spoke he started down the steps, and Les followed. The steps were badly broken, but the flight was only a short one, and at a depth of no more than ten feet from the surface they ended in a floor paved with great, smooth slabs of stone.

They stood in a spacious vault, at the far end of which was a passage, leading they knew not where. The place was not dark, for in the centre of the roof was a shaft leading up into the open, and although this was partly covered by bushes, enough light struck down through it to let them see their surroundings.

It was the Carney's den, right enough. By the wall on one side were two piles of grass, each covered with a rough horse-blanket. These were their beds. Exactly under the opening were the still smouldering ashes of a fire. Beside the fire were a kettle, a frying-pan, and some enamelled iron plates and mugs. The only other properties the place boasted were a couple of old packing-cases, which seemed to have been used for seats, and an ancient pair of saddle-bags.

"Sure they live like the dogs they are!" said Les, wrinkling up his nose in disgust.

Les swooped on the saddle-bags. There was nothing in them but a change of underwear, with socks and shirts. Then both went to work on the beds; but it did not take long to make sure that nothing was hidden in them.

"No," said Phil quietly. "Luke wouldn't leave his cash in any obvious place. Still, I'll warrant it's hidden somewhere here. Les, we've got to make a thorough good search."

An hour later they were still searching. They had systematically tried every stone in the walls and every flag in the floor, and had made fairly certain that there was no hiding-place behind any of them.

"Maybe it's beyond there," suggested Les, at last. He was starting for the passage beyond, when Phil stopped him.

"Wait, Les," he said, and hurried in front of him. Les saw him go down on hands and knees and examine the floor.

There was a thin film of fine dust on the flags, and faint, yet distinct, were two sets of foot-marks—one going, one returning.

Les had not only matches, but a candle-end. By its light they followed the marks up the dim passage for a matter of twenty yards or so, and came to a spot where half a dozen great blocks had fallen out of the wall and lay almost blocking the tunnel.

"The marks stop here," said Phil, and in spite of himself his voice quavered slightly. "This must be the place!"

The prints of Luke's blunt fingers in the fine dust were unmistakable. Phil felt a new throb of excitement as he marked another print higher up.

A third, and then, standing on one of the big stones, he was able to see a hollow in the wall.

Les handed it up, and as Phil held it over the opening, its pale yellow light showed a black-looking bundle at the bottom of the hole.

"And most of it, by the weight," added Phil. He chuckled. "Oh, Les, what would you give to see Carney's face when he comes here and finds it gone?"

"Sure, I'm not going to wait for that," returned Les. "It's Joe's face I want to see when he gets it back!"

"That's the ticket!" said Phil more soberly. "The sooner we're back in camp the better."

"We've got something to carry, too," remarked Les rather ruefully, as he shouldered the bag.

Quickly they made their way back into the big vault. They were just going to scramble up the broken steps when Phil paused.

"Put your head up first, Les," he said, "Just take a squint round to make sure the coast is clear. Give me the bag."

"Back—back, for the life o' ye!" he said in a hissing whisper. "Ismail's just out wid two of his big black blaggards!"

CHAPTER 24.
Carney Wins a Trick.

IN a flash the two boys, with their precious bag, were tip-toeing back up the passage. They went past the fall, and on until they reached another and worse fall. Here the roof was down, and stones and rubbish piled nearly roof high.

"We've got to go over it," he said. "And for any sake don't let those loose stones fall."

Somehow they got over, squeezed themselves through the narrow opening at the top, and crouched in darkness on the far side.

"Sure, I can hear him," answered Les. "But will ye tell me how iver he found it. Luke said the chap didn't know where he was."

"I'm sure I can't tell you," said Phil. "He probably set spies on him. Anyhow, you may take it that the Arab's come for the gold!"

"Divil a doubt of it!" muttered Les. "And I'm thinking he stands a mighty good chance of getting it!"

"Not so sure about that. If we could lift up a few small stones, and block that hole we came through, he'll never think of looking in here."

Ticklish work, too, all in the dark, and afraid to death of making a sound. They could hear Ismail and his Arabs in the vault searching as thoroughly as they themselves had searched an hour earlier.

It was dreadfully tiring lying there on the broken masonry in the dark. It was hot, too, and the air none too good. And all the time listening with all their ears for Ismail's next move.

It came at last. Ismail's sharp, high-pitched voice in an order. Then steps coming up the passage. The sweat was running down Phil's face, but he dared not move to wipe it away. His throat was like dust, but though he had water in his flask he could not get at it for fear of making any sound that might betray them.

As Phil expected, Ismail stopped at the first fall. He could hear the stones rolling as he and his men searched.

And Phil realised that when the bag dropped a coin must have escaped upon the floor. This was what they had found.

"The money was here. The infidel dogs have had warning, and have taken it away!" said one.

"But they have left their property in the vault. They will return," said another.

"Thou art right, Abdul!" It was Ismail who spoke. "We have but to wait for them here, and they will return. They will fall into our hands. I have spoken."

Phil heard him turn and the sound of his sandalled feet as he walked back towards the vault. He heard Les give a sigh of relief.

"So they're not going to search any farther," whispered Les. "It's in luck we are, Phil."

Meantime, there was nothing to do but wait. The Arabs had settled down with the curious patience of their race. If an Arab has a handful of dates, water to drink, and tobacco to smoke, he needs nothing else, and for him time means nothing. After a while, Phil caught a whiff of tobacco smoke, and knew that the men had lit their pipes.

"I'll bet anything you like he won't! Once Joe makes up his mind, he doesn't change very easily. It's no use grousing, Les. We've simply got to sit tight and chew on the bullet. Once we do get away, we must follow the rest of them on foot."

"A fat lot of good that will be!" retorted Les bitterly. "They'll be riding, and going three times as fast as we can. And they won't stop before midnight, and then they'll be fifty miles away. How are you and I going to walk fifty miles across that big, bare desert, without iver a mouthful to ate, and only so much wather as we can carry in thim flasks?"

"I'll allow we're up against it," replied Phil. "But we've come through it lot already, and somehow we'll squeeze through."

Four o'clock came, and still the Arabs sat quiet. In his mind's eye Phil could see the long line of horses and camels filing up out of the oasis towards the east. He wondered what Reggie was doing. Reggie, he felt, was their one hope. If he could not wait for them, at my rate he would see that food was left for them.

Still the minutes dragged on. It was half-past four—five. Even if he and Les were free now, it would take them an hour to get back to the camp. Then it would be six and the company would by that time be at least six miles away.

It was nearly half-past five when a sound from the vault made both the boys start. Someone was coming down the steps from outside.

For the first time for hours there were voices from the direction of the vault, but strain his ears as he might, all that Phil could be sure of was that they were talking in Arabic. Once indeed, he caught Carney's name coupled with an epithet which seemed to prove that he was anything but popular with the speaker. But that was all.

"They're going at last," he told him. "But don't hurry. Wait until they are well outside before you begin to move the stones." Another three minutes, then:

"All safe now," said Phil, and at once began to help Les to open a way out from their dark and stifling hiding-place.

The relief of getting out of the horrible place was unspeakable. Hot as the vault itself was, it was cool compared with the hole they had been in. But there was no time to think of that. As they both knew well, their one chance of safety—indeed, of life—was to get on the track of their friends as soon as possible. Phil's one hope was that they might manage, by a forced night-march, to reach the new camp before dawn next morning.

With the bag of gold over his shoulder, Phil climbed the steps leading out of the vault, and, getting his head out, took a good look all round.

The sun was getting very low, and a faint breeze cooled the air a little. Keeping a very careful watch on both sides, the two moved in and out through the ruins, making straight back for the camp among the palms.

They dared not go as fast as they would have wished, for there was always the chance that the Carneys or some of Ismail's spies were on the look-out.

