The Last Pharaoh by Thomas P. Kelley
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l. The Lady on the Liner
On the West African Coast Sept. 9th or 10th, 1931.
OH GOD! that it were all but a dream! If only I could arise to find that it had been some horrible nightmare, and that now, safe in my hotel room, I would shortly be dining with my Carol. I would shout with joy. I would fall on my knees with prayers of thanks for my safe deliverance.
All is quiet within this great castle of death. No sound, no faintest whisper echoes through its age-old halls. From the loftiest turret to the deepest dungeon a tomb-like silence prevails. Even the squeals of the rats have ceased. That, of course, is to be expected. They have fed well!
A glorious moon shines through the open window to light the interior of the ancient throneroom. From without comes the cool swish of the Atlantic. High overhead, and mysterious as the dark continent itself, are the burning desert stars. The very night that surrounds me teems with a weird beauty.
Before me, in a flood of lunar rays, lies Atma, the incomparable. The scantily clad body of the love-maddened Princess makes a picture of beauty and passion, while that wondrous face, youthful and unchanged by the centuries, still holds the same sensual charms that once aroused unholy desires in Thothones, Pharaoh of Egypt, thirty-four hundred years ago!
Excerpt From: Thomas P. Kelley. “The Last Pharaoh.”
