Towards morning my mind grew much easier. Sir Robert awoke and took a few mouthfuls of liquid nourishment. But although too weak to speak, he was sensible and the fever had left him. He fell asleep again immediately. Soon afterwards my eyes fell on the sarcophagus. Its great size affected me with wonder—and its construction. Why should imperishable treasures, gold, silver, and precious stones be enclosed in lead? Why not in stone? And the sarcophagus had been hermetically sealed too, witness the chisel and saw marks on the lid, of Ottley\'s making. I examined them attentively, then sat down and stared at the sarcophagus again. It was coffin shaped. Why? If it had been intended for a mere treasure chest surely—I was struck suddenly by a fact and a remembrance. The sarcophagus manifestly measured four feet high at least. And I remembered that in filling it with water for Sir Robert\'s bath I had only had to fill eighteen inches in depth. What if underneath the treasure it contained another chamber overlaid with lead? There was room. I got[Pg 30] afoot and measured the depth of water on my arm. Eighteen, well, certainly not more than nineteen inches. I seized a bucket and began to bail the water out, having need to be noiseless for the sleepers\' sake. The task occupied the better part of half an hour. By then morning had begun to pale the lamplight, and I was weary. But I kept on, and finally mopped the interior of the huge basin dry with a towel. Thereupon I examined the bottom with the lamp. It did not show a single crevice. The lead was in a solid and impervious sheet. Curious. But the difference between the eighteen inches and the four feet remained to be accounted for. Was the interspace filled with lead? If so—why such uneconomic expenditure of a valuable mineral? The mystery interested me so much that my weariness was forgotten. I felt that at any cost it must be solved forthwith. Casting about, I found a fine-pointed and razor-sharp chisel in the drawer of Sir Robert Ottley\'s camp table. With this, I set to work. Climbing into the sarcophagus, I selected a spot, and using the weight of my body in place of a hammer, I forced the chisel into the lead. It bit into the metal slowly but surely. One inch. One inch and a half. Suddenly it slipped. I fell forward and was brought up by the handle. The mystery was solved. I recovered my position and wiped my forehead. Instantly a thin but strangely overpowering perfume filled my nostrils. It resembled camphor, and violets, and lavender, and[Pg 31] oil of almonds, and a hundred other scents, but was truly like none of them. It created and compelled, however, a confused train of untranslatable reflections which might have been memories. But God knows what they were. I experienced a mysterious sensation of immeasurable antiquity. And wildly absurd as the idea appears set forth in sober language, something assured me that I was thousands of years old or had lived before—so long—so very long ago. I saw lights—the sound of chanting voices and of rushing waters filled my ears. I seemed to be assisting at a solemn ritual. Ghostly forces and dim spirit figures filled the cave. The air was thick with incense fumes. My reason rocked and swung. Just in time I realised that I was becoming mysteriously an?sthetised. I held my breath and with a powerful effort leaped to the floor. Then I carefully blocked up the chisel hole with my kerchief and staggered into the open air. Very soon I was my own man again. Returning filled with apprehension for the patient, I found nothing to alarm me. The perfume had absolutely disappeared. Sir Robert was sleeping like a babe. I took a nip of brandy and sitting down, gave myself to dreams watching the sarcophagus. What was its secret? And what the secret of Sir Robert Ottley\'s passionate interest in the corpse of Ptahmes that had been potent enough to call him back to life from the very brink of dissolution? But plainly I must wait to learn. For it would not do to trifle[Pg 32] with the perfume in the cavern. In that confined space it might bring about the destruction of us all. Already it had affected me. My head ached fearfully, and I knew that my blood vessels were distended, and that my heart was still violently excited. My agitation was not all painful. There was an insidious pleasure mingled with it, an intangible titillation of the nerves; but that only alarmed me the more. The poisons that are most to be feared are those which captivate the senses; they convey no warning to the body, and betray the mind, however watchful, by effecting a paralysis of will. Perhaps—unwittingly—I had been very near death. The notion was disturbing. I began to regard the sarcophagus much in the light of an infernal machine possessing dangerous potentialities for ill. I determined as soon as possible—that is to say, as soon as help arrived—to have it removed from the sick room to the pylon. There at least it would be less manifestly perilous; having the play of the whole wide desert atmosphere in which to dissipate its noxious energies.