As a matter of fact, they had hardly covered a couple of hundred yards before Les' quick ears caught a sound of footsteps, and he and Phil darted inside the walls of one of the ruins, and stood, waiting breathlessly.

"And wouldn't I like to see the face of Luke whin he finds his gold is gone?" he added, with a silent chuckle.

"He'll think it's Ismail," replied Phil. "The vault reeks of that tobacco he was smoking."

Les nodded, and motioned for silence. Very soon they heard the unmistakable sound of the Carneys going down the steps. Then they waited no longer, but hurried off.

The gold was heavy, and they both were stiff and worn with their long vigil in that hot, suffocating place. Also, they still had to keep a sharp look-out. The sun was down before they reached the site of the camp, and through the quick darkness of the desert the stars were beginning to burn.

"What's the good of running?" replied Phil, a little bitterly. "There's nowhere to run to!"

But Les had already darted off. There was nothing to do but follow him, and with a heart as heavy as the bag of gold on his back, Phil ran, too.

The steps behind grew closer. Phil could hear them now, thudding across the sandy soil, brushing through the coarse grass. Glancing back over his shoulder, he could just see too dim, shadowy forms running hard in pursuit.

He himself spurted. They were now only a quarter of a mile or so from the site of the camp. If only Joe and the rest had still been there, he and Les would have been in safety inside three minutes.

"They sha'n't have the gold!" he panted, as he raced through the thick palm-grove side by side with Les. "I'll chuck it into the lake before they shall have it!"

Crack! Crack! It was the sharp, vicious report of an automatic pistol, and the bullets sang like angry wasps over their heads.

"They're all round us!" gasped Phil; and he turned like a hunted hare sharp to the right, in the direction of the lake.

"Lights, Phil! It's lights I see! Sure, the camp's not moved! 'Tis there still!"

"Hurrah!" shouted Les hoarsely. "Shoot thim, Reggie! 'Tis the Carneys is chasing us!"

But there was no more shooting from behind. The Carneys were taking no chances where they had armed men against them. They run for their lives.

"But what are you doing here?" demanded Phil, almost equally excited. "You were to march at four."

"Mademoiselle's doing," Reggie answered. She seems to have taken a shine to you, my buck. She's offered to lend Joe enough to carry on if he'll give you a show at the treasure.

"Lunatic, is it? Begorra, there's method in our madness! Haven't we got back Joe's cash, or most of it?"

"Got Joe's money back! Come now, Les. I can swallow a good deal, but there are limits!"

"If you are not the two luckiest young beggars!" he exclaimed. "Yes, I've got to believe you. Well, come and spin your yarn to Joe. I almost believe he'll listen to you this time."

There was no doubt about Joe listening. For once, he did not interrupt while Phil spun the yarn of the day's doings. And when Phil had finished his modest recital, Joe stood up and clapped him on the back.

The first thing the two boys did on leaving Joe's tent was to go down to the lake, strip, and take a swim. The joy of the cool water after the sweltering heat of that horrible place where they had been hiding all day was beyond words to describe. When they got back supper was ready.

When Les woke, Reggie was sprawled in a canvas chair by his cot. He had a cigarette in his mouth and a bored expression on his face.

"You lazy young hound!" he remarked, smiling. "I thought you were never going to wake up! And the whole company waiting on your highness, if you please!"

"My dear old thing, I can't speak any plainer! The company is waiting for you to come and take your part. And Brand's there with his camera. There's nothing missing except your noble self."

"I thought, you'd got the hang of it last night, Phil," said Reggie. "Joe's turned down 'The Witch of the Desert.' The bunch of us have been busy over the new show. 'The Lost Gods' we call it."

"Didn't mademoiselle tell you? It's her idea. She's mad on working this 'Lost Gods' stunt into a film. Joe says he'll finish up the 'Witch,' then take on the other. Some of us are to go down at once and look round the sand-basin, and see about starting the digging. We can cut our timber here in the oasis, and Joe is going to send over to the river for some men."

An hour later he, Reggie Les, and Brand arrived at the spot where the gorge split. Here they left their beasts, and went quietly down the cross gorge.

Reaching the end they hid among the boulders and peered out across the barren waste of wind blown sand.

Paul bit off a sharp exclamation. His face was full of dismay as he turned to Reggie. Well it might be. For the place was populous. A score or more of big, fierce-looking men were busy. They were slinging a strong rope across the central hollow where the leopard had disappeared. And the man in command was Luke Carney himself.

CHAPTER 25.
The Devils of the Desert.

Phil paid no attention to the question. His eyes were upon the men who were busy fixing the rope across the strange depression in the centre of the basin, and on his face was an expression which startled Reggie.

"Matter?" repeated Phil. "Carney's clean crazy! Look what he's done! Look at those men!"

"They're not what you might call attractive," replied Reggie, relapsing into his usual drawl. "In fact, I think they are a few degrees more unpleasant-looking than even those black Arabs of Ismail."

"What? You've never heard of the Haruts? They are the most dangerous people in North Africa—worse even than the Touaregs. They come from a secret oasis far to the south of this; but they are of the Seruni religion, and their envoys travel all over the desert, and even down to Lake Chad, and across into Arabia. They are said to be the most cruel and conscienceless brutes to be found anywhere, but they'll do anything for money."

"Sounds cheerful," said Reggie softly. "And what do you suggest that we should do about it?"

"Clear out, and keep quiet until we can send for enough men to tackle them," replied Phil.

Reggie pursed his lips in a soundless whistle. Knowing how keen Paul was about the Treasure of the Lost Gods, it was certainly rather astonishing to hear him talk like this.

He was silent a while, watching the Haruts work under Carney's direction. Then he turned again to Phil.

"The fool!" said Phil scornfully. "He's quarrelled with Ismail, and Ismail, if he's all kinds of a blackguard, has the one good quality of sticking to an agreement. How Carney got hold of those fellows is more than I can tell you. But I'll tell you what will happen. As soon as they find the stuff they'll turn on him and kill him in some highly unpleasant fashion."

"Because they have sense enough to know that they need a white man to run the show."

Brand was vastly interested, but Phil saw that he did not accept his—Phil's—verdict on the Haruts.

"It's as much as your life is worth to try it," replied Phil dryly. "The beggars will be sure to hear the click of the camera."

"Can't help that!" retorted Brand. "Joe will give me the boot if I came back without a record of this show."

"I hope you're right. All the same, I'm going to fetch the guns. Meantime, you stay where you are!"

Phil fetched three guns. Each was loaded with buck-shot cartridges. He gave one to Reggie, one to Les, and he carried the third. Then Brand moved up, with his camera and its tripod.

The Haruts were busy, and at some distance. They could not see what was going on without coming back opposite to the entrance to the ravine. So the party of four were able to pile up a fairly stout parapet without being noticed.

By this time the rope had been rigged firmly across the sink-hole, each end being secured to a stout post driven deep into the sand. Luke Carney came forward, and, taking hold of the rope, set to walk towards the sink-hole. The Haruts stood round, staring at him. They were evil-looking fellows, not so tall as the average Arab, but very thick-set and powerful. They were dark coffee-brown in colour, and had noses hooked like hawks' beaks and prominent, cruel-looking eyes.

Brand got his camera into position, and had begun to run a film through. To Phil, the click-click sounded terribly loud, but the Haruts appeared too interested in Carney's proceedings to notice the sound.

"He don't like it," whispered Les. "Even with the rope to hold on, he's scared."

"Don't blame him," whispered back Phil. "Who knows what there is down below there?"

"He's going!" Les muttered sharply: "Begor, he's going! The sand is falling in! Watch it!"

It was worth watching. Beneath Carney's feet the dry sand dropped and sucked away. It was like water pouring out of a basin when the plug is pulled out. It seemed to suck Carney down, as if invisible hands were clutching at his ankles. Watching breathlessly, the four in the ravine saw his grip tighten convulsively on the rope.

