Текст книги "The Seventh Scroll"

Автор книги: Wilbur Smith

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Then he thrust the temptation aside. He would not debase this treasure

by making it available to the common rabble. It had been assembled for

the funeral of a pharaoh.

Von Schiller saw himself as the modern equivalent of a pharaoh.

"No!" he told Nahoot violently. "This is mine, all mine.

When I die it will go with me, all of it. I have made the arrangements

already, in my will. My sons know what to do. This will all be with me

in my own grave. My royal grave.

Nahoot stared at him aghast. He had not realized until that moment that

the old man was mad, that his obsessions had driven him over the edge of

sanity. But the Egyptian knew that there was no point in arguing with

him now later he would find a way to save this marvelous treasure from

the oblivion of another tomb. So he bowed his.head in mock acquiescence.

"You are right, Hell von Schiller. That is the only fitting manner to

dispose of it. You deserve that form of burial. However, our main

concern now must be to get all of it to safety. Helm has warned us about

the danger of the river, of the dam bursting. We must call him and Nogo.

Nogo's men must clear out the tomb. We can ferry the treasure in the

helicopter up to the Pegasus camp, where. I can pack it securely for the

journey to Germany."

"Yes. Yes." Von Schiller scrambled to his feet, suddenly terrified at

the prospect of being deprived of this wondrous hoard by the flooded

river. "Send the monk, what is his name, Hansith, send him to call Helm.

He must come at once."

Nahoot jumped up to his feet. "Hansith!" he shouted.

"Where are you?"

The monk had been waiting at the entrance to the burial chamber,

kneeling in prayer before the empty sarcophagus which had contained the

body of the saint. He was torn now between religious conviction and

greed.

When he heard his name called he genuflected deeply, and then rose and

hurried back to join von Schiller and Nahoot.

"You must go back to the Pool where we left the others-' Nahoot started

to relay the orders, but suddenly a strange, distracted expression

crossed Hansith's darkly handsome features and he held up his hand for

silence.

"What is it?" Nahoot demanded angrily. "What is it that you can hear?"

Hansith shook his head. "Be quiet! Listen! Can't you hear it?"

"There is nothing-' Nahoot began, but then broke off suddenly, and wild

terror filled his dark eyes.

There was the softest sound, gentle as the sigh of a summer zephyr,

lulling and low.

"What do you hear?" von Schiller demanded. His hearing had long ago

deteriorated, and the sound was far beyond the range of his old ears.

"Water!" whispered Nahoot."Running water!'

"The river!" shouted Hansith. "The tunnel is floodingr He whirled round

and went bounding down the funeral arcade with long, lithe strides.

"We will be trapped in here!" screamed Nahoot, and raced after him.

"Wait for me," von Schiller yelled, and tried to follow.

But he soon fell behind the two much younger men.

The monk, however, was far ahead of both of them as he took the flight

of stairs up from the gas trap two at a time.

"Hansith! Come back! I order you," Nahoot cried despairingly in his

wake, but he caught only a flash of the monk's white robe as he darted

into the first twist of the labyrinth.

"Guddabi, where are you?" von Schiller's voice quavered and echoed

through the stone corridors. But Nahoot did not reply as he ran on in

the direction which he thought the monk had taken, passing the first

turn in the maze without even glancing at the chalk marks on the wall.

He thought he heard Hansith's racing footsteps ahead of him, but by the

time he had turned the third corner he knew he was lost.

He stopped with his heart racing savagely and the bitter gall of terror

in the back of his throat.

"Hansith! Where are you?"he screamed wildly.

Von Schiller's voice came back to him, ringing weirdly down the

passageways, "Guddabi! Guddabi! Don't leave me here."

"Shut up!" he screamed. "Keep quiet, you old fool!'

Panting heavily, the blood pounding in his ears, he

111, Timor:

tried to listen for the sound of Hansith's feet. But he heard only the

sound of the river. The gentle susurration seemed to emanate from the

very walls around him.

"No! Don't leave me here," he screamed, and began to run without

direction, panic-stricken, through the maze.

/4' ansith took each twist and'turn unerringly, with the terror of

dreadful death driving his 7 feet. But at the head of the central

staircase his ankle twisted under him and he fell heavily. He tumbled

down the steeply inclined shaft, bumping and rolling the full length,

gathering speed as he went until he reached the bottom and lay sprawled

on the agate tiles of the long gallery.

