tress, zooming lower as though making ready to land.
As the first sounds of the approaching plane reached them, the Arabs lapsed into a watchful silence. Dark hands shaded searching eyes, while muscular brown fingers toyed nervously with wicked-looking knives. Could it be an enemy, or had some lost flyer entered this forbidden territory?
Now, however, as the ship drew nearer and a painted white skull appeared on the under wings, all doubts vanished. The watching Arabs broke into hoarse cheering. Plainly the newcomer was both expected and welcome.
As the plane disappeared to find its landing-field behind the palace, the commanding figure shouted a brief order to his cohorts. Instantly the wild horde rushed from the gardens to greet the grim-omened flyer.
Among the last of the stragglers I noticed the running figure of the grotesque Usanti. Did his presence there mean that I was unguarded? Quickly I made for the door, to find a deserted corridor without. The landing plane had temporarily gained the attention of the castle's inmates. This, then, was the ideal moment to search for the missing Terrys, and knowing my time to be limited, I stole quickly down the silent hallway.
It was a weird sensation, this treading the unknown corridors of a Pharaoh's castle; a mighty fortress whose great foundations had been dug some fourteen hundred years before the tragedy on Calvary. It seemed as though I had suddenly been transplanted back through the centuries to a far distant day when the world was young.
At the far end of the hall a gilded door, slightly ajar, led to a large chamber, similar to my own. Into this spacious room I made my quiet way, to find caution unnecessary. The abode was empty.
A small door at the right led to a tiny balcony, from which I could see the shouting Arabs swarming around the now landed plane. There must have been a hundred of them, tall, powerful men, who pulled and laughed good-naturedly at the small bedraggled figure that descended from the cock-pit.
The flyer received their rough attentions smilingly, and shook hands with several of the company. Then, leaving the blacks to unload the many tiny brown packages from the ship's interior, the laughing horde made its slow way back to the fortress.
The marble walls around me had been recently shaded to a golden hue. That the room belonged to one of high station was evident by the costly furnishings and elaborate wearing-apparel in the clothes-press. Perhaps it was the quarters of the Pharaoh himself. But all this brought me no nearer in my quest, and I was about to leave the chamber when my eyes were widened by two almost simultaneous discoveries. The first was a loaded pistol lying on a small stand near the doorway; the other, a full-view portrait of Carol Terry that stood on the massive dresser.
The richly colored photo, undoubtedly a recent one, showed the pretty girl in a smiling, happy mood. Underneath in her handwriting I knew so well were the words: "With all my love—Carol."
Each hour but added to the mysteries of this horrible castle of gloom. The bodiless Pharaoh, the wondrous Princess; humans who had seen and known the glories of the past. Shouting fanatics who thirsted for battle; the arrival from the sky; and now the portrait of one, who, until her recent capture, had never been within a thousand miles of this ancient structure.
As I stood silent and perplexed before the startling find, loud voices in the halls below told that the swarthy com-