Still the sand held him! The rope sagged! He was buried nearly to the waist. Phil's mouth went dry. It seemed certain that his enemy would be torn from his hold, dragged down, and buried like the leopard.

But Carney had the strength of a bull, and the rope was new and strong. Struggling desperately, he managed to free one leg, and flung this across the rope. Then it was comparatively easy to get the other clear; and, no longer trusting to any foothold, the great, bull-necked brute wormed his way along the rope for a distance of several yards, until he was at last in safety.

With a strange, slow, circular motion the loose, dry grains still trickled downwards into some invisible abyss below. Even when Carney had reached the farther post and was safe on firm ground it was still moving.

"And now you've got it, you'd better be satisfied," said Phil. "I give you my word that if those beggars once set eyes on us our lives aren't worth twopence!"

A minute later they were stealing back up the ravine, and Phil breathed more freely as they reached their horses in safety. It took a minute or two for Brand to pack his things on the back of the mule he was leading, and while he did so Reggie spoke to Phil.

"He was spying on us. There's not a doubt, about it. Must have followed us that night we first came here."

"He's put a pretty bad spoke in our wheel," said Reggie rather gravely. "I say, what will Ismail do about it?"

"Cut Carney's throat if he can catch him alone. But he won't meddle with the Haruts."

"Couldn't be worse. I mean every word I've said about them, Reggie. My father has told me a good deal about them. They are the most dangerous people in Northern Africa, and while the average Arab, if blood-thirsty, is straight, these men are as treacherous as tigers."

"Go quietly," he said. "There's no wind, and sound carries any distance you like in this still air."

Brand nodded. They all mounted and rode away up the narrow path that ran between the cliffs and the river.

The words were not out of his mouth before a shout from above made them all start. On the rim of the cliff, a little way in front, stood two men. They were holding a great boulder, which was poised on the very edge of the precipice, and which the slightest push would send crashing down on top of the party.

"They're Haruts," said Phil, with a catch in his breath. "They've spotted us, after all."

Reggie did not hesitate a second. He flung up his gun. Two reports crashed out, and the two men, struck by the charges of heavy buck shot, reeled away and disappeared. The boulder toppled back, apparently on top of them.

Ride they did, and the way Brand sent his mule along was a caution. They did not check their speed till they were a good mile on their way. Then Phil reined in his sweating beast.

"He did," Phil answered drily, "but pictures, however good, won't be much use to you unless you can get 'em back to England."

Before Phil could finish his sentence Selim came quickly into the tent. His dark face had a scared look.

The men appeared. They were square-shouldered, deep-chested men, with cruel arrogant faces. They made no salutation, but the first began to speak in a harsh voice, fixing his prominent eyes upon Joe.

The man started and glared, but there was something about Phil which impressed him, and he suddenly made the usual salutation.

"He demands blood money, Mr. Fosdyke. He says that we have killed one of his companions, and that the payment is five hundred pounds Turkish in gold."

"Five hundred pounds!" repeated Joe scornfully. "He's loony. Anyway, Reggie didn't kill the chap. He only used shot."

"Yes; and tell him to go to a hotter place than the Sahara, if he can find one."

Phil spoke quietly, but very firmly. The two Haruts listened scowlingly. Then the first man spoke again.

"It's not as I thought," said Phil to Joe. "This fellow says that if the money is not paid, they will come and take it, and our lives, too!"

"Tell 'em they have one minute to make 'emselves scarce," he roared. "Tell 'em that if I catch hair or hide of 'em in sight of this camp, it's worse than buck-shot they'll get. Impudent blackguards! They're worse'n Carney."

Exactly what Phil did say Joe could not, of course, understand, but it must have been something fairly forcible, for the two envoys retreated hastily.

"I'm perfectly certain they will," replied Phil quietly. "We've either got to clear out or fight!"

"Very good; but please remember you can't depend on those Gyppies, and there are less than a dozen white men. We've got to have help!"

"From the river. There's the telegraph from Kerouan. We can get police from either up or down the river."

"I never was more serious in my life. These Haruts are the toughest proposition in the Sahara. It's us or them."

"I wish to blazes we'd never come to the infernal place!" growled Joe. "Nothing but trouble since we first arrived. Well, who's to go?"

"I will," said Phil. "Give me that horse I've been riding. I'll start at midnight, and with luck be at the river by this time to-morrow. But you'd have to put the camp in a state of defence. Likely as not they'll try to rush us this very night!"

"I thought a film was trouble enough," he said, "I never bargained for a war. Well, all the same. I'm hanged if I'll be driven out—not for all the niggers in the desert. I don't shift from here till I've got the stuff for this new show, and my share of the Lost Gods into the bargain."

"We'll have to build a stockade," he said. "If we don't, they may stampede all our beasts in the night. Then we should be properly in the soup."

"One thing more," said Phil. "Don't say a word to any of the men. Let 'em think it's all part of the film work."

"'Pon my Sam, young fellow, there isn't a lot you don't think of. Strikes me you ought to be running this show instead of old Joe Fosdyke."

CHAPTER 26.
In the Reed Brake.

THEY made the Gyppies sweat that day. Trees were cut by the score and the trunks sawn into lengths, and a strong fence erected all round the camp, enclosing a square rather more than two acres in area. Three sides were fence, the fourth was bounded by the lake.

The work was finished by dark, and Phil breathed more freely as he went into Reggie's tent for supper. He, Les, and Phil had got into the way of messing together.

"I don't think! I know! The only question is how long it will be before they start. If they've got no more than those few men who were at work with Carney to-day, I don't think we're in any immediate danger. But you can bet they've sent off already for reinforcements. Oh, they mean business all right!"

"It's the women I'm thinking about," he explained. "I shouldn't care a cuss if they were out of it. Couldn't we send 'em back to the river?"

"Suggest it to mademoiselle, and see what she says," remarked Phil dryly, as he got up from the table.

"I've got to get some sleep," he said. "I'm off at midnight, and it's going to be some ride."

"Your job's here," answered Phil quietly. "Shooting as you do, you'll be worth any three of the others. Well, so long."

Phil went back to his tent, laid down dressed as he was, and almost instantly went to sleep.

He dreamt that he was back in the aeroplane, and that the engine would not work, and was back-firing horribly. Then he was suddenly wide awake, and the noise was no imagination. It was real. Heavy firing was going on quite close at hand. He sprang up, and at that moment Les rushed in.

"They've snaked through the reeds along by the lake shore, and got right up before any of us knew it."

"We ought to have cut those reeds," was all Phil said; and, snatching up his gun and filling his pockets with cartridges, he raced down the slope besides Les.

Along the lake bank, just to the east of the site of the camp, a broad belt of tall rushes bordered the lake, running far out into the shallow water. They were tall, grey bulrushes, and could have given cover to an army. The Haruts had been clever enough to go clean round the lake on the far side, and so gain the rushes. They had actually got within a few score yards of the stockade before they had been spotted by the defenders.

At present they were lying along the edge of the rushes and firing heavily into the camp. The red flares from their rifles could be seen through the reeds, and the bullets were whizzing overhead like angry bees.

Reggie, Joe, Weston, Court, and the other white men were lying in the shallow, sandy trench which they had hastily dug, and firing back; but, since they had nothing to guide them except the flashes, this was not much good.

"There are more than I thought," Phil answered, rather anxiously. "Looks to me as if there were thirty or forty of 'em at least."

"That's just what I'm scared of," whispered back Phil. "Have we got plenty of cartridges?"

"Pretty fair; but, to say truth, we're simply wasting 'em at present. I haven't set eyes on one of the enemy yet."

"Killed two camels and a horse, and hit two Gyppies. The natives are scared stiff.