He dragged himself to his feet, bruised and shaken by the fall, and

tried to run on. But his leg gave way under him again, and he fell in a

tangle. His ankle was badly sprained and would not carry his weight.

Nevertheless he dragged himself up a second time and hobbled down the

gallery, supporting himself with one hand on the shattered wall.

When he reached the doorway and crawled through it on to the landing

beside the generator the sound of the water came up the tunnel. It was

much louder now – a low, reverberating growl which almost blotted out

the soft, discreet hum of the generator.

"Sweet loving Christ and the Virgin, save me!" he pleaded as he

staggered and lurched down the tunnel, falling twice more before he

reached the lower level.

On his knees he peered ahead, and in the glare of the electric lights

strung along the roof of the tunnel he could make out the sink-hole

below him. He did not at first recognize it, for it had all changed. The

water level was no longer lower than the paved floor on which he

sprawled. It was brimming, a great swirling maelstrom, and the water

pouring into it was being sucked away through the hidden outlet almost

as fast as it entered from the tunnel mouth on the far side. The pontoon

bridge was tangled and half, submerged, bobbing and canting and rearing

as it fought its retaining cables like an unbroken horse on a tether.

From Taita's pool'a roaring river of water was boring down the far

branch of the tunnel across the sink-hole.

The tunnel was flooding rapidly, the water already reaching halfway up

the walls, but he knew that it was the only escape route from the tomb.

Every moment he delayed, the flood became stronger.

"I have to get out through there." He pushed himself to his feet again.

He reached the first pontoon of the bridge, but it was careering about

so madly that he dared not attempt to remain upright upon it. He dropped

to his hands and knees, crawled out on to the flimsy structure and

managed to drag himself forward from one pontoon to the next, "Please

God and St. Michael help me. Don't let me die like this," he prayed

aloud. He reached the far side of the sink'hole and groped for a

handhold on the roughly hewn walls of the tunnel.

He found a hold with his fingertips and pulled himself into the mouth of

the tunnel, but now the full force of the water pouring down the shaft

struck his lower body. He hung there for a moment, pinned by the raging

waters, unable to move a pace forward. He knew that if his grip failed

he would be swept back into the sink-hole and sucked down into those

terrible black depths.

The electric bulbs strung along the roof of the tunnel ahead of him

still burned brightly, so that he could see almost to the open basin of

Taita's pool where the bamboo -scaffolding would offer escape to the top

of the chasm. It was only two hundred feet ahead of him. He gathered all

his strength and pulled himself forward against the raging waters,

reaching forward from one precarious handhold to

the next. His fingernails tore and the flesh smeared from the tips of

his fingers on the jagged rock, but he forced his way onwards.

At last he could see daylight ahead of him, filtering from Taita's pool.

Only another forty feet to go, and he realized with a surge of relief

and joy that he was going to make it out of the deadly trap of the

shaft. Then he heard a fresh sound, a harsher, more brutal roar as the

full flood of the burst dam poured down the waterfall into Taita's pool.

It found the entrance to the tunnel and came down it in a solid wave,

filling the passageway to the roof, ripping out the wiring of the lights

and plunging Hansith into darkness.

It struck him with such force that it seemed to be not mere water but

the solid rock of an avalanche, and he could not resist it. It tore him

from his insecure perch and plucked him away, tossing him backwards,

spinning him down the length of the shaft that he had gained with so

much effort, and hurling him into the sink-hole beyond.

He was swirled end over end by the crazed waters. In the darkness and

wild confusion he did not know which direction was up and which down,

but it made no difference for he could not swim against its power, Then

the sink'hole seized him full in its grip and sucked him swiftly and

deeply down. The pressure of the water began to crush him. One of his

eardrums burst, and as he opened his mouth to scream at the agony of it

the water spurted down his throat and flooded his lungs. The last thing

he ever felt was when he was flung against the side wall of the

sink-hole, travelling as fast as the falling waters, and the bones of

his right shoulder shattered. He could not scream again through his

sodden lungs, but soon the pain faded into oblivion.

As his corpse was drawn swiftly through the subterranean shaft it became

mangled and "dismembered on the jagged rock sides, and was no longer

recognizable as human.

