here were three magnificent altars of alabaster and
over each was an oval containing the name of one of the three sleepers
in the pit below.

In this chapel the signet had been lost.

Kenkenes set his light on the floor and began his search. The first
time he searched the floor, he laid the lack of success to his excited
work. The second time, the perspiration began to trickle down his
temples. Thereafter he sought, lengthwise and crosswise, calling on
the gods for aid, but there was no glint of the jewel.

At last, sick with despair, he sat down to collect himself. Suddenly
across the heavy silence there smote a sound. In a place closer to the
beating heart of the world, the movement might have escaped him. Now,
though it was but the rustle of sweeping robes, it seemed to sough like
the wind among the clashing blades of palm-leaves.

For a moment Kenkenes sat, transfixed, and in that moment the sound
came nearer. He remembered the injunction of the old keeper. Human or
supernatural, the new-comer must not find him there. He leaped behind
the altar of Shaemus, extinguishing the light as he did so. He flung
the corner of his kamis over the reeking wick that the odor might not
escape, but his fear in that direction was materially lessened when he
saw that the stranger bore a fuming torch.

On one end of the short pole of the torch was a knot of flaming pitch,
on the other was a bronze ring fitted with sprawling claws. The
stranger set the light on the floor and the device kept the torch
upright. He crossed the room and stood at the altar of Neferari
Thermuthis.

By the deeply fringed and voluminous draperies, and by the venerable
beard, rippling and streaked with gray, the young sculptor took the
stranger to be an Israelite. As Kenkenes looked upon him, he was
minded of his father, the magnificent Mentu. There was the bearing of
the courtier, with the same wondrous stature, the same massive frame.
But the delicate features of the Egyptian, the long, slim fingers, the
narrow foot, were absent. In this man's countenance there was majesty
instead of grace; in his figure, might, instead of elegance. The
expression had need of only a little emphasis in either direction to
become benign or terrible. Kenkenes caught a single glance of the eyes
under the gray shelter of the heavy brows. Once, the young man had
seen hanging from Meneptah's neck the rarest jewel in the royal
treasure. The wise men had call