"We've had to put Brand over 'em with a gun, or every single one would have bolted."

To say truth he was not happy. Knowing the ways of these desert fighters, he was aware that they would go on firing for hours, until the nerves of the defenders were pretty well worn out; then, just before dawn, would make their rush. Since the reeds were within forty or fifty yards of the fence, this gave them a chance of getting at very close range, and he very much doubted if the little force of defenders could stop them before they gained the fence.

The more he thought of it the worse it seemed. It had been a fatal mistake to leave those reeds uncut.

He took the matches, and placed them in the crown of his felt hat, which he then fixed firmly on his head.

"Phil, don't be a fool!" exclaimed Reggie sharply. "You'll only get scuppered, and all for nothing!"

"It's on the cards I'll get wiped out, but I don't think I shall. I swim rather well, Reggie, and there are no alligators in the lake. See here, don't say a word to anyone. Just keep up a steady fire. Now, let me pass you!"

Reggie made a last attempt to stop him, but Phil had made up his mind. He slipped quietly down the trench, past Reggie, and crept away. In the darkness no one but Reggie saw him go.

The Haruts' bullets whined overhead as Phil crawled rapidly away towards the western end of the stockade. There were palms and coarse grass, which gave a very fair amount of cover, and, luckily, the moon was not yet up.

Phil's chief fear was that the Haruts might charge before he could get into the reeds, but they did not seem to be in any particular hurry. They meant to wear resistance down by sniping before they made their rush.

He reached the edge of the lake, and waded quietly in until the water reached his armpits. Then he set to swimming gently. This was the dangerous part. The stars were bright and low; as he swam, he knew that his head must be plainly visible. His hope was that the Haruts were all facing the other way, and so it seemed to be, for no bullets came in his direction.

Making a half circle, he came in at the back of the reed patch. Here the water was waist-deep and the bottom muddy. Worse than that, the reeds were so close and thick that it was desperately difficult to get through them, or, at any rate, to do so without making a good deal of noise.

It was a desperately slow job, and yet it was necessary to get well up on shore before trying his plan. The reeds that grew actually in the water were too green to burn.

He did it at last. He found his feet on firm ground, but now, though the going was easier, there was the worse risk of coming unexpectedly upon the Haruts. They were probably all close to the edge of the reed patch, but the reeds themselves were six feet high, and so thick that Phil hadn't the faintest notion where he was.

Suddenly came a bang almost under his feet, startling him so that he nearly fell over backwards. He had almost trodden on one of the attacking party. He backed away cautiously and waited.

Next moment he caught the flashes of two more shots, one to the right, one to the left.

"Here's my chance." he said to himself, and, taking his hat off, felt for his cherished box of matches.

They were there all right, and perfectly dry. So, for that matter, were the reeds.

Holding the box inside the hat, so as to shield the light of the flame, he took out a match, and was on the point of striking it when he stopped short.

It was not until that moment that the cheerful thought had come to him that he could not burn out the Haruts without burning himself as well. All this stuff was like tinder. There was very little breeze, and the flames, once started, would spread all ways at once.

For a moment he was strongly tempted to slip quietly away. Then the thought of the camp, with mademoiselle and the other women, came vividly before his eyes. The idea of them all being swamped by a wave of these cruel savages was impossible.

"Better me than all of them," he said desperately, and, without giving himself time to think any more, struck a match and touched the little flame into the thickest of the reeds.

It was like powder. Up shot crimson tongues with a flash and a bang. It was all Phil could do to leap back out of their way. There was no longer any idea of concealment. He had to take his chances of being shot.

Through the thicket he went like a stag with hounds behind it. Once he fell flat on his face, and before he could struggle to his feet felt the scorch of the flames on his face.

He was up again, staggering, half choked with smoke, dazzled by the terrific glare. From behind him came wild shrieks, and then a tremendous burst of firing.

He could hardly breathe, yet the feeling that he had done what he set out to do cheered him so that he managed to keep on.

Suddenly he was splashing in shallow water, then, with a sigh of intense relief, he had burst through the back edge of the brake and was in the lake.

As he started swimming, there was a splash behind him. A burly Harut had broken out of cover, plunged in, and was swimming hard behind him; but, catching sight of his face in the glare of the flames, he almost laughed. The fellow was crazy with fright, and his one idea was to get away at any price.

Phil reached the shore first. He crouched down and waited. As the Harut, blind with terror, came scrambling up the bank, Phil fell upon him, and using a trick learnt in Cairo, twisted his arm around behind his back, and flung him back into the water.

The fellow screamed in panic, but fought like a fiend. Phil forced his head under, stifling his cries, and held him till he was half drowned.

He did not pull him out until he was quite helpless. Then, tying his wrists behind his back with a piece of cord, he left him, and raced back to the others.

The reed brake burned furiously. The flames reddened the night for miles. Black against the crimson glow, Phil could see dark figures running desperately. The trench spat fire in a continuous stream, and a dozen of the dark figures lay out in the open ground.

Phil leaped into the trench, and snatched up his rifle. But there was no need to use it. The last of the enemy were out of range.

"Splendid, old lad!" he cried. "You've done the trick. The beggars have had their lesson."

"For the present, yes," answered Phil; "but don't kid yourself that we've seen the last of them. By the bye. I've got a prisoner. Let's go and interview him."

Five minutes later Phil was talking to a badly-scared but very angry Harut. And the Harut talked back.

"He says that his people will come back in their hundreds and wipe us all out!" he replied.

"Can't say exactly, but he vows that a part of his tribe have already been summoned."

"Just what I said. I've got to ride for help. Get the horse ready for me, and some food and water. I must change my clothes before I start."

Joe knew what be meant, and the rest saw it, and made no objections. It was just after twelve when he left the camp. He was wearing a warm coat, for the night air was chill, and he was well provided with food and water.

"Good-bye! Good luck!" were the last words he heard, then, he was cantering steadily over the firm sand.

His horse was fresh and well fed, and he hoped by the morning to reach the well half way to the Nile.

He passed the mouth of the great gorge, and his spirits rose as the lulls began to fade behind him. Soon he would be well out in the open, and beyond the reach of any prowlers.

"One up on Carney this time!" he said jubilantly; and at that moment a figure rose apparently out of the ground in front of him, causing his horse to shy violently.

"Stop!" came a voice in Arabic. "Hold thy horse, or I will shoot both him and thee!"

CHAPTER 27.
A Night Ride.

IT was far too dark to see the man's face. In any case, it was covered by the heavy jibbah which, at night, the Arab always folds over his head. All that Phil could see was the tall, gaunt form, and the starlight glimmering on a long musket barrel.

He did not hesitate, but driving his heels hard into his horse's ribs, rode straight at the man.

A flash, a loud report. The muzzle of the long-barrelled weapon was so close that the discharge almost scorched Phil's face. But the bullet went wide, and next instant Phil was on him, and had ridden him down, and the iron-shod hoofs had trampled him into the sand. Then the half-broken horse took the bit in its teeth, and fairly bolted.

"Two of 'em," muttered Phil, "Wonder if there are more." He did not wait to find out, but let his beast go for all it was worth, merely holding it in the right direction.

The night air whistled past his ears as the wiry Arab horse raced across the desert. It was not until it came to a long rise a mile or so away that Phil took hold of its head and checked it to a canter.

He glanced back over his shoulder and realised that, far behind, two men rode in pursuit.

"Infernal nuisance!" he said, half aloud. "I did hope I'd got off without being spotted. Now I've got to ride for it. Still, I'm a fairly light weight, and I've got a good beast. If there are only two of 'em I ought to manage to leave them."

The moon began to rise, and, as soon as it was above the horizon, Phil looked back again. Yes, there were two men only, but they were well mounted, and though he was going fast, he did not seem able to shake them off.