17"

by the time it was discharged through the butterfly fountain on the far

side' of the mountain. From there the torn fragments were washed down

the diverted Dandera river to join, at last, the wider and more stately

waters of the Blue Nile.

he waters pouring through the gap in the dam i wall picked up the yellow

front-loader and tumbled it over the waterfall into the chasm as though

it were a child's toy. Nicholas had a glimpse of it in the air below

him. Even as he fell himself, he realized that if he had stayed with the

machine he would have been crushed beneath it. The huge machine struck

the surface of the pool in a fountain of white spray and disappeared,

Nicholas followed it down, falling free, even managing J11 to keep his

head uppermost, feet foremost, as he swooped I down the waterfall. The

flood that carried him cushioned his fall, so that instead of being

dashed against the exposed boulders at the bottom, he bounced and

tumbled in the racing torrent. He came to the surface fifty yards

downstream, tossed his wet hair out of his eyes and glanced around him

quickly.

The tractor was gone, swallowed deep into the pool at the foot of the

waterfall, but ahead of him was a small island of rock in the middle of

the river. With a dozen overarm strokes -he swam to it and clung to a

rocky spur.

>From there he looked up at the sheer walls of the chasm an  remembered

the last time he had been trapped down here. The  ation "ie a felt at

the destruction of the dam and the flooding of Pharaoh's tomb

evaporated.

He knew that he would not be able to climb those slick, water-smoothed

cliffs that offered no handholds and which belled outwards in an

overhang over his head.

Instead he weighed the chances of working his way back upstream to the

foot of the falls. From here it looked as though there was some sort of

funnel or crevice up the east side of the chute which might offer a

ladderway to the top, but it would be a hard and dangerous climb.

The volume of water coming over the falls was not as heavy as he had

expected, considering the vast body of water that was being held back by

the dam. He realized then that the greater part of the wall of gabions

must still be in place and that this torrent was only the result of

water escaping through the narrow gap he had torn in the centre of the

wall. The remainin gabions must still be 9 holding in place under their

own weight. However, he realized that they could not hold much longer

and that the river must soon plough them aside and burst through in full

force. So he abandoned the idea of swimming back to the foot of the

falls.

"Have to get out of its way," he thought desperately, as he imagined

being caught up in the terrible flood which would certainly come down at

any moment. "If I can reach the side somewhere, perhaps find a ledge,

climb above the flood." But he knew it was a forlorn hope. He had swum

the length of the canyon once before without finding a handhold on the

slick walls.

"Swim ahead of it?" he thought. "A slim chance, but the only one I

have." He kicked off his boots, and gathered himself. He was about to

push off from his temporary refuge, when he heard the rest of the dam

wall high above him give way.

There was a rumbling roar, the crackle of logs snapping and breaking,

the grating and grinding of heavy gabions being -thrown around like

empty rubbish cans, and then suddenly and terrifyingly a solid wave of

grey water burst over the top of the falls, carrying with it a wall of

trash and debris.

"Oh mother! Too late. Here comes the big one!'

He shoved off from his rock, turning downstream, and swam with all his

strength, kicking and flailing his arms in a wild crawl stroke. He heard

the roar of the approaching wave and glanced back over his shoulder. It

was overhauling him swiftly, filling the chasm from wall to wall,

fifteen feet high and curling at the top. He had a fleeting mental II

image from his youth, waiting to surf that notorious wave at Cape St.

Vincent, hanging on the line'up and seeing it humping up behind him,

this great wall of water, so mountainous and so overwhelming.

"Ride id' he told himself, judging the moment. "Catch it like a slider."

He clawed through the water, trying to get up speed to ride up the wall.

He felt it seize him and lift him so violently that his guts swooped,

and then he was on the crest of it. He arched his back and tucked his

am-is behind him in the classic body-surfer's position, hanging in the

face of the wave, slightly head down, the front half of his body thrust

clear of the water, steering with his legs. After the first few

terrifying seconds he realized that he was ic abated and riding her high

and had some control; his pan he was overcome by a sense of wild

exhilaration.

"Twenty knots!" He estimated his speed by the giddy i blur of the canyon

walls passing him on either side. He steered away from the nearest wall,

sliding across the face, taking up station in the centre of the wave, He

was caff ied along by the wave and by the thrilling sensation of speed

and danger.

The increased depth of water in the chasm covered the dangerous,

knife-sharp rocks, enabling him to ride clear of them. It smoothed out

the waterfalls and the chutes, so that instead of dropping down them and

plummeting below the surface of the pool beneath he slid down them with

a smooth rush, holding his position in the face of the wave with a few

quick overarm strokes or a kick of the legs.

