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Mr. Bausin switched on his flashlight, and turning his key in the lock of the mid hall fire doors he isolated the entire right half of the museum. The field was rapidly narrowing. By the light of his flashlight he fastened the guard chain across the bottom of the stairs. It would not stop his quarry, but it might trip him in the darkness without a light to see where it was. Humming an old Egyptian folk tune to himself he set off to the left, sorting out the key to the Wonders of Steam room as he went. One more place to check; one more door to lock; one room less to hide in.

As he progressed down the hallway Thomas noticed that the walls were too smooth a«d the windows too high to reach. Judging by the scant light that filtered through their dusty panes they had probably been locked for years too. Ignoring the Egyptian Exhibition he entered the room directly opposite. Thomas’s nerve nearly deserted him when he bumped into a huge figure —in the dim light a King’s Hussar with drawn sabre glared at him over a waxed handlebar mustache.

It took Thomas a moment or two to regain his composure, then he snorted silently. Imagine being scared of a dummy dressed in the relics of yesteryear -this was no way for the famous Phantom Snake to behave. He was halfway to opening a luggage marker when a movement on the opposite side of the room disturbed him. Somebody was actually there watching him. Thomas’s hands began to tremble uncontrollably; the marker fell from his nerveless fingers. Slowly he summed up his last ounce of courage and turned to face the spectral figure in the darkened room.

It was a mirror!

A silly, stupid, foolish, long regimental mirror from some defunct officers’ mess. He had been terrorized by his own reflection. Utterly disgusted with himself, he bent to retrieve the fallen luggage marker. Then the sounds began. Without warning an eerie chant boomed through the silence.

It rose and fell in an echoing muttered cadence, filling the museum hallway. With a panicked sob Thomas pelted off down the hall, his sneakers slapping hard against the floor.

Bausin lay in a prostrate position, his arms extended, palms open, as he chanted the last stanza of the secret rites to the old gods and the mummified boy Pharaoh. His voice rose and fell as he vowed retribution on the desecrater of the treasures from Karnak, pleading with the dark and forgotten deities to aid him. Satisfied he had done his duty, he picked up the flashlight and resumed his tour. Searching the regimental room thoroughly he assured himself that his intended victim was not there. As he swung the door shut his foot came in contact with something … the red plastic top of a luggage marker. He pocketed it and locked the door.

Bausin continued down the hallway, leaving the rooms of the Egyptian Exhibition wide open. Unhurriedly he reached the end of the hall; there was only one way to go now. Down. Directing the flashlight on the black marble banister curving down into the museum basement he guided himself slowly downstairs, listening to the sounds of his prey, Thomas, scurrying about somewhere within the bowels of the building. Turning, he secured the guard chain across the top steps before continuing downward. The round golden orb of flashlight bobbed and danced around the stairwell, like a tiny offspring of Ra the Sun God guiding him.

Though it was unusual to perspire on a cold January night Thomas felt sweat running from his brow; he felt the beads drip onto his lips and licked them nervously. The rooms he looked in were all too small and bare to hide in, except for the one on the second right. There was an oil-fired central heating boiler which gave off a soft thrumming noise and a faint red glow; a table with a chair by it stood in a corner. Hearing the regular click of heels coming down the passage Thomas had no choice. He ducked under the table, crouching like a cornered animal. Bausin came onward, slow and relentless, checking each room thoroughly before locking it. First right, then first left, now second right. As he entered the room he was conscious of his quarry’s presence.

Deliberately Bausin strode to the boiler, tapping the gauges as if to check them, but listening keenly to the sound of Thomas dodging out of the room behind his back. The caretaker searched and locked each room until the whole basement was secured. He nodded in satisfaction at the sound of Thomas tripping over the guard chain on the top stair. Now the trap was complete. The Phantom Snake had only one last place to slither into.

Thomas entered the Egyptian Exhibition with two thoughts uppermost in mind. One, to give Bausin the slip; two, to find a phone somewhere so that he could call the police. A good story would be simple enough to invent: wandering about, forgot the time, locked in by mistake, very sorry to have caused any inconvenience. He peered into the darkness, trying to discern the shadowy shapes of the life-size objects. That one must be Horus, the hawk-headed god, he had read that on the plaque earlier today.

Click, click, click, click.

Bausin’s slow, measured pace drew nearer, Thomas squeezed in beneath the scarab case. The clicking stopped and Thomas held his breath. Suppose he was locking the door… no he wasn’t. The old fool, what was he up to now?

Complete silence. What if he’d tiptoed away, leaving Thomas to stew in his own fear. No, an old buffoon like him wouldn’t have the subtle imagination. Maybe he was trying to outwit the Phantom Snake, or outwait him, one or the other. Seconds crept by like minutes, the minutes seemed to stretch into hours. Once or twice Thomas was forced to move from his cramped position, but still there was no sound.

Thomas P. Kanne reached a desperate decision; he would dash out! If the attendant was not there, so much the better; he could search for a telephone. However, if he was still there waiting, Thomas would barge into him, trip him, grab the keys, knock him overjump over him and dash off; there were many possibilities. Crawling from under the scarab case Thomas stretched himself to restore the circulation in his limbs. Putting his best foot forward into the darkness he muttered tightly through his teeth, “Ready, steady … Go!”

With all the speed he could muster Thomas dashed for the doorway. He could not stop as the shadowy bulk leapt out in front of him. His fearful wail mingled with the single, chilling growl the creature gave. The huge body pressing close to Thomas smelt fetid and musky. He felt his body crushed close up to it, steel fingers had him helpless in their vicelike grip. The sweat on Thomas’s face turned to ice when he glimpsed the features of his captor. It was not human, it had the head of a great slavering dog! The jackal-like eyes burned hungrily; the big yellow fangs dripped saliva as its fearsome mouth panted hot breath into his nostrils; the black-tipped muzzle poked wetly against his cheek. Thomas fainted limply.

A voice was murmuring close by as Thomas’s brain swam through a red mist of pain into consciousness.

“O great Pharaoh, accept as a slave and a servant in the underworld this one who has desecrated thy shrine. He will serve thy every need and do thy bidding, for was it not his race who removed thee from Karnak, Valley of the Kings, resting place of thy mighty ancestors. 0 my master, it was I, Anubis, who ever watched over thee.”

Thomas P. Kanne could not budge a single inch, he could not blink his eyes, even though they were open wide. His arms, legs and body were wound tightly with bandages from neck to toe; a gag had been forced into his mouth. Bausin chanted as he laid out needles and vials of ancient embalming fluids. A single tear managed to well from the corner of his victim’s eye as he listened to the jackal-headed man.

“O Ruler of Egypt, now thy slave will join thee in the underworld. I fill his veins with the mystic fluids which were administered to thee in death long centuries back. Accept my offering and be at peace in the houses of the dead, ere Ra the Sun God races across the skies in his fiery chariot.”