So they galloped through the night. It had been past one before Phil started. It was a little after four when he recognised a two-peaked hill to the left, and knew that he was within a few miles of the well, where he had been so nearly caught by Luke Carney. Well, this time there was no sand-storm to help him, and these men clung tenaciously to his heels.

He looked back again. His pursuers were about half a mile behind. His own beast, however, was still going strong, and anxious as he was, Phil hoped that he could ride away from them.

Another half-hour passed. Again Phil looked back. His spirits rose, for now he was the better part of a mile ahead.

At that very moment his horse put a foot on a loose stone, and came down, pitching Phil over his head.

Phil was up in a moment. Not so his horse. The poor beast lay flat on the ground, struggling vainly to rise. Phil took him by the head and tried to get him up. It was useless. In falling, the unfortunate animal had twisted a foreleg under it, and broken the fetlock.

There was no help for it. Phil pulled his pistol from his pocket, and with the muzzle close against its head, quickly ended its sufferings. Then, snatching up the saddlebags, he ran.

He was now not far from the well, but he did not make for it. He ran north, for the gully, where he had previously hidden.

But the gully was half a mile away. Long before he reached it he heard the rattle of the hoofs of his pursuers' horses across the shingly ridge. He glanced back. The first had topped the ridge, and was riding straight down upon him. The second was not yet in sight.

Phil's heart sank to his very boots as he realised that be was bound to be caught. He looked wildly round for cover, but there was none. In sheer desperation, he swung round, and pistol in hand, faced the man who rode at him.

Fifty yards away the latter reined his sweating horse, sprang off, and taking cover behind his mount, rested his rifle across the saddle.

To Phil's utter amazement, the voice was familiar. He know it at once for that of Ismail.

His first feeling was one of great relief, that this was no Harut. On second thoughts, he was not so sure. Ismail was his enemy, and had done his best to kill him in the gorge.

Phil instinctively glanced round. The second Arab had ridden round and was close behind him.

Ismail looked at him. The one virtue these Arabs admire is pluck, and Phil had plenty.

"To let thee buy thy life at a price. Thou will accompany me to the home of my people. There thou shalt hear more."

Phil's heart dropped a beat. If he was prevented from reaching the river, it was all up with Reggie, Les, Joe, and the rest of them. Yet he knew Ismail too well to attempt to appeal to his pity.

"Thou art mad, Ismail," he said in his best Arabic. "I, like thee, am fighting Carney. Dost thou ally thyself with his friends, those hounds of Harut?"

"The sons of Eblis! I would that they were all with their father in Tophet. But what meanst thou?"

In a few brief sentences, Phil told him of Carney's alliance with the Maruts, of the attack on the camp, and of his ride for rescue. But he did not mention the Place of the Lost Gods.

"All this matters not to me. Thou hast the secret of the monk, Aphra. It is this I desire from thee, and which I will have in exchange for thy liberty."

Phil was in sheer despair. He could think of no way in which to move this hard-faced Arab.

"The parchment is not mine to give thee," he said curtly. "And if it were, I would not yield it because of thy threats. Take me, if thou wilt, but before three days, it is not thou but Carney and his Haruts who will possess the knowledge of the sacred place."

What Ismail would have answered Phil never knew, for at that moment a sound made him swing round. Six men came galloping over the rise three hundred yards away.

The pale light caught their squab figures and instantly Phil knew them for what they were.

Seizing the Arab by the arm, he dragged him back. Inside ten seconds they were both in the gully. Ismail's companion, who had stood a little way off, came leaping down beside them.

"Bend double. Follow me," ordered Phil, and hurried some paces up the gully. Ismail, catching his meaning, followed.

It was Phil who fired first. At such close quarters his automatic did deadly work, emptying two saddles with three shots. Ismail and his Arab fired also, and one horse fell, flinging his rider over his head, while a third man gave a scream as his right arm dropped useless to his side, and his horse bolted with him.

The remaining men, flabbergasted at this unexpected reception, wheeled their beasts, and galloped away.

But Ismail, whose rifle was a modern repeater, fired rapidly after them, and in the end one only won clear.

"By the beard of Allah thou hast a good head as well as a stout heart, Ingreezi!" he said. "The plan was well thought of. Thou shouldst have been one of us."

"One of my men hast thou killed this night, yet, in spite of that, I give thee thy freedom. Go in peace!"

"Ismail," he said, "I thank thee. And thus I swear that whatever gold may be found in the place of burial that shalt thou share in. And now I beg thee help me to catch one of the horses of our enemy. Time passes and I must be at the great river before noon."

A horse was caught without much trouble The three went down to the well together and drank. Then Ismail took from his saddle a piece of barley bread, sprinkled it with salt, broke it, and gave half to Phil. And Phil, knowing well what this meant, ate in silence.

Then, with a greatly lightened heart, he was cantering eastwards through the cool grey dawn.

The horse was a good one, and made little of Phil's light weight. It was only a little after eleven when Phil sighted the village of Kerouan.

Tired as he was, he went straight across the ferry to the railway-station, and at once telegraphed both north and south for the help that was so sorely needed. Then, having got a drink of milk from the station-master, he lay down in the shade, and was almost instantly asleep.

Though it seemed but five minutes it was really two hours later that the Egyptian telegraph operator roused him and handed him a message from Cairo.

REGRET IMPOSSIBLE SEND FORCE AT PRESENT. FRESH RIOTS IN UPPER EGYPT DEMAND PRESENCE OF ALL TROOPS.—;(SIGNED) CALLAWAY (COLONEL).

Phil felt suddenly weak. His legs gave under him, and he sat down suddenly on the nearest bench.

All his ride, all those risks he had taken had been for nothing. All he could do was to ride back to T'zin and share the fate of his comrades.

For many minutes he sat there, wrapped in miserable thoughts. Then, at last, he got up, and went back towards the ferry.

CHAPTER 28.
The Battle by the Lake.

AT the ferry Phil paused. He realised that his horse would not be fit for the return journey for many hours yet, while, as for himself, he was worn out and desperately hungry.

He returned to the station and asked the station-master if he could let him have a meal. The latter agreed willingly enough, and while Phil ate, a train came puffing in from the south, and pulled up.

Phil, hurrying to it, found it had an English driver, and began to question him about the state of affairs. The man, whose name was Reynolds, confirmed the news given in the telegram, and said that he greatly doubted if the train would be able to get through to Cairo.

"As you see," he said, "we have hardly any passengers. There are people waiting for news all down the line. At Khem I had an English gentleman with an aeroplane asking if it was safe to come through."

"An English gentleman with an aeroplane. Was he Professor Dimsdale?" he asked eagerly.

"Thanks awfully!" cried Phil. "You've given me better news than you know." And, without another word, he bolted off again to the telegraph-office, and, regardless of expense, sent a message to the professor, fully explaining the situation in the oasis. "Depend on you for help," he added. "Will wait at Kerouan till I hear from you." He saw this off, then went back to his interrupted meal.

Three more hours passed Phil grew anxious, for there was no reply to his message. Had the professor started before be received it? If so, his last hope was gone.

A distant hum broke upon his ear. He rushed out of the building and looked up. A speck against the brilliant blue, an aeroplane was flying swiftly from the south.

Phil could have shouted with joy, yet he stood quietly enough as the 'plane came swooping out of the sky, and presently dropped quietly to earth on the flat plain beyond the station. Three minutes later he was shaking hands with the professor and its other two companions.

"We should not have been here unless we had," replied the professor quietly. "Nor should we have brought that with us." He pointed as he spoke to something covered with a green waterproof. Macleod raised the cover and, to his intense delight, Phil saw that it was a machine-gun.