"Hell! This is fun!" He laughed aloud. "People would pay money to do

this. Beats the hell out of bungee jumping." A

Within the first mile the wave began to lose its shape and impetus as it

spread out. down the canyon. Soon it would no longer have the power to

hold him up in the surfing position, and he glanced around him swiftly.

Floating near by, keeping pace with him in the flotsam of debris from

the dam, was one of the treetrunks that had formed part of the raft with

which Sapper had plugged the gap in the wall.

He steered across to this ponderous piece of timber. It was thirty feet

long and floated low in the flood, its back showing like that of a

whale. Its branches had been roughly hacked away by the axemen, and the

spikes that remained provided secure handholds. Nicholas pulled himself

up on he treetrunk, lying on his belly, facing downstream, to with his

legs still dangling in the water. Swiftly he recovered his breath and

felt his full strength returning.

Although it had smoothed out and lost its wave formation, the flood was

still tearing down the chasm at a tremendous pace. "Still not much under

ten knots," he estimated. "When this lot hits Taita's pool, I pity von

Schiller and any of his uglies who are in the tomb. They are going to

stay in there for the next four thousand years." He threw back his head

and laughed triumphantly.. "It worked! Damn me to hell, if it didn't

work just the way I planned it."

He stopped laughing abruptly as he felt the treetrunk veer across the

river towards one of the canyon walls.

"Oh, oh! More trouble."

He rolled to one side of the treetrunk and kicked out strongly. His

ungainly vessel responded, swinging heavily across the current. It was

sluggish steering, not enough to avoid contact with the rock wall

entirely, but instead of striking full'on it was merely a glancing

collision that pushed him back again into the main flow of the current.

He was gaining confidence and expertise every moment, "I can ride her

all the way down to the monastery!'

The AL

he exclaimed delightedly. "At this rate of knots I might even get to the

boats before Sapper and Royan."

Looking ahead, he recognized this stretch of the chasm that he was

hurtling through. -i@

"This is the bend above Taita's pool. Be there in another minute or two.

I expect the scaffolding has been washed away by now."  He pulled

himself as high on the log as he could without upsetting its balance,

and peered ahead, blinking the water out of his eyes. He saw the head of

the falls above Taita's pool racing towards him, and he braced himself

for the drop.

The long, smooth chute of racing water opened ahead of him, and the

moment before he flew down it he had a glimpse into the basin of rock

below it. He saw at once that his expectations had been premature. The

bamboo scaffolding had not been entirely washed away, although it was

badly damaged. The lowest section was gone, but the Upper part hung

drunkenly down the rock cliff, just touching the surface of the racing

waters. It was swaying and swinging loosely as the current snatched at

it, and incredulously he realized that there were at least two men

trapped

on the flimsy structure, clinging desperately to the ladderway of

lurching, clattering poles. Both of them were trying to claw their way

up it to the top of the cliff.

In that fraction of a second Nicholas saw a flash of steel'rimmed

spectacles under a maroon beret, and realized that the man nearest the

top of the cliff was Tuma Nogo.

Then Nogo succeeded in reaching the top of the scaffolding and

disappeared over the top of the cliff. That one glance was all Nicholas

had time for before his log was plunged into the water-chute, gathering

speed until it was tearing downwards at a steeply canted angle. The

point dug in as it hit the surface of the pool at the bottom, and the

log almost pole-vaulted end over end, but Nicholas clung on to his

handholds, and gradually it righted itself.

For a few moments the log was stalled in the vortex below the falls, but

almost at once, the current grabbed it again and it gathered speed,

bearing away down the length of Taita's pool as ponderously as a wooden

man-'-war.

Nicholas had a second of respite in which to look  around the basin of

Taita's pool. He saw at once that the entrance tunnel to the tomb was

entirely submerged and, judging by the water level up the cliff wall, it

was already fifty feet or more beneath the surface. He felt a leap of

triumph. The tomb was once more protected from the depredations of any

other grave-robber.

Then he looked up the battered remnants of the bamboo scaffolding skewed

down the cliff, torn half away from the ancient niches in the rock, -and

he saw the other man still clinging to the wreckage. He was twenty feet

above the water level, and seemed frozen there like a cat in the high

branches of a windswept tree.

