For several hours, and with some difficulty, we ascended the hill before us. The higher we went, the poorer the footing became and the sparser the vegetation among the loose, broken rocks. Eventually, almost exhausted, we sat down to rest for a few minutes on a broad flat ledge. Even as we did so, we both noticed, on a boulder at the back of the ledge, another sixteen-pointed sun carved into the face of the rock. This clearly indicated that we were on the right track, and after a brief rest, we continued our ascent of the mountain. By this time, we were so high that there were no signs that even the mountain sheep or goats ever ventured up there. At last, as the daylight was beginning to fade, we surmounted a narrow ridge and came upon another small plateau. At the back of this plateau, and perfectly invisible from lower down the mountain, was a cluster of stunted thorn bushes, and behind them, quite visible now, the dark, gaping mouth of a large cave. There could be little doubt that this was the place to which the sun symbols had directed us.

After another short rest to catch our breath, we lit the lanterns we had brought with us, and made our way into the cave.

“Be careful, Strange!’’ I cautioned.

“Don’t be so timid, Palfreyman! There’s no point in hanging back!’’ he returned in characteristic fashion. Strange was one of those people who seemed unable to converse without insulting the person he was speaking to. I was not especially timid, and nor was I ‘‘hanging back’’, as he put it. On the contrary, he had brusquely pushed in front of me as we made our way into the cave, as if to ensure that he was the first to enter. I don’t think that in all the years I had known him, I had ever once seen him enter a room behind someone else. He really was, in many ways, the most dislikeable person I had ever known.

Slowly, holding up our lanterns to light the way, we made our way deeper into that very dark cave. The floor beneath our feet was surprisingly damp and smooth in places, as if sculpted by a considerable flow of water at some time in the distant past, and by the occasional flow even now, perhaps after one of the violent storms that are a feature of some months in those parts. Then, all at once, I descried another carving of the sixteen-pointed sun, quite small, on a projecting rock at the side of the cave, and called my companion back to see it.

“We are definitely going the right way,’’ said he, and set off forwards once more.

The floor of the cave had been sloping down for some time, quite steeply in places, but presently it levelled off again, and was covered in sand and other small debris. We had progressed some