Seizing a shovel, he began to dig at the doorway of
the tomb, whilst the jackals howled louder than ever in astonishment.
They were not used to such a sight. For thousands of years, as the old
moon above could have told, no man, or at least no solitary man, had
dared to rob tombs at such an unnatural hour.
When Smith had been digging for about twenty minutes something tinkled
on his shovel with a noise which sounded loud in that silence.
"A stone which may come in handy for the jackals," he thought to
himself, shaking the sand slowly off the spade until it appeared. There
it was, and not large enough to be of much service. Still, he picked it
up, and rubbed it in his hands to clear off the encrusting dirt. When he
opened them he saw that it was no stone, but a bronze.
"Osiris," reflected Smith, "buried in front of the tomb to hallow the
ground. No, an Isis. No, the head of a statuette, and a jolly good
one, too--at any rate, in moonlight. Seems to have been gilded." And,
reaching out for the lamp, he held it over the object.
Another minute, and he found himself sitting at the bottom of the hole,
lamp in one hand and statuette, or rather head, in the other.
"The Queen of the Mask!" he gasped.
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