At that moment Nicholas realized that his log was swinging in the grip

of the river, curling in towards the dangling scaffold. He was about to

try to steer it clear, when the man on the framework high above him

turned his head and looked down at him. Nicholas saw that he was a white

man, his face a pale blob in the gloom of the canyon, and a moment later

he recognized him with a stab of hatred through the chest.

"Helm!the exclaimed."Jake Helm."

He had an image of Tamre, the epileptic boy, crushed beneath the

rockfalls and of Tessay's burned and battered face. His outrage and

hatred surged. Instead of steering the log away from the scaffold, he

reversed his thrust and swung in towards the cliff. There was a

breathless interval when Nicholas thought he might miss, but at the last

moment the leading end of the log swung sharply and the point of it

crashed into the trailing end of the bamboo, hooking-on to it.

The log's weight and momentum were irresistible. The bamboo poles

crackled and snapped like dry kindling, and then the whole rickety

structure tore loose from the wall and came crashing down over the log.

Helm swung out overhead, then released his grip and dropped feet first

into the water close alongside the log. He went deep below the surface.

While he was under, Nicholas pulled himself up to sit astride the log

and grabbed a length of bamboo pole that had broken off the scaffolding

and was floating alongside.his perch.

The log was trapped in a back eddy of the swollen river, and now it

began to spin slowly in the slack water outside the main current.

Nicholas was still riding high on the log. He hefted the bamboo,

swinging it back and forth like a baseball bat, to get the feel of it.

Then he cocked it over his shoulder and waited for Helm to show himself.

A second later the Texan's head broke out, streaming water. His eyes

were screwed closed, and he let out a gasp Of water and air and tried to

suck in a breath. Nicholas aimed the pole at his head and swung with all

his strength, but just at that moment Helm opened his eyes and saw the

blow coming.

He was as quick as a water snake, rolling his head under the swinging

club so that it merely touched the side of his cropped blond head and

then glanced away. Nicholas was thrown off balance by his own swing, and

before he could recover Helm had drawn a quick breath and ducked below

the surface again.

Nicholas poised the club, ready to strike a second time, peering down

into the murky water, muttering angrily at himself for having missed the

first blow while he still had the advantage of surprise. He had no

illusions about what he was in for, now that Helm had been warned.

The seconds drew out with no sign of his adversary reappearing, and

Nicholas looked behind him anxiously, trying to anticipate where he

would come up again. For a long minute nothing happened. He lowered the

club nervously, and changed his grip so as to be ready to stab in any

direction with the sharp broken tip.

Suddenly his left ankle was seized in a crushing grip below the water

and, before he could grab a handhold to resist, Nicholas was jerked from

his seat on the log and went over backwards into the river. As he

plunged beneath the water he felt Helm's fingers clawing at his face. He

grabbed one of the fingers and wrenched it back, feeling it snap in his

grasp as he forced it back towards its own wrist.

But Helm was galvanized by the agony of the dislocated joint, and one of

his long muscular arms whipped around Nicholas's neck like the tentacles

of an octopus.

The two of them came to the surface for a moment, both of them drew one

quick, harsh breath, then Helm forced Nicholas's head backwards and

water flooded into his open mouth. The lock on his neck tightened, and

he felt the tension on his vertebrae. It was a killer grip. If Helm had

only had a solid purchase he could have exerted the last ounce of

pressure which would have snapped his spine. But Nicholas kept rolling

back in the direction of the thrust, giving with it, and preventing Helm

from bringing all his strength to bear. As he went over he saw Helm's

face in front of his, magnified and distorted through the tainted grey

water. He looked monstrous and evil.

As Helm rolled over the top of him Nicholas locked both hands around his

waist to hold him firmly, then brought up his right knee between Helm's

legs, hard into his crotch, and felt the bone of his kneecap make

contact.

The bunch of genitals was full and rubbery; Helm contorted and his lock

on Nicholas's neck eased. Nicholas used the slack to reach down and grab

a handful of Helm's damaged testicles and twist them savagely. He saw

the man's face inches in front of his own twist into a rictus of pain

and Helm pulled away from him, releasing his lock on Nicholas's throat

and reaching down to grab his wrist with both hands.

