of an axe, and the shaven scalp that still clung to it suggested that he
might have been a priest.

Mahomet thought, and Smith agreed with him, that this was the person who
had violated the tomb. As he was escaping from it the guards of the holy
place surprised him after he had covered up the hole by which he had
entered and purposed to return. There they executed him without trial
and divided up the plunder, thinking that no more was to be found. Or
perhaps his confederates killed him.

Such at least were the theories advanced by Mahomet. Whether they were
right or wrong none will ever know. For instance, the skeleton may not
have been that of the thief, though probability appears to point the
other way.

Nothing more was found in the tomb, not even a scarab or a mummy-bead.
Smith spent the remainder of his time in photographing the pictures
and copying the inscriptions, which for various reasons proved to be of
extraordinary interest. Then, having reverently buried the charred bones
of the queen in a secret place of the sepulchre, he handed it over to
the care of the local Guardian of Antiquities, paid off Mahomet and the
fellaheen, and departed for Cairo. With him went the wonderful jewels
of which he had breathed no word, and another relic to him yet more
precious--the hand of her Majesty Ma-Mee, Palm-branch of Love.

And now follows the strange sequel of this story of Smith and the queen
Ma-Mee.