Then he rushed forward
and with a groan of relief threw himself into the room. Opposite the
door loomed the grim sarcophagus of King Abibaal, and beside it on
the floor lay the figure with the face that changed. He had gone a
circle in those tortuous passages, and this was the room of the
tombs of the kings.
He dragged himself across the chamber toward the still form. He must
look again; no one could tell what might have happened. He pulled
down the coat and looked. And there was surely nothing in the
delicate, handsome, English-looking face upturned to his to give
him new horror. It was only that he had come down here in the wake
of a tottering old creature, and that here in his place lay a man
who was not he. Which was manifestly impossible.
Mechanically St. George's hand went to the man's heart. It was
beating regularly and powerfully, and deep breaths were coming from
the full, healthily-coloured lips. For a moment St. George knelt
there, his blood tingling and pricking in his veins and pulsing in
his temples.
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