Again they came to the surface close alongside the floating log, and

Nicholas realized that the current had taken hold of them again and was

carrying them away through the outlet of Taita's pool into the full

stream of the river. Nicholas released his grip on Helm's balls and with

his other hand aimed a punch at his face, but they were too close to

each other and the blow lacked power. It glanced off Helm's cheek, and

Nicholas tried to lock his extended arm around his neck, going for a

headlock himself Helm hunched his head down on his shoulders slipping

under the hold. Then suddenly he reached for-ward fast as a striking

adder and sank his teeth into Nicholas's chin.

The surprise was complete, and the pain was excruciating as his teeth

locked into the flesh. Nicholas shouted and clawed at Helm's face, going

for his eyes, trying to drive his fingernails through the lids. But Helm

squeezed his eyes tight closed and his teeth cut in ever deeper, so that

Nicholas's blood welled up and oozed from the corners of Helm's mouth.

The log was still floating beside them, inches from the back of Helm's

head. Nicholas seized his ears, one in each hand, and twisted him around

in the water. He could see over the top of Helm's head, while Helm's

vision was blocked. There was a nub of raw wood sticking out of the tree

trunk where an axe had hacked away a, ride branch.

The cut was at an angle, leaving a sharp spike. Through tears of agony

Nicholas lined up the spike with the back of Helm's head. He could feel

Helm's teeth almost meeting in the flesh of his face. They had cut

through the lower lip so that blood was starting to fill Nicholas's

mouth. Helm was worrying him like a pit'bull in the arena, wrenching his

head from side to side. Soon he would come away with a bloody mouthful

of Nicholas's flesh.

With all the strength of pain and desperation, Nicholas hurled himself

forward, and, using his upper body and his grip on the sides of Helm's

head, drove him on to the sharp wooden spike. The point found the joint

between the vertebrae of the spine and the base of Helm's skull, going

in like a nail and partially severing the spinal cord.

Helm's jaws sprang open as he went into spasm. Nicholas pulled away from

him with a flap of loose flesh hanging from his chin, and blood

streaming and spurting from the deep ragged wound.

Helm was impaled upon the spike, like a carcass on a butcher's hook. His

limbs twitched and the muscles of his face convulsed, his eyelids

shivered and jumped like those of an epileptic, and his eyeballs rolled

back into his skull so that only the whites showed, flashing grotesquely

in the gloom of the chasm.

Nicholas pulled himself up on to the tog beside the Texan's body, and

hung there panting and bleeding in gouts down his chin on to his chest.

Slowly the log revolved un er the eccentric weight distribution, and

Helm began to slide off the spike. His skin tore with a sound like silk

parting, and the vertebrae of his spine grated on wood.

Then the corpse, at last quiescent, flopped face down into the water and

began to sink.

Nicholas would not let him go so easily. "Let's make sure of you, dear

boy," he grated through his swollen, bleeding mouth. He spat out a

mouthful of blood and saliva as he stretched out and grabbed the back of

Helm's collar, holding him face down in the water under the log. They

icked up speed rapidly down the last stretch of the canyon,  but

Nicholas held on doggedly, drowning any last spark of life from Helm's

carcass, until at last it was torn. from his grip by the current and he

watched it sink away into the grey, roiling waters.

"I'll give your love to Tessay," Nicholas called after him as he

disappeared. Then he gave all his concentration to balancing the log and

staying aboard for the ride through the tumbling, racing current. At

last he was spewed out -AL

through the pink rock portals into the bottom reach of the DandeTa

river. As he was swept beneath the rope suspension bridge he slid off

the log and struck out for the western bank, very much aware of the

terrible drop into the Nile that lay half a mile downstream.

Sitting on the bank, he tore a strip from the tail of his shirt. Then he

bound up his wounded chin as best he could, strapping it around the back

of his head. The blood soaked through the thin wet cotton, but he

knotted it tighter and it began to staunch the flow.

He stood up unsteadily and pushed his way through the strip of thick

river in bush which bounded the river, until at last he struck the trail

that led down to the monastery and hobbled down it on his bare feet. He

only stopped once, and that was when he heard the sound of the

helicopter taking off from the top of the cliff above the chasm far

behind him.

He looked back. "Sounds as though Tuma Nogo made it out of there, more's

the pity. I wonder what happened to von Schiller and the Egyptian," he

muttered grimly, fingering his injured face. "At least none of them are

going to get into the tomb, not unless they dam the river again."

Suddenly a thought occurred to him.

"My God, what if von Schiller was already in there when the river hit!"

He began to chuckle, and then shook his head. "Too much to hope for.

justice is never that neat." He shook his head again, but the movement