"A bit of luck getting that," said Macleod, with quiet satisfaction. "I should never have wangled it, only that I used to be in the R.A.F. I'd liked to have had a few bombs, too, but that was too much to hope for. Still, we've plenty of ammunition, and I think we ought to put up a pretty fair show."

"Especially as I don't suppose the Haruts have ever seen a machine-gun," answered Phil. "But, oh, it is good of you! I can't say how grateful I am. It was ghastly to think of all those dear people at the mercy of these brutes of Haruts."

"My lad, you're pretty nearly worn out. There is no great hurry, is there? Come and sit down, and tell me all about it."

Phil never had a more attentive audience. He made no bones about it, but told them all that had happened. He felt he could trust them. The professor's eyes glowed.

"Personally, I don't think there's a doubt about it," he declared. "And if we can hit upon some method of removing the sand this should be the biggest find ever made in Egypt. I would not have missed it for anything."

"For myself, I am glad to say I am well enough off not to need to go treasure-hunting. All the same, there will be much of the very greatest interest to me. As for Macleod here and Preston, I don't suppose they will refuse a reasonable share. But we must not count our chickens before they are hatched, or our treasures before they are uncovered," he added.

"We'll get the stuff all right!" declared Macleod cheerfully. "We're quite ready to start, sir, if you like."

It was now getting late in the afternoon, and the worst of the day was past. Preston started the engine, and, in spite of her load, the big 'plane rose easily. A few moments later Phil found himself high above the broad Nile, and flashing through the air in a westerly direction.

The coolness of the upper atmosphere was delicious, and did him more good than anything else could have done.

"The sooner the better," said the professor, with a twinkle in his eyes. "I mean, so much the worse for them, for they won't dream of help coming so soon."

"I hope to goodness they're not there yet, sir. There aren't more than a dozen men to fight them, and—and the Haruts are the most awful brutes!"

The 'plane sped on above the yellow desert. In twenty minutes they were above the halfway well. To Phil it seemed almost beyond belief that he could so quickly cross those distances which had taken hours of desperate riding.

Soon the jagged hills above the oasis rose against the evening sky, and Phil caught the distant reflection of the low sun upon the quiet surface of the lake.

"You're right!" he cried. "They're there already. Hurry! Oh, hurry all you can."

"Don't worry, Fernie," said the professor kindly. "We are doing eighty. Preston get the gun ready."

The next five minutes were like hours to Phil. As the 'plane flashed nearer to the oasis he could plainly see smoke rising in grey wisps above the palms, but, the roar of the exhaust drowned all sounds of firing.

Suddenly Macleod cut out the engine, and they were planing silently down out of the blues. The palms grew from toys to trees, and a sharp crackle of firing came plainly to their oars.

"They're rushing the camp!" panted Phil. "They are on horses. There must be a hundred of them. Be quick! That stockade will never stop them!"

"But this here will!" answered Preston confidently, as he touched the breach of his gun.

The 'plane was just over the trees. She seemed on the point of dropping into the feathery tops of the tall date-palms, when Macleod switched on again, and she rose a little and swooped out over the lake.

"There they are!" cried Phil, pointing to a body of horsemen who were galloping hard across the open ground at the cast end of the lake. They came in one wide line, firing as they rode. But even as they came, more than one saddle was emptied. Reggie and the rest were shooting well and truly.

Phil's heart was in his mouth. It could be only a matter of seconds before the Haruts reached the place. They would go right through it, and swamp the camp. Then help would be too late.

There was no need for his advice. Macleod, trained in a score of battles against the Boche, was already swooping downwards. Like a live thing, the 'plane dived into the narrowing gap between the horsemen and the stockade.

Phil held his breath. It seemed to him as if the machine would dive straight into the ground and be smashed to atoms.

Not a bit of it. Fifty feet up, Macleod levelled her out. At the same moment, the little mechanic pressed the trigger, and a stream of bullets broke from the muzzle of the gun, and hosed the pounding ranks of the horsemen with a hail of lead.

Horses and men crashed to the ground in dozens. But the 'plane herself did more than the gun. The horses of the Haruts, terrified out of themselves by this roaring, flaming apparition, turned and bolted in every direction, while their riders, hardly less scared than their mounts, tugged vainly at their reins.

It was like a miracle. One moment a powerful squadron riding to certain victory, the next a scattered mob flying for their lives, with at least a quarter of their number dead upon the ground.

"Keep after them!" shouted Preston. "We've got to read 'em a lesson, sir! If we don't, we'll have it all to do again."

Macleod nodded. He swung the 'plane to and fro, quartering up and down over the heads of the fugitives, and Preston kept on firing till his barrel was nearly red-hot. The Haruts went clean crazy. Some flung themselves from their horses and lay face downwards on the sand, a few rode right into the lake.

Within five minutes there was not one left alive in the oasis. The scattered remnant were spurring far and wide out over the desert.

"What's the matter?" demanded the professor, whose first idea was that the long strain had been too much for Phil.

He pointed as he spoke to a tall figure standing well out in the open and rapidly turning the crank of a motion-picture camera, the lens of which was turned upon the aeroplane.

"The ruling passion strong in—well, not in death this time, thank goodness!" said Professor Dimsdale, with a laugh.

Next moment they were on the ground, and surrounded by the whole of the Golden Apple Company. How little they were damaged was proved by their cheers, which must have almost been heard by the flying Haruts, though the nearest of these gentlemen was by this time at least three miles away.

"So this is the place," said Professor Dimsdale, as he stood on the sand of the basin and looked round with interest at the low black cliffs which bordered it. "Ah, and there's the centre, and Carney's posts and ropes still in position! By the by, I wonder what has happened to that gentleman?"

"There's not a sign of him, sir," replied Phil. "We've hunted the ruins of the old city and the caves in the gorge. We think the Haruts must have wiped him out."

"I'll be careful. But this sink is a curious phenomenon, and the looseness of the sand is going to make digging very difficult.

"I don't know the first thing about these treasure-hunting games, professor," answered Joe. "I leave that to you and Fernie."

"I confess I am at a loss. In any case, it is going to be a long and expensive business."

"Then I reckon I ain't going to stay for it," said Joe. "I can't afford to keep all these folk fooling round here for weeks. My job is to get my picture, and I reckon I can do that without seeing what's hid down below all this sand. Them caves Fernie found up in the gorge are going to make just as good a setting for the last two reels as anything we've got here."

"You don't mean that, Mr. Fosdyke? Why, I've promised everyone a share in this treasure. Oh, you can't go back on us after all that's happened."

"See here, Fernie," replied Joe, kindly enough. "I'm willing to do anything that's right, but you know as well as I do, that this game is costing me a matter of five hundred a week. I don't want to go broke over it."

"Quite useless," said Professor Dimsdale curtly. "Two months would hardly be enough."

"That puts the job out of court, Fernie. It'd cost a matter of four thousand, and how am I to know as I'll ever get the money back?"

He turned and led the way up the gorge, and the others followed. Presently they were all standing at the upper end, facing the brook, the present channel of which was only about four feet below the level of the cross ravine.

"But I do," said the professor quickly. "Yon mean to turn the water into the other channel?"

"That's it. Turn it in there, and wash away the sand. Then there'll be no digging at all."

"'Out of the mouths of babes.'" quoted the professor. "The boy has got it, Mr. Fosdyke. For myself, I should not wonder if this cross gorge was the old channel of the brook."

"Yes; and in the course of years it has changed, or perhaps it was an earthquake," said the professor. "But I have an improvement to suggest, Fernie. We will just put a sluice-gate across the mouth of the ravine, then build a large dam below. When we have poured up the water to a depth of ten or twelve feet we will raise the gates and get a rush, which will do the business straight off the reel, so to speak."

"And what a picture!" he cried. "Right, Fernie: I'm willing to risk it. Go right ahead!"

CHAPTER 29.
In the Hands of the Enemy!

