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heat and terrible weather; everything finish," and he spread out his hands, lifting them up to the sky and making a whistling noise in his throat.

The boy looked southwards over the vast stretches of sand and limestone cut into parallel ridges and wadis. The far horizon and the sky had already merged together in a menacing obscurity. As he watched, the wind died away for a moment, and the accentuated silence terrified him with the sensation, which he had experienced several times before, that some horrible event was imminent.

IX.

The storm arrived in full force in the early hours of the morning. Dick lay perspiring on his bed in the terrific heat that it brought with it. He got up late in the morning. He opened the flap to step out. As he did so a stream of sand shot into the tent, and the inpouring wind nearly carried it away. He brushed the sand out of his eyes and made for the marquee. He could only just discern it in the pall of yellow mist that concealed everything. Just occasionally this pall was broken through by a watery gleam of sunshine which revealed wave after wave of sand sweeping at tremendous speed across the desert beneath.

Once outside the marquee he looked towards Stanhope's tent. He could hardly believe his

eyes. It had disappeared. Or was this only the effect of the sand-mist? He went nearer to the spot where it had been and found the camp-bed with the bed-clothes covered in a film of sand, two overturned boxes, and some books, whose coloured covers stuck weirdly out of the yellowness that halfburied them. Everything else, everything of no weight, had been whirled away into the Sahara.

"The first question that came to my mind," Lasserhayes continued, "was what had happened to the bundles of tracingpapers that contained the whole of our four months' work. Then I thought, ' Good heavens, the man'll be mad with anger over this.' Then a further horrible thought flashed across me, 'I haven't got my revolver. I've left it somewhere-where!'

“The next moment I was in the darkness. At the same moment I must somehow have become conscious that there was another presence in the tomb, for I sprang to my feet in a strange fright and listened. Not a sound. At last I couldn't bear the silence any longer, and shouted

dashing up to the tomb. Several times I was nearly thrown off my feet by the force of the wind, hot as the air from a blast-furnace. I was in my shirt-sleeves and a pair of shorts, and my arms and knees were positively scorched by it. And the sand! It surged out of the mist in waves that hit your body with a thousand needles. Added to all that, I was thinking, 'Perhaps he's following me, waiting for me,' and I kept on muttering, Damn the mist!'

"How I got up to the tomb at all I don't know, for the track our footsteps had made was blotted out by a new and perfectly level layer of sand.

"Suddenly the top of the ridge appeared out of the gloom, and just beneath it the black entrance to the tomb. It looked much bigger and gaunter than usual. I thought I heard some one shouting, and stopped dead for a minute. Then I laughed at my fears, for it was only the wind wailing along the top of the ridge and down the small wadis, or the sand hitting the rocks.

"In another moment I had passed into the tomb. It was darker than usual inside, and I cursed myself for not having brought my torch, as I groped about near the top of the shaft for my revolver. At last I found the sacrificial basin, and put my hand into it. revolver had gone!

The

"Damn!' I muttered.
"My voice sounded oddly

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Who's there? Is there any one there?'

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My question was answered by a soft chuckle, as if some one was laughing to himself. At first it was subdued, and then gradually it swelled into insane laughter.

"I admit that I was terrified by now. I was about to make for the dim light of the entrance when a figure sidled across it and barred my way. I knew at once that it was Stanhope.

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'Ah! so it's you?' I said

stupidly.

"Yes, it's I,' he chuckled slily. 'Been here quite a long time. You see, my tent blew away. No one pegged it down properly last night. . . Had to come up here. Been expecting you for quite a long time.'

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Expecting me?'

Certainly. I wanted to give you back that revolver you always carry about with you. You left it here last night, I think.'

"Thank you,' I managed to answer him. I could see quite well that the insane pleasantness of his voice was gradually turning to a menacing seriousness. He was quite mad.

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"But before I return it to you, my dear young friend,'

he continued with a return of pleasantness, 'I want you to make acquaintance with the tomb-shaft. Charming pictures. And there's that interesting legend which you've never translated.'

"I suggest another time,' I replied, trying to keep the fear out of my voice. You see, we haven't a light.'

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"Never mind about lights. You won't need a light when you get down there. A light! Ha! ha! ha! Splendid joke! But don't move,' he added in a harder tone as he saw me edge away from the shaft. 'I can see you plainly now. My eyes are accustomed to the darkness. And your revolver's loaded, mind.'

"Indeed, he had it pointing at me. Gradually he advanced towards me. I stood rooted to the floor. In another second I felt his hand grasp my left shoulder with the fury of madness, so that his nails dug through my shirt to the skin, and, what was infinitely more horrible, I felt the coldness of steel over my heart.

"Now,' he muttered, his breath playing into my face, 'I'm going to push you down the tomb-shaft. Go on; move! I'll shoot you if you don't.'

"I was mesmerised with fear. Gradually he pushed me backwards towards the shaft.

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"He gave me a violent shove. I remember wondering dimly as I spun backwards whether the fall would kill me straightaway or leave me to die slowly. I hoped to God it would kill me straight off. A second later I touched the floor of the tomb, and, realising that Stanhope had misjudged the position of the shaft, I jumped away into a corner and lay down.

"He, too, must have realised his mistake, for he started firing wildly. He had lost sight of me in the semi-darkness. The bullets ricochetted off the walls with dull pings. One fell harmlessly by me. The firing stopped for a moment, and he muttered to himself

"Where the bloody hell has the boy got to?'

"I thought he must be reloading, and looked up to see an electric torch probing into the corners. I knew that it was Abdul from the speed with which it was used.

"Suddenly it lit on Stanhope's figure.

"There he is,' I shouted to Abdul. 'Push him down the tomb-shaft.'

"At that moment the instinct of self-preservation was too great for me, and though I believe now that I saw a sudden return of sanity, a sudden deep remorse on Stanhope's face in the momentary glow of the light as he turned towards it, I never stayed my command. Again and again I ask myself now, 'Was he sane at that

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"Where is the home for me,

O Cyprus, set in the sea,

Aphrodite's home in the soft sea-foam,
Would I could wend to thee;

Where the wings of the Loves are furled,
And faint the heart of the world.

O there is Grace, and there is the Heart's Desire,
And peace to adore thee, thou Spirit of Guiding Fire!"

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the island that culminates in Mount Troodos or Olympus ? On their peaks and slopes and among their valleys there is scenery which, I maintain, cannot be surpassed elsewhere in colour, in romantic outline, in fragrance of vegetation. Although they are small when compared with the great ranges of the world, I claim for the mountains of Cyprus that they contain and are bounded by all that is most perfect in mountain-land and forest, sea and sky.

Leaving aside the towns and the Mesaoria, I would take the reader through the forest and hill country of Cyprus, beginning at Cape Andreas, the island's eastern extremity, then working westwards through the Karpass peninsula and the Kyrenia range to the Bay of Morphou; thence fetching a

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