Array Sapper - The Complete Works of H. C. McNeile Sapper

But the Professor seemed not to hear. His little, blinking eyes were fixed on Molly, and he was smiling gently to himself.

For a while the conversation became general, and it wasn't until an hour or two later that I was able to ask Jim what he had meant.

"You darned tactless blighter," I said, pushing a Martini in his direction. "What did you try and put the old man off for?"

"Dick," he answered quietly, "you know me pretty well by this time. You know that there aren't many things on two legs or four that I'm frightened of. But I tell you that no power on this earth would induce me willingly to have anything to do with the sect whose secret temple is at the Pool of the Sacred Crocodile. There are stories of unbelievable things which the natives whisper to one another; stories of black magic and devil worship which make one pinch oneself to see if one's awake. There are stories of human sacrifice carried out with the most appalling rites." I stared at him in amazement.

"But, good Lord, old man," I cried, "do you believe them?"

He didn't answer; he was looking over my shoulder.

"Something has happened to Miss Tremayne," he said quietly, and the next instant Molly was beside me.

"Dick," she almost whispered, "he's in the hotel. That native. He was standing outside the door of my room again—just now—as I was packing. I looked out into the passage, and there he was,' staring, just the same as last night."

"I'll go and see if I can find the scoundrel," I cried, and dashed upstairs.

But the passage was empty. And I was just going down again, when the door of the Professor's room opened and he peered out.

"Hullo!" I said. "I thought you were out making arrangements for a dahabeah ."

"I have made them," he answered curtly. "We start this afternoon."

He shut the door again abruptly, and I went down to the bar feeling very thoughtful. For over the Professor's head, reflected in a mirror on the other side of the room, I had seen a native. For a moment our eyes had met, then he had vanished. And a vague fear took possession of me. I felt as if I were moving in deep waters, and a sudden distaste for the proposed trip filled my mind.

It was just before we left that Jim took me on one side.

"Whatever you do, Dick," he said gravely, "don't let Miss Tremayne out of either your sight or her uncle's once you get to your destination. One of you must always be with her."

"What on earth are you frightened of, Jim?" I demanded. "I don't know, old man," he answered. "That's the devil of it—I don't know."

The boat was a comfortable one, and for two days we went slowly towards Luxor, tying up at night. We hardly saw the Professor, except at meals, and then he barely spoke. He sat sunk in thought, shooting strange little bird-like glances at Molly until she got quite annoyed with him.

"Uncle John, I do wish you wouldn't keep looking at me like that," she cried. "I feel as if you were a canary, and I was a bit of bird-seed."

There was no disguising the fact that the Professor was in a very queer mood. It was towards the evening of the second day that he appeared on deck with a pair of field-glasses. His hands were trembling with excitement as he searched the left bank of the river.

"We are there," he shouted. "We have arrived."

He gave a frenzied order to 'the Captain, who swung his helm over and steered towards a small landing-stage. Behind it the outlines of a house could be seen partially screened by a small orange grove, and on the landing- stage itself there stood a native, motionless as if carved out of bronze.

I suppose we must have been still a hundred yards away when we heard a frantic commotion amongst the crew. They were jabbering wildly together, and seemed to be in a state of the utmost terror. In fact, we bumped that landing-stage badly, as the men, huddled together forward, refused to use a boat-hook or make her fast. It was left to the Captain and me to tie her up, and it struck me that the Captain himself had no liking for his berthing place.

His eyes continually came round to the tall native who had stepped on board the instant we came alongside. A few yards away the Professor and the native were talking earnestly together, and Molly slipped her hand through my arm.

"Dick," she whispered, "I'm frightened. Don't leave me. That man has been looking at me just like that brute did at Shepheard's. I wish we'd never come."

I soothed her, though I didn't feel too happy in my own mind. Suddenly the Professor came over to me.

"We are in luck," he said, and his eyes were gleaming. "We are to be allowed to see the sacred crocodile at once." Molly drew back.

"I don't think I want to, Uncle John," she said. "You go—and stop here with Dick."

"Don't be ridiculous, child," he snapped. "It is what we have come here for. You will see a sight that no white woman has seen for a thousand years; the inner temple of one of the sister cults of Ammon Ra. Come at once."

He led the way, and after a moment's hesitation Molly followed.

"We'd better humour him, Dick," she whispered.

The native who had awaited us on the landing led the way towards the house half hidden in the trees, with the Professor shaking with excitement just behind him, and Molly and I bringing up the rear. She was still clinging to my arm, and I could feel that she was trembling.

Our guide stalked slowly on towards the house. He knocked three times on the door and it swung open, slowly, of its own accord and he stood aside to let us enter. In front lay a long stone passage, lit with innumerable lamps and hung with tapestries which even to my inexperienced eye were literally without price.

Braziers sent forth choking clouds of incense which almost stifled one, but in spite of the overpowering fumes there was another smell which assailed one—a cloying, horrible smell. At first I couldn't place it: then I realised that it was the odour of musk.

Our guide stalked slowly on, while the Professor darted from side to side staring at the hangings on the walls. And then another door opened slowly, and Molly and I stopped with a gasp of disgust.

For in an instant the smell of musk had become an overpowering stench. And once again the guide stood on one side to let us pass through. It was the actual pool itself that lay in front.

It was hewn out of a sort of sandstone rock. A gallery some two yards wide stretched right round the walls at the same level as we were standing; while directly opposite us, on the other side of the pool, a heavy curtain concealed what appeared to be another door.

In each corner there sat a motionless priest, cross-legged, in front of a burning brazier; and swinging from the centre of the roof was a marvellous old lamp which provided the only light. Cut into the walls were various Egyptian designs, which roused the Professor to the verge of frenzy in his excitement. And, finally, just in front of us there stuck out over the pool a thing that looked like a diving-board. It shone yellow in the light, and with a sort of dull amazement I realised that it was solid gold.

"The actual platform of death," whispered the Professor in my ear. "Thousands of victims have stepped off that into the pool. And to think that we are the first white people to see it."

"Good God!" I muttered. "Human sacrifice."

But the Professor was engrossed in some hieroglyphics on the wall. And the next instant I heard Molly give a shuddering gasp beside me.

"Look, Dick, look! Over there in the corner."

Just rising above the surface was a thing that looked like a motionless baulk of wood. Suddenly, clear and distinct, a bell chimed out. As if in answer to a signal there was a swirl in the black, oily liquid of the pool, a vast head and snout showed for a moment above the surface, and I had a glimpse of the most enormous crocodile I have ever seen. And the baulk of wood was no longer there.