She looked ghostly as she glided toward me, her bare feet making no sound, her white nightdress floating out behind her. I lighted a lamp; Evelyn's face was as pale as her gown. She sank down on the edge of my bed, and I saw that she was shivering.

"I heard a sound," she said. "Such an eerie sound, Amelia, like a long, desolate sigh. I don't know how long it had been going on. It woke me; I am surprised it didn't waken you too."

"I heard it, and it became part of my dream," I answered. "I dreamed of death, and someone weeping over a grave... Then what happened?"

"I didn't want to wake you; you had worked so hard today. But the sound went on and on, until I thought I should the; it was so dreary, so unutterably sad. I had to know what was making it. So I went and drew the curtain aside and looked out." She paused, and went even paler.

"Go on," I urged. "You need not fear my skepticism, Evelyn. I have reasons, which you will hear in due course, for believing the wildest possible tale."

"You cannot mean that you too- "

"Tell me what you saw."

"A tall, pale form, featureless and stark. It stood in shadow, but... Amelia, it had no face! There was no sign of nose or mouth or eyes, only a flat, white oval; no hair, only a smooth-fitting covering. The limbs were stiff- "

"Enough of this equivocation," I cried impatiently. "What you saw resembled... was like... seemed to be... in short - a Mummy!" Evelyn stared at me.

"You saw it too! You must have done, or you could not accept this so readily. When? How?"

"One might add, 'why?'" I said wryly. "Yes, I saw such a form last night. This morning I found sc.r.a.ps of rotted wrappings on the ledge outside our chamber."

"And you said nothing of this to Walter- or to me?"

"It sounded too ridiculous," I admitted, "particularly after I learned that the mummy we discovered had mysteriously disappeared in the night."

"Ridiculous, Amelia? I wish I could think so. What are we to do?"

"I will have the courage to speak now that I have you to support me. But I shudder to think what Emerson will say. I can hear him now: "A walking mummy, Peabody? Quite so! No wonder the poor fellow wants exercise, after lying stiff for two thousand years!"

"Nevertheless, we must speak."

"Yes. In the morning. That will be time enough for my humiliation."

But the morning brought a new sensation, and new troubles.

I was up betimes. Emerson, another early riser, was already pacing about near the cook tent. A pith helmet, set at a defiant angle, proclaimed his intentions for the day. I glanced at it, and at his haggard face, and sniffed meaningfully; but I made no comment. Breakfast was prepared; we returned to our table on the ledge, where Evelyn and Walter joined us; and the meal was almost finished when Emerson exploded.

"Where are the men? Good G.o.d, they should have been here an hour ago!"

Walter withdrew his watch from his pocket and glanced at it.

"Half an hour. It appears they are late this morning."

"Do you see any signs of activity in the direction of the village?" Emerson demanded, shading his eyes and peering out across the sand. "I tell you, Walter, something is amiss. Find Abdullah."

The foreman, who slept in a tent nearby, was nowhere to be found. Finally we made out a small white figure crossing me sand. It was Abdullah; he had apparently been to the village in search of his tardy work force. We were all at the bottom of the path waiting when he came up to us. He spread out his hands in an eloquent gesture and looked at Emerson.

"They will not come."

"What do you mean, they won't come?" Emerson demanded.

"They will not work today."

"Is there some holiday, perhaps?" Evelyn asked. "Some Moslem holy day?"

"No," Emerson answered. "Abdullah would not make such an error, even if I did. I would think the men are holding out for higher pay, but... Sit down, Abdullah, and tell me. Come, come, my friend, let's not stand on ceremony. Sit down, I say, and talk."

Thus abjured, Abdullah squatted on the bare ground, in that very same posture in which his ancestors are so often depicted. His English was not very good, so I shall take the liberty of abridging his remarks.

A conscientious man, he had set out for the village when the workmen failed to appear on time. The squalid little huddle of huts presented a disquieting appearance. It was as deserted and silent as if plague had struck. No children played in the dusty streets; even the mangy curs had taken themselves off.

