He pulled himself in and went forward, his fingers brushed against the smooth, slimy sides, and then it was dark, utterly dark and he turned in a panic and swam back towards the faint light of the lamp and surfaced, rasping for air.

'What's it like?' Cunningham demanded.

Kane waded out of the water and stood knee-deep on the bank of shale beside the wall. 'b.l.o.o.d.y murder. There's a tunnel that's hardly big enough to crawl through. I swam along it for a few yards, but it didn't seem to be getting anywhere.'

He pulled himself up on to the wall and Cunningham turned the beam of the lamp into the slot below. 'Once again we don't seem to have a great deal of choice, do we?'

Climbing down presented no problem. There were plenty of footholds where the mortar between blocks of stone had crumbled away, leaving a score of deep cracks through which water trickled steadily.

The steeply inclined floor of the slot was slimy and treacherous to the feet, and Kane led the way cautiously for some fifty yards, until the roof closed in on them and they were faced with a dark opening.

They moved inside and stood ankle-deep in water, and he flashed the lamp from side to side. As the beam splayed across smooth walls, thousands of tiny chisel marks sprang into view.

'The river must have created this pa.s.sage in the first place,' Cunningham observed, 'but someone's certainly done a h.e.l.l of a lot of work on it since.'

Kane moved forward slowly, a strange excitement stirring inside him. The sound of the river faded behind them and they were alone in a dark and mysterious world.

The pa.s.sage twisted and turned, moving down all the time, and the water gradually deepened. As they rounded a corner, they came to an off-shoot at one side.

Cunningham glanced at Kane enquiringly and Kane shrugged. 'May as well take a look.'

They moved into a room about ten feet square, with walls of drafted masonry. Great store-jars, each almost as tall as a man, stood like silent sentinels on either side.

'Grain jars,' Kane said.

As he turned away, the beam of the lamp fell across the far wall and figures leapt to life in vivid colour.

The painting depicted some ancient triumph. Prisoners, most of whom seemed to have short, curling beards, moved together in a column, legs shackled, backs bowed against the whips brandished by soldiers in fish-tailed breastplates and helmets.

'My G.o.d,' Cunningham said. 'Have you ever seen anything like it?'

'Only in the Nile Valley,' Kane told him. 'Certainly not in Arabia.'

They moved out into the pa.s.sage and continued past several other store rooms, finally coming into a wider, pillared pa.s.sage, the walls of which were covered with paintings.

At one point Kane halted beside a nook inside which stood several clay jars with painted sides. As he lifted one down to examine it, Cunningham moved forward excitedly. 'They're funeral urns, aren't they?'

Kane nodded. 'The whole thing's beginning to click into place. Those grain jars and now these. Offerings to the G.o.ds for a safe journey. We must be coming to a tomb.'

He lifted the round lid of the jar and looked inside. It was empty. 'Probably oil or spices or something like that - gone with the years.'

Cunningham took down another jar which also proved to be empty. Kane was about to turn away when he noticed a smaller one, the top held in place by clay seals, standing on a small shelf at the back of the nook.

He put down the lamp with one hand and lifted the jar with the other. As he stepped back, it slipped from his fingers and smashed against the stone floor of the pa.s.sage.

He lifted the lamp, and as he directed the beam on the floor, there was a glint of gold amongst the sharded pieces of clay and a flash of green fire.

He dropped to one knee and carefully picked it up. It was a beautiful gold necklace and pendant. Carefully set in the gold filigree were three perfect emeralds, sparkling in the lamplight.

Cunningham whistled softly. They'd give their eye-teeth to have that in the British Museum.'

Kane took out his handkerchief and wrapped it carefully about the necklace, knotting the ends before placing it in his pocket.

He picked up the lamp again. 'I've an idea there's more up ahead. Much more.'

He moved on quickly and they descended a short flight of steps and faced a bronze door. By now the water was thigh-deep, and Cunningham waded forward to lift the locking bar and he and Jamal pulled the heavy door slowly outwards.

The bronze swing pins were set in holes drilled in the solid rock, and the door swung open effortlessly with a slight, eerie cracking sound.

For a moment Kane stood there, a wave of greyness sweeping through him as if by instinct he knew that they were on the verge of something tremendous, and then Cunningham pushed him forward impatiently.

FOURTEEN.

THEY ENTERED A LARGE chamber which was about three feet deep in water. It was otherwise completely empty, but the walls were covered with paintings. Kane swung the beam of the lamp slowly along, carefully examining them, and something jumped out at him with the force of a physical shock.

The particular scene depicted a king standing before his throne at the top of a flight of steps. Around his neck was suspended the Star of David. He was holding out his hands in welcome to a woman who advanced to meet him, her long train carried by twelve maidens.

For a moment, she seemed to float out of the darkness but it was only a trick of the light. She gazed out at him, remote and austere, her beauty fixed for eternity, and he stared back. Above the painting was an inscription in Sabean. He translated it slowly, and when he had finished, the wall seemed to undulate and a strange, quiet whisper rippled through the room as though her voice called to him across time itself.

He stretched out a hand and leaned his head against the cold stonework, and behind him Cunningham said, 'What does it say?'

Kane pulled himself together. 'It says "Solomon the Great King greets Balquis".'

Cunningham seemed to lurch to one side, and Jamal moved in quickly and caught him. In the light of the lamp the Englishman's face looked white and drawn, the eyes suddenly enormous.

'Balquis,' he whispered. 'Queen of Sheba.'

He pulled away from Jamal and moved forward and touched the painted figure very gently with his fingertips. When he spoke there was awe in his voice. 'A biblical legend and we've brought her to life.'

Kane turned and waded towards the far end of the chamber, and the rays of the lamp picked out another entrance, flanked by carved pillars. In place of a door there was a wall of large dressed stones.

Cunningham moved beside him. 'What do you think?' he said and his voice was strained and unnatural.

'I said there was a strong Egyptian influence here,' Kane told him. 'There must be a stone burial chamber on the other side.'

Cunningham seemed to have difficulty in speaking. He swallowed and said, 'Do you think it might be hers?' u

'Anything's possible in this business,' Kane said. 'You know that as well as I do.'

Cunningham nodded several times and turned and looked back towards the wall painting. Waves caused by their movement through the water rippled across the room and splashed against the wall and his breath hissed sharply between his teeth.

He grabbed the lamp from Kane's hand, plunged forward, water foaming around him and dropped to his knees at the base of the painting of Solomon and Balquis.

He gave a cry of anguish. 'The water, Kane. It's spoiling it. Part of the painting's gone already.'

Kane took the lamp from him and pulled him to his feet without saying anything.