the scene in the Egyptian wing of Braintree Museum had changed only in one respect.
There was one more figure in here now.
There had been three priests, and a priestess. Now there were two priestesses.
Blinking, trying foggily to see better with eyes that still felt as if dipped in flame, Josh saw that the new figure on the scene was that of a girl, all right, but not that of an Egyptian priestess. Anyhow, she wasn’t robed as one.
This girl had on an ordinary, modern street suit of some dark material. Her head was bare, but her tawny-gold hair was tousled as if a hat had been there and had been torn off.
She was limp in the arms of the vulture-like high priest. She was quite small, and seemed very fragile as she lay there. She—
Josh felt an almost animal growl of rage rise deep in his throat as his eyes brought him ever a clearer message. He knew that small, fragile-looking creature.
It was Nellie Gray.
Nellie Gray, unconscious, hanging limp in the arms of the thing from the tomb, which was bearing her slowly toward the ark of Typhon.
The ark had been set down just inside the second doorway of the wing, almost under the ancient stone lintel from the Nile. The high priest, with a kind of hellish reverence, laid the girl there, before the carved, peak-ridged box.
His bony hand went to the fold of his robe. Some of the robe seemed to disappear as Josh watched. There was a dark, golden flash, and a heavy dagger appeared in the gaunt fingers.
Taros had drawn his copper knife!
The chanting was louder, more triumphant. Without a shade of expression in their faces the two other priests, and the tall, slender priestess, watched the spectral arm of Taros raised above the girl. On his left hand flashed a ring of light crimson, glowing as if it had lights within its evil heart. In his left hand glinted the dagger.
Josh’s hands had been fumbling at his belt. His gun had been taken from him as he lay there; but he had one more weapon, of a sort.
That was the cunningly contrived little belt radio. He had taken it from his waist, in the gloom, and switched it on.
There was one person to call when Nellie was in danger. One person who became a raging, one-man landslide in her defense.
The giant, Smitty.
Josh whispered into the set. “Smitty. This is Josh. Emergency. Smitty!”
There was no answer. Josh had lain unconscious too long. Too late now for even the giant to help. But Josh tried again.
“Smitty! Help—Braintree Museum—Nellie—”
The high priest had heard, over the yards between where Josh lay and the doorway. He turned, then whirled more hastily toward the girl and raised the knife again.
The keen copper blade flashed toward Nellie’s white, taut throat!
CHAPTER XII
Dead Radio
Doctor, lawyer, merchant, chief.
All reports on Snead, Shaw, Blessing and Marlowe had given them shining reputations. Only Shaw had a questionable spot. He was a little ruthless in his acquisition of Egyptiana. Most collectors tie a can to ordinary ethics and emotions when they go after coveted objects. But Shaw was apparently more keen and ruthless than most.
However, that trait alone was not too serious in the general picture. Like the others, it could be said about him that he was indubitably a good example of decent citizen getting along in a reasonably honest business with as little hurt as possible to others.
Benson’s glacial, deadly eyes were brooding as he went to the directors of Braintree in quest of more information. Ever more information.
Of the three, Evans and Spencer and Moen, only Moen, it seemed, was sharp enough to be experiencing a beginning feel of uneasiness about the Taros amulets.
“How is it,” said the husky ex-football player, “that you are still in Washington, Mr. Benson? And still asking questions now and then that bear on the Taros relics? It is well known that you are a busy man. How is it that you are staying so long on this mere invitation to come down and give us your opinion on the
There was one more figure in here now.
There had been three priests, and a priestess. Now there were two priestesses.
Blinking, trying foggily to see better with eyes that still felt as if dipped in flame, Josh saw that the new figure on the scene was that of a girl, all right, but not that of an Egyptian priestess. Anyhow, she wasn’t robed as one.
This girl had on an ordinary, modern street suit of some dark material. Her head was bare, but her tawny-gold hair was tousled as if a hat had been there and had been torn off.
She was limp in the arms of the vulture-like high priest. She was quite small, and seemed very fragile as she lay there. She—
Josh felt an almost animal growl of rage rise deep in his throat as his eyes brought him ever a clearer message. He knew that small, fragile-looking creature.
It was Nellie Gray.
Nellie Gray, unconscious, hanging limp in the arms of the thing from the tomb, which was bearing her slowly toward the ark of Typhon.
The ark had been set down just inside the second doorway of the wing, almost under the ancient stone lintel from the Nile. The high priest, with a kind of hellish reverence, laid the girl there, before the carved, peak-ridged box.
His bony hand went to the fold of his robe. Some of the robe seemed to disappear as Josh watched. There was a dark, golden flash, and a heavy dagger appeared in the gaunt fingers.
Taros had drawn his copper knife!
The chanting was louder, more triumphant. Without a shade of expression in their faces the two other priests, and the tall, slender priestess, watched the spectral arm of Taros raised above the girl. On his left hand flashed a ring of light crimson, glowing as if it had lights within its evil heart. In his left hand glinted the dagger.
Josh’s hands had been fumbling at his belt. His gun had been taken from him as he lay there; but he had one more weapon, of a sort.
That was the cunningly contrived little belt radio. He had taken it from his waist, in the gloom, and switched it on.
There was one person to call when Nellie was in danger. One person who became a raging, one-man landslide in her defense.
The giant, Smitty.
Josh whispered into the set. “Smitty. This is Josh. Emergency. Smitty!”
There was no answer. Josh had lain unconscious too long. Too late now for even the giant to help. But Josh tried again.
“Smitty! Help—Braintree Museum—Nellie—”
The high priest had heard, over the yards between where Josh lay and the doorway. He turned, then whirled more hastily toward the girl and raised the knife again.
The keen copper blade flashed toward Nellie’s white, taut throat!
CHAPTER XII
Dead Radio
Doctor, lawyer, merchant, chief.
All reports on Snead, Shaw, Blessing and Marlowe had given them shining reputations. Only Shaw had a questionable spot. He was a little ruthless in his acquisition of Egyptiana. Most collectors tie a can to ordinary ethics and emotions when they go after coveted objects. But Shaw was apparently more keen and ruthless than most.
However, that trait alone was not too serious in the general picture. Like the others, it could be said about him that he was indubitably a good example of decent citizen getting along in a reasonably honest business with as little hurt as possible to others.
Benson’s glacial, deadly eyes were brooding as he went to the directors of Braintree in quest of more information. Ever more information.
Of the three, Evans and Spencer and Moen, only Moen, it seemed, was sharp enough to be experiencing a beginning feel of uneasiness about the Taros amulets.
“How is it,” said the husky ex-football player, “that you are still in Washington, Mr. Benson? And still asking questions now and then that bear on the Taros relics? It is well known that you are a busy man. How is it that you are staying so long on this mere invitation to come down and give us your opinion on the
Similar Books