Alarmed, Abdullah had gone to the house of the mayor- who was, I learned for the first time, the father of Mohammed. He had to pound on the barred door before he was finally admitted, and it took him some time to extract the facts from the mayor. At first he said only that the men would not come. Upon being pressed, he said they would not come the next day either- or any other day. His son was with him; and it was from Mohammed that Abdullah finally received a statement. As Abdullah repeated this, his face retained its well-bred impa.s.sivity, but his eyes watched Emerson uneasily.

The workers had been disturbed by the mummy Mohammed had found. The man repeated his absurd claim- that the mummy was that of a princely priest-magician, a servant of the great G.o.d Amon whom Pharaoh Khuenaten had toppled from his spiritual throne. The deposed G.o.d's wrath found a vessel in his priest; through him, Amon had cursed the heretic city and anyone who set foot on its soil to resurrect it, forever. The villagers knew that none of them had made off with the mummy. Its disappearance could be accounted for in only one way; restored to the light of day, and animated by its discovery that new heretics were at work to uncover the accursed city, it had taken to its feet and left the camp. But it had not left the city-no, indeed. It walked by night, and on the previous midnight it had visited the village.

Its moans had awakened the sleepers, and a dozen men had seen its ghostly form pacing the streets. The villagers were too wise not to heed the warning, which Mohammed helpfully interpreted: no more work for the infidels. They must leave Khuenaten's unholy city to the desolation of the sands, and take themselves off. Unless they did so, the curse would be visited on them and all those who a.s.sisted them in the slightest way.

Emerson listened to mis bizarre hodgepodge without the slightest change of expression.

"Do you believe this, Abdullah?" he asked.

"No." But the foreman's voice lacked conviction.

"Nor do I. We are educated men, Abdullah, not like these poor peasants. Amon-Ra is a dead G.o.d; if he could once curse a city, he lost that power centuries go. The mosques of your faith stand on the ruins of the temples, and the muezzin calls the faithful to prayer. I do not believe in curses; but if I did, I would know that our G.o.d- call him Jehovah or Allah, he is One- has the power to protect his worshipers against demons of the night. I think you believe that too."

I had never admired Emerson more. He had taken precisely the right tone with his servant, and as Abdullah looked up at the tall form of his employer, there was a glint of amused respect in his dark eyes.

"Emerson speaks well. But he does not say what has become of the mummy."

"Stolen." Emerson squatted on his lean haunches, so that he and Abdullah were eye to eye. "Stolen by a man who wishes to cause dissension in the camp, and who has invented this story to support his aim. I do not name this man; but you remember that Mohammed was angry because I brought you in to be foreman instead of giving him the position. His doting father has not disciplined him properly; even the men of the village resent him."

"And fear him," Abdullah said. He rose to his feet in a single effortless movement, bis white robes falling in graceful folds. "We are of one mind, Emerson. But what shall we do?"

"I will go down to the village and talk to the mayor," Emerson said, rising. "Now go and eat, Abdullah. You have done well, and I am grateful."

The tall foreman walked away, not without an uneasy look at Emerson. Evelyn glanced at me. I nodded. I had not wished to speak in front of Abdullah, but the time had come to tell my story. Before I could start, Walter burst out.

"What an incredible tale! You would think I should be accustomed to the superst.i.tious folly of these people, but I am constantly amazed at their credulity. They are like children. A mummy, walking the village streets- could mere by anything more absurd?"

I cleared my throat self-consciously. This was not a good prelude to the tale I was about to tell.

"It is absurd, Walter, but it is not imagination. The villagers are not the only ones to see the Mummy. Evelyn and I both saw such a shape here in the camp."

"I knew you were hiding something," Emerson said, with grim satisfaction. "Very well, Peabody, we are listening."

I told all. I did not tell the story well, being only too conscious of Emerson's sneer. When I had finished, Walter was speechless. My support came, unexpectedly, from Emerson himself.

"This proves nothing, except that our villain-and we have a good notion as to his ident.i.ty, have we not?-has gone to the trouble of dressing up in rags and wandering around in order to frighten people.

I confess I am surprised; I had not thought Mohammed would be so energetic, or so imaginative."