Where was I? At the entrance to a tomb? Then if I was at the entrance it must lead on. Somewhere ahead perhaps was a burial chamber and in it the stone sarcophagus and inside the sarcophagus the mummy.

One can grow accustomed to anything, even fear. Fear was creeping up on me and yet I felt calmer than I had at the first realization that I was alone in this gruesome place.

I walked a few paces. If there was a way out of this chamber . . . but to what would it lead . . . only to a long dead mummy. What I needed was a way out into the open, the fresh air.

I thought: There is little air in here. I shall use what there is in a short time. I shall die; and I shall lie here forever until some archaeologist decides to explore this place just in case it leads to a great discovery; and his discovery will be my dead body.

"Nonsense," I said as I had said so many times to Theodosia, "there must be something I can do."

The very thought inspired me with courage. I would not sit here quietly and wait for death. I would find the way out if it was to be found.

I picked up the lantern. I examined the walls again. I now saw some significance in the wall drawings. This was meant to depict the progress of a soul along the river Tuat. There was the boat on a sea from which rose hideous sea monsters, snakes with double heads, waves which enveloped the vessel; but above was the God Osiris, God of the Underworld and Judge of the Dead. This meant that he was giving his protection to the traveler in the boat and he would conduct him through the turbulent seas of the Tuat to the Kingdom of Amen Ra.

There was an opening in the wall. My heart leaped with hope. Then I saw that it was merely an alcove, similar in size to that one in which Yasmin and her lover had lain together.

As I examined it my foot touched something. I was startled and immediately thought of some of the horrible creatures I had seen rising from the river Tuat. I stooped and looked down. What I saw was not a hideous serpent but a gleaming object.

A matchbox! A small, gold box. What a strange thing to find in such a place. It was no antique piece. It belonged to this century. I turned it over in my hand and I saw the name engraved on it: E. Trovers.

Sir Edward's matchbox! Then he had been here!

I felt dizzy with this discovery. My incarceration was already having its effect. I could not think clearly. Sir Edward had been here at some time. What if it was the night when he had died? Had he died because he had been here? But he had gone back to the palace. He had told no one what he had seen, but Tybalt knew he had found something, something which excited him. Then he had eaten something which had been prepared for him. Who prepared his food? Mustapha and Absalam—those two who were branded with the Jackal, servants of the Pasha.

Sir Edward had been murdered. I was certain of that. And he had been murdered because he had been here. It would have been at the orders of the Pasha, who had ordained that he should die just as he had commanded that Yasmin be killed and thrown into the river and that there should be an accident at the bridge which would show that the Curse was in force.

The Pasha wanted to drive us away; he wanted our expedition to end in failure. Why? Because there was something which he did not want us to discover. If the Pasha's interest in archaeology really existed, why should he be ready to kill rather than allow discoveries to be made.

Because he wished to make them?

In my present state of fear and panic memories of the past seemed clearer than they normally were. I recalled vividly the Pasha's plump face, his shaking jowls, his lips greasy from the food he was eating. He had looked sly as he murmured: "There is a legend that my family founded its fortune on robbing tombs."

Could it possibly be that he continued to build up his fortune in this illegal way?

If that was so he would not be very friendly towards archaeologists who might expose him. Was that why he offered his palace, why his servants waited on us, why they had orders to frighten us away?

I knew that that was the answer.

But it did not answer the pressing question: Why was it necessary to bring me here?

I thought, Leopold Harding is another of his servants. In the papers they will be reading: Wife of archaeologist disappears. Lady Travers, wife of Sir Tybalt, left the palace where the party of archaeologists are lodged and has not been seen for two days . . . three days ... a week ... a month. She can only be presumed dead. How was she spirited away? This is another instance of the Curse of the Kings. It will be remembered that a few months ago the wife of one of the archaeologists suffered a fatal accident.

I could see Dorcas reading that. Alison with her. I could see their blank, miserable faces. They would be truly heartbroken.