THE next days were the busiest Phil had ever known. Every Gyppy who could be spared was at his services, while he and Les and Macleod and Preston worked as hard as any of the rest.

Reggie and the other members of the company were kept busy by Joe, who, with mademoiselle's help was building up the new film, scene by scene. But when any of them could get away they were all on the spot, shifting boulders with the best.

Nothing makes men work so hard as the hope of treasure. On the twelfth evening the dam was completed. The sluice-gates were already in position. It was arranged that the whole party should be on the spot at sunrise next morning, not only to see the water released, but to play a scene of which the incident would be a part.

That night Phil could not sleep, and when he did drop off it was to wake again. About three in the morning he got tired of tossing about, and got up quietly.

"Can't sleep. I'm all on edge. Tell you what, Les, I'm going to walk on down to the gorge, and wait there for the rest."

"Sure, I'll come with ye!" declared, Les. "We'll just leave a note to tell Reggie where we are, then we'll have a cup of coffee and be off."

The sun had not yet risen when the two boys arrived at the dam, but there was light enough to show that the dam was brimming full, and the surplus water over the top of the great wall of rock which blocked the deep channel below the sluice-gates.

"Fine, Phil! Sure it'll be something to see whin all that goes bursting down the gorge! I'll lay 'twill take that sand out like winking.

"But what are ye looking at?" he added, as he saw that Phil was stooping down and examining the ground just behind the sluice gates.

"Someone has been at work here," said Phil in a puzzled tone. "There's a fresh hole been made here, and filled up. Have a look at it."

"You're both right!" came a coarse, harsh voice. And the two boys, springing upright, found themselves covered by an automatic pistol gripped in the great fist of Luke Carney.

Luke himself, filthy dirty, unshaven, was glaring at them with evil, bloodshot eyes.

"You're right," jeered Luke; "quite right. Yes, a little job of my own. One you'll understand more about a bit later.

"Stand still!" he broke off savagely, as Phil moved a little. "Stand still, or I'll drill you as full of holes as a sieve! Here, Paul!"

Paul Carney, as disreputable and grimy as his father, appeared out of a cleft in the side of the gorge. There was an ugly grin on his unpleasant face, and a coil of stout cord in his hand.

"They'll not slip much by the time I've done with 'em!" boasted Paul as he set to work.

He lashed their hands behind their backs with cruel force. Then he and his father drove them down the gorge for a matter of fifty yards, and up the steep left-hand side to a ledge near the top. The ledge was invisible from below, yet from it a view could be obtained of the whole dam, and part of the path to the east of it.

Luke glared at the boys. He chuckled hideously. To Phil it seemed that the man was half mad.

"Yes," he snarled, "Paul and I dug that hole last night. And d'ye know what's inside it? He laughed again with a horrible, grating sound.

"Dynamite, my dears! Dynamite, my little beauties! Ha, ha! Oh, it's a great joke! You'd forgotten Luke Carney, but he's been watching you all the time—watching you do his work for him. Now it's done, and he reaps the benefit!"

Phil's heart sank to his very boots. Cold chills ran down his back. Carney went on:

"Now you'll be able to watch the last act from a reserved seat. Just before the dear Joe and the beautiful Reggie arrive I drop down and touch off the fuse. Then up they go in the air, every one of them! Down comes the water, out goes the sand!"

Again he burst out laughing, and by this time Phil had no longer the slightest doubt but that the man had become an absolute maniac.

"I haven't made up my mind about you two, whether I'll push you over into the water when it comes down, or whether I'll give you your lives and let you work for me. I'll be wanting help to get all those pretty things up from under the sand.

"Gag 'em, Paul!" he snapped. "Gag 'em! I'll not risk them giving warning to fat Joe!"

Unable to resist, the two were gagged. Also their legs were tied, and they were left helpless.

He was away at once, and as he went Paul distinctly heard the sound of horses' hoofs in the distance coming down the ravine. A dumb despair settled upon him.

With fascinated eyes he and Les watched Carney go swiftly up the ravine. They saw him lift a stone, and, bending down, take a matchbox from his pocket. He took out a match, struck it, and held it in the hollow of his great horny hands.

Then, just as he was touching it to the fuse-end, a figure shot out from the angle of rock behind him. It was the big, black Arab, Ismail.

The warning reached Luke's ears in time, and with amazing swiftness he leaped to his feet, just as Ismail was upon him.

Carney leapt aside, then, quick as a panther, hurled himself upon the Arab, and, catching him by the right wrist forced his arm upwards.

The man's strength was fearful. Phil, watching breathlessly, could hear the thick, panting sobs of the two men as, locked together, they swung to and fro. He himself went almost mad with suspense. Les was white as a sheet. He seemed hardly to breathe.

Ismail's knife dropped from his nerveless hand and clattered to the rock. He struggled furiously, but in vain. Suddenly Carney gave a peculiar jerk, at the same time stooping. It was a wrestling trick learned in some circus years ago.

Next moment Ismail was in the air. He shot right over Carney's head, fell with a crash upon the hard rock, and lay still.

Carney hardly gave him a glance. Like a flash, he struck another match, and, with a horror beyond words to describe, Phil saw that this time he had not failed. The fuse was lighted, and spitting softly.

Carney looked once more at Ismail, but the Arab lay utterly still, with eyes closed. For an instant Carney fingered his automatic, but, realising, of course, that the shot must be heard by Joe's party, put the pistol back, and ran swiftly down the ravine.

Every moment the steps of the advancing party came nearer. It could not be more than a minute or two before they were on the scene. Carney knew this, and came at a great pace.

But Phil was not watching him. It was Ismail upon whom his eyes were fixed. The Arab was not dead. He was not even insensible. Luke had no sooner left him than he began to crawl away. But he was dazed. He did not attempt to extinguish the fuse. He was going to the east, up stream.

Phil saw this, and so did Les, but Paul fortunately did not. He was looking at his father.

When Paul did at length see what was happening, Luke had already nearly reached the ledge.

"Father," he said in a harsh whisper. "Ismail's not dead. He's escaping. He'll warn those others."

Luke swore horribly, He turned his head and saw Ismail, who, though sorely hurt, was just rounding the corner at the upper edge of the ravine.

A rock gave under his foot. Down he went, falling like a sack of coals a distance of nearly thirty feet. His body landed with a heavy thud in the gorge bottom, and this time there was no doubt about it whatever. He was senseless as the stone on which he lay.

"Father!" cried Paul hoarsely, and, paying no attention to Les or Phil, began climbing down.

He had not gone six feet before there was a roar like thunder, and the whole upper end of the gorge, sluice gates and all, dissolved into a great cloud of earth, stones, smoke, and water.

The explosion not only destroyed the sluice gates, but blew a hole six feet deep in the solid rock, and the whole of the ponded water—thousands of tons of it—came rushing madly down the cross gorge.

In an instant the dry bed was filled with a raging torrent, and Carney's body was whirled away like a cork. Paul, seeing what had happened, came scrambling wildly back up to the ledge. At the same moment Phil saw Reggie and Joe appear together at the upper corner of the gorge. Paul saw them, too, and his nerve went altogether.

Phil motioned to his bound hands, and Paul, with shaking fingers, cut him loose. In a twinkling Phil had the gag out of his own mouth, then cut Les free.

"And Luke will trouble us no more," said Les. "I'm thinking he's gone to join them Lost Gods," he added quietly.

Phil stood up and waved to Reggie. Reggie saw him, and waved back. Phil turned to Les.

"Come on," he said. "We'll climb to the top, cross the river below the dam, then we can go up the far side, cross again above, and join them."

"Stay where you are," he said, with scorn. "Stay where you are. We will settle with you later."

* * * * *

"The Place of the Lost Gods" was first shown to the trade in a well-known London picture palace, and every one of the original company were present on that occasion. The professor was there, too, and Macleod and little Preston.

