dle, though we may have need of it later."
From the deep pockets of her riding-breeches the daughter of Hatshepsut produced a small leather pouch, and standing above the chests, filled the bag with priceless stones, scrutinizing each chosen gem carefully. Again and again her long fingers ran through the sparkling mass.
"I cannot understand it," she said at length, when her tireless hands had at last ceased their searching. "The great emerald of Saul, the most priceless gem in all the world, is missing."
"Thieves, perhaps?"
"No, no," she cried, "it cannot be that. None other has entered this vault—and yet the stone is gone. A curse to the damned! The one gem I" A wild smile leaped to her face.
"Yes, of course! That's where it is."
With a quick leap the girl was beside the sarcophagus.
"Hold the torch high," she cried. "It's here! Yes, it's here in her mouth!" and her eager hands shook the long-dead body.
"Stop!" I shouted, fearful of some great profanation.
The dark eyes looked their surprize.
"What are you going to do?" I stepped quickly toward the girl.
"Get the jewel, of course."
"But—but you can't do that! God! Are you entirely shameless? To desecrate the body of a good Queen long dead—you can't! It's—it's horrible!"
The daughter of Hatshepsut gave a shudder of disgust.
"Don't be a fool!" she snapped. "It can make no difference to her what I do. The jewel is there; I intend to have it. Let that suffice."
And with a carefree laugh, the Princess opened the long-closed mouth of Solomon's beloved to extract an enormous emerald that flashed and sparkled in the torchlight.
Sickened with horror, I watched the calm Atma leisurely inspect the glittering bauble and then drop it into the leather pouch at her side.
"And now we may leave," she consented. "The hour is late, with many weary miles of travel."
Quickly we passed from that gloomy tomb of riches. Atma herself dosed the great wooden barrier; and then we intruders from the outside world made once more for the distant boulder summit.
We had left the dreary corridors far behind, and were emerging from the rocky gorge to the valley beyond. The cool night wind brushed the musty dust of the ages from our garments and filled our nostrils with its sweetness. The three blacks were walking happily before us in silent rejoicing at their release from the ghostly halls. A tropical moon had flooded the pass, and in its clear rays I followed the jewel-laden Atma. All seemed calm in this quiet vale; death and terror should have been left in the deep pits beyond. Yet, despite the horrid scene I had witnessed within the tomb, the greatest tragedy was still to be enacted. Suddenly the girl drew the heavy Mauser pistol from its holster and began firing. Six times the dark gun flamed red, and with unerring aim, two bullets sped into each of the black slaves.
Running forward as she slipped a fresh clip of shells into the pistol, and standing above the groaning, blood- stained men, the Princess of Egypt sent shot after shot into the torn, helpless bodies.
And as silence came once more to the lonely valley, "It was the only way," she murmured softly; "the only way to keep for ever a secret the hidden treasure of Sheba."
The amazing weird denouement of this story will be told in the fascinating chapters that bring the tale, to an end in next month's issue of WEIRD TALES. Reserve your copy at your magazine-dealer's now.