It must not be. I must find a way out of it.

I clutched Sir Edward's golden matchbox as though it were a talisman.

Darkness! Was the lantern growing dim? What should I do when the oil ran out? Should I be dead by then?

How long could one survive in an atmosphere such as this?

My feet were numb. With fear or cold I could not know. Above me the eyes of the great bat glittered . . . waiting . . . waiting to descend.

"Oh God," I prayed, "help me. Show me what to do. Let Tybalt come and find me. Let it be that he wants me to live, not to die."

Then I thought, when we are in need of help why do we always tell God what to do? If it is His will I will come out of this place alive—and only then.

I think I was a little delirious. I thought I heard footsteps. But it was only the beating of my own heart which was like hammer strokes in my ears.

I talked aloud. "Oh, Tybalt, miss me. Search for me. You will find me if you do. You will find that door. Why should there be such a door? Something will lead you to me. If you want to find me . . . desperately . . . you must. But do you want to find me? Was it by your order? No ... I don't believe that. I won't believe that!"

I could see the old church now with the tower and the gravestones tottering over some of them. "You can't read what's on them." That sounded like Alison's voice. "I think that they should be removed . . . but you can't disturb the dead . . ."

"You can't disturb the dead. You can't disturb the dead." It was as though a thousand voices were chanting that. And there was the boat all round me and the sea was boiling like the water in the big black saucepan that used to be on the kitchen fire at the rectory when Dorcas or Alison was making Irish stew or boiling the Christmas puddings.

This was delirium. I was aware of it, but I welcomed it. It took me away from this dark and fearsome place. It took me back to the schoolroom where I teased the others; it took me to the graveyard where old Pegger was digging a grave.

"And who's that for, Mr. Pegger?"

"It be for you, Miss Judith. You was always a meddler and now look where it 'as brought you ... to the grave ... to the tomb . . ."

There were the echoing voices again. "To the tomb," and I was back in this cold place of death and terror.

"Oh God, help me. Let Tybalt find me. Let him love me. Let it have been a mistake. . . ."

"There's a wedding at the church," said Dorcas. "You must come with us, Judith. Here is a handful of rice. Be careful how you throw it."

And there they were coming down the aisle, married by the Reverend James Osmond. Tybalt and Tabitha . . .

"No!" I cried; and I was back again in the tomb.

My limbs were stiff. I tried to get up. I would try to get out.

As I stood I kicked something. It was the matchbox which I had dropped. I stopped to pick it up; as I did so the wall seemed to move.

I'm imagining something; I told myself. I'm delirious. In a moment I shall be opening the door of my bedroom at the rectory.

The door did open. I fell against it. I was in a dark passage, facing another door.

Some impulse made me bang on this door.

The small hope which had come to me brought back with it panic because I realized full well what was happening to me then in a flash of clarity. I was trapped. I had been led here and the purpose could only be to kill me. I was losing my strength. The lantern would not remain alight forever. And I could not get out.

I kicked the door. I tried to open it. But it did not move.

I sank down beside it. But at least the door which led to the chamber was open and might that let in more air?

I stumbled along the passage. It was short and came to an abrupt end. It was nothing that I had discovered; only another blind alley. I went back and kicked at the door in fury. And then I sank down and covered my face with my hands.

There was nothing I could do ... nothing but wait for death.

I lost consciousness. I was sitting in the half open doorway and in the chamber beyond the great bat was waiting.

How long? I wondered.

The light of the lantern was growing fainter. It would go out at any moment.

When the darkness came what should I do?

I would be frightened perhaps because then I should not be able to see anything at all, not even the eyes of the bat in the ceiling.

In sudden panic I rose again. I stumbled to that door. I cried: "Help me. Help me. God, Allah, Osiris . . . anyone . . . help me."

I was half sobbing, half laughing and I kicked and kicked with all the strength of which I was capable.

And then . . . the miracle happened. There was an answer.