"Is it safe?"

"I reckon so. You see, a lot of these are ancient graves. Nobody has a claim on them, so we can jump them."

"Do you want some partners?" asked Claud.

"Yes, a few of us could get something. I've had my eye on an old tomb there for some time."

"What about to-night?"

"That will do. Bring your entrenching tools in a parcel, nobody sees them. We can get an old cab or motor to go in."

"Right-ho!" agreed Claud, who also arranged with Paddy, Bill and Sandy to form part of the exploring squad. This digging for ancient treasures in the graves of the dead is an old game in Egypt. It is comparatively safe where there are no natives with an interest in the business. And it is really remarkable what interesting finds are made. Rings, bangles, necklaces, brassware, beads, and jewels are often found in these old graveyards.

The route to this particular place lay through Cairo. It was already dark when they started on a rattling old motor-car. Down the Mena Road they were whirled into the dazzling streets. The traffic sent the car slower through a long, narrow native quarter. This was lined with dirty shops, selling everything, from mouldy Turkish delight to poisonous-looking firewater called native wine. At the door of these places the proud owners lounged on chairs or squatted on the ground, haggling and dealing with the fellah (the peasant Egyptian, and the finest type in Egypt). In Egypt everybody is in business. You can find merchants dealing in broken bottles, merchants in discarded "fags," merchants in the manure from the streets, merchants in rags and bones, egg shells and cabbage stalks. They'll do anything but work. Work to an Easterner is designed for women and oxen.

Leaving the lighted streets behind, the motor at length turned round into a long, darkened road.

"This is the show," said Sambo, pointing to a wide field of little domes, tombs, and broken-down buildings just visible in the murky light.

"It's a gey queer place," said Sandy, with a tremor in his voice.

"It is, and there's sure to be ghosts in this ould world?" muttered Mick, crossing himself.

"There's diamonds, too—and tons of gold," remarked Claud.

"Paddy, you'll be a rich man after to-night," laughed Sambo.

"If I'm not a dead wan," said the Irishman, who, for the moment had become seized with a dread of the supernatural.

"Well, boys, here we are!" exclaimed the leader of the party as they neared a dark bend of the road. "Jump out!" The car was backed out of sight, and the driver told to wait.

"This way," and into the darkness plunged the Queenslander. They followed close at his heels, stumbling over graves, stones and old enclosures.

"What's that?" screamed Paddy, as he kicked a white-looking thing at his feet.

"It's a skull, man," said Sandy, picking up the bleached headpiece of an ancient.

"Mother of Jasus, preserve us," murmured the Irishman, crossing himself again.

"Now, boys, here we are. Get out your tools and start digging. Here's a little torch to use, now and again, to see what you've got. You fellows can pan out this show here, I'm going over a bit to do some prospecting."

"Right you are, I'll run this bit of the business," said Claud, as the Queenslander went off into the darkness. For a long time they picked and shovelled out the soft brown earth.

"What's this?" whispered Sandy, holding something in his hand. Claud switched the light on.

"It's a shin bone."

"Here's the goods," shouted Bill, holding up a bracelet crusted with earth and mildew.

"It's gold, too," said Claud, fingering it.

"And here's some quids," Paddy said, spreading some coins out in his hand.

"Coppers, you mean."

Resuming their task, they soon collected skulls, shin bones, thigh bones, some old brassware, a ring, some coppers, and many other things of an Eastern kind.

"Wonderful! Wonderful!" soliloquised Claud, as he occasionally surveyed the finds with the aid of his monocle and flash lamp. But the greatest find was a large brass urn of beautiful workmanship.

"Looks like old Rameses' whisky jar," said Bill, turning the urn round under the light of the lamp.

Things were really going well till the Irishman happened to look up. His eyes at once caught a moving spectre of white advancing slowly towards them.

"Holy Mary, there's a ghost," said he, crossing himself and gripping Claud by the arm. They all looked up, and, sure enough, there was something white and weird moving slowly across the plain of the dead. Their eyes riveted on it. Paddy muttered a prayer; Bill eloquently wondered what the white thing was; Sandy, remarkably cool, picked up the bracelet, coins and other trinkets and placed them in his pocket. He did this, as he explained afterwards, "in case the ghost wid get them."

"It's mighty funny," muttered Claud, frequently adjusting his eyeglass to see the dread apparition more clearly.

"It's a ghost, boys, I tell ye. My ould father has seen them when he lived in Kerry. Heaven preserve us!" he ejaculated, crossing himself for about the fiftieth time.

"Ghost or no ghost, Paddy Doolan, I'm going after it," Bill said. Quietly picking up his tool, he walked forward to the weird, white thing still advancing. He reached it, then turned with it towards the crouching grave wreckers. Halting about ten yards from them, Bill shouted, "Paddy Doolan."

"Yis, Bill," was the timorous reply.

"It's an Irish ghost—a Kerry one."

"What is it?" said Claud, rising and shaking off the supernatural fear which had held him for a moment.

"It's a white donkey on the loose," answered Bill, bursting into laughter. Paddy recovered instantly and joined with the others in the admiration of the innocent ass which had strayed from its usual haunts. After sniffing its new-found friends, the donkey let out a terrible bray, flung up its heels and departed into the night.

They recommenced their digging operations; so engrossed were they with their discoveries that they did not hear the approach of some chattering natives. These dusky gents were within fifty yards of them when Bill whispered, "Keep still—lie down." They obeyed, and lying flat on the ground saw some Arabs go by. They could just see their figures against the sky, and had time to note that they carried shovels.

"On the same game," whispered Bill.

"Yes," said Claud, "I believe they make a speciality of digging up these dead folks. Glad they weren't Kerry ghosts, anyway."

"Be aisy, boys, you'll meet a ghost yet before ye die."

The work was resumed once more. About 2 A.M., when all thought they had had enough of this body-snatching, they were startled with the cry of, "Help, boys! Help! They're killing me."

"By Jove! That's the Queenslander. These niggers are at him. Come on, boys," shouted Claud, lifting his entrenching tool and running towards the place from whence came the cry for help.

"Help! Help!" rang out the cry again, this time it was more muffled and weak.

"Where are you, Sambo?"

"In here," came a faint reply.

The sound came from a square building, the door of which was open. Claud dashed in, flashing his light as he went. Turning a corner, he was amazed by a strange and striking spectacle.

Sambo lay struggling and kicking surrounded by four great hulking Arabs, who had been beating, kicking and biting him in a furious struggle. The faces of all were bleeding and bruised, and blood was splashed over the white sort of overall that the natives wear. To the left of Sambo Claud saw an open tomb. Inside he could just see a kind of coffin arrangement, and on the ground, near at hand, the most varied collection of brass and other beautiful Eastern wares. This was the cause of the bother.

Crack! went Claud's fist into the eyes of the nearest Arab.

"Take that, ye son of a sea cook," chimed in Bill, giving another the knock-out blow.

"Here's one from Paddy Doolan," shouted the