Scene after scene shot up, illuminated by the brilliant Egyptian sunshine, and Les and Phil, seated in cosy, velvet-covered chairs, could almost feel the blazing heat as they lived over again each incident of those exciting days in the oasis of T'zin.

They came to the morning of the flood. Brand had managed to set up his camera in time to get a splendid series of pictures.

"See, Phil," whispered Les. "There's Paul on the ledge. Did ye ever see anyone look so miserable?"

"Poor beast!" said Phil. "Can you wonder at it, with a father like that? Well all right now. He's on a farm, and has his chance to make good."

Huge pillars showed. Beneath them, rocky ground bared by the wash of water. And under a massive roof the dim figures of the Lost Gods of old Egypt, regarding the strangers who had laid them bare with grave eyes. Horus, Isis, gods with the heads of cats and bulls and alligators, wonderfully made and carved.

And Mademoiselle de Chartres, in the robes of a priestess of Isis, and Reggie Dacre, glorious as a prince of the royal house of Egypt, and slaves with gilded fans, moved in a splendid pageant. As the last faded away, Brand leaned across to Phil.

"Absolutely topping!" said Phil, "It's going to make your name, Brand. You'll never be out of a job."

"Guess I don't need a job as bad as I used to. For a fact, I don't suppose any of us need work any more'n we want to. Joe says those stones we found in the old stone coffer are going to pan out something better'n half a million, while the museums of all the world are simply shouting for the rest of the queer truck we found."

"I guess not, I'd hate to think I was never going to film another scene," said Brand. "What are you going to do, Phil?"

"Going to college," answered Phil. "So's Les. After that we're going back to the East."

"Work under Professor Dimsdale down in the Soudan. There's a big irrigation scheme on, and we're going to start a farm."

The show was over. People were moving slowly out. All were asking how soon this wonderful film would be released.

"Come on, Phil. Come on, Les. I'm giving a little luncheon party to the company to celebrate. I reckon we've got a winner here. Shouldn't wonder if it was worth more to me than my share of the Lost Gods."

THOMAS CHARLES BRIDGES
(WRITING AS TOM BRIDGES)

THE STAR OF THE FILMS

A GRAND NEW CINEMA STORY

Serialised in Boys' Realm, Series 2, #987-#1001, 1920

Reprinted in Boys' Friend Library, #565, July 1921
(this version)
First e-book edition: Roy Glashan's Library, 2023^©
Version Date: 2023-12-11

Produced by Keith Emmett and Roy Glashan

Click here for more books by this author

TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER 1.
Mob Rule.

CHAPTER 2.
The Second Appearance of Phil Fernie.

CHAPTER 3.
Treachery.

CHAPTER 4.
The Listener.

CHAPTER 5.
A Change of Plan.

CHAPTER 6.
The Danger of Disguise.

CHAPTER 7.
In the Hands of the Enemy.

CHAPTER 8.
When Dawn Came.

* * * * *

CHAPTER 9.
Alone in the Desert.

CHAPTER 10.
The Last Gasp.

* * * * *

CHAPTER 11.
The Black Arab.

CHAPTER 12.
Robbery.

CHAPTER 13.
Trapped.

CHAPTER 14.
The Monk's Mummy.

CHAPTER 15.
A Stick of Dynamite.

CHAPTER 16.
Cornered.

CHAPTER 17.
A Night Flight.

CHAPTER 18.
The Shifted Scene.

CHAPTER 19.
The Treasure-Seeking Syndicate.

CHAPTER 20.
The Pit.

CHAPTER 21.
The Bolting of the Wild Camel.

CHAPTER 22.
The Pit of Asps.

CHAPTER 23.
The Bag of Gold.

CHAPTER 24.
Carney Wins a Trick.

CHAPTER 25.
The Devils of the Desert.

CHAPTER 26.
In the Reed Brake.

CHAPTER 27.
A Night Ride.

CHAPTER 28.
The Battle by the Lake.

CHAPTER 29.
In the Hands of the Enemy!

* * * * *

THE END

THOMAS CHARLES BRIDGES (WRITING AS TOM BRIDGES)

THE STAR OF THE FILMS

A GRAND NEW CINEMA STORY

Serialised in Boys' Realm, Series 2, #987-#1001, 1920 Reprinted in Boys' Friend Library, #565, July 1921 (this version) First e-book edition: Roy Glashan's Library, 2023© Version Date: 2023-12-11 Produced by Keith Emmett and Roy Glashan Click here for more books by this author

TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER 1. Mob Rule.

CHAPTER 2. The Second Appearance of Phil Fernie.

CHAPTER 3. Treachery.

CHAPTER 4. The Listener.

CHAPTER 5. A Change of Plan.

CHAPTER 6. The Danger of Disguise.

CHAPTER 7. In the Hands of the Enemy.

CHAPTER 8. When Dawn Came.

* * * * *

CHAPTER 9. Alone in the Desert.

CHAPTER 10. The Last Gasp.

* * * * *

CHAPTER 11. The Black Arab.

CHAPTER 12. Robbery.

CHAPTER 13. Trapped.

CHAPTER 14. The Monk's Mummy.

CHAPTER 15. A Stick of Dynamite.

CHAPTER 16. Cornered.

CHAPTER 17. A Night Flight.

CHAPTER 18. The Shifted Scene.

CHAPTER 19. The Treasure-Seeking Syndicate.

CHAPTER 20. The Pit.

CHAPTER 21. The Bolting of the Wild Camel.

CHAPTER 22. The Pit of Asps.

CHAPTER 23. The Bag of Gold.

CHAPTER 24. Carney Wins a Trick.

CHAPTER 25. The Devils of the Desert.

CHAPTER 26. In the Reed Brake.

CHAPTER 27. A Night Ride.

CHAPTER 28. The Battle by the Lake.

CHAPTER 29. In the Hands of the Enemy!

* * * * *

THE END

THOMAS CHARLES BRIDGES
(WRITING AS TOM BRIDGES)

Serialised in Boys' Realm, Series 2, #987-#1001, 1920

Reprinted in Boys' Friend Library, #565, July 1921
(this version)
First e-book edition: Roy Glashan's Library, 2023^©
Version Date: 2023-12-11

Produced by Keith Emmett and Roy Glashan

Click here for more books by this author

CHAPTER 1.
Mob Rule.

CHAPTER 2.
The Second Appearance of Phil Fernie.

CHAPTER 3.
Treachery.

CHAPTER 4.
The Listener.

CHAPTER 5.
A Change of Plan.

CHAPTER 6.
The Danger of Disguise.

CHAPTER 7.
In the Hands of the Enemy.

CHAPTER 8.
When Dawn Came.

CHAPTER 9.
Alone in the Desert.

CHAPTER 10.
The Last Gasp.

CHAPTER 11.
The Black Arab.

CHAPTER 12.
Robbery.

CHAPTER 13.
Trapped.

CHAPTER 14.
The Monk's Mummy.

CHAPTER 15.
A Stick of Dynamite.

CHAPTER 16.
Cornered.

CHAPTER 17.
A Night Flight.

CHAPTER 18.
The Shifted Scene.

CHAPTER 19.
The Treasure-Seeking Syndicate.

CHAPTER 20.
The Pit.

CHAPTER 21.
The Bolting of the Wild Camel.

CHAPTER 22.
The Pit of Asps.

CHAPTER 23.
The Bag of Gold.

CHAPTER 24.
Carney Wins a Trick.

CHAPTER 25.
The Devils of the Desert.

CHAPTER 26.
In the Reed Brake.

CHAPTER 27.
A Night Ride.

CHAPTER 28.
The Battle by the Lake.

CHAPTER 29.
In the Hands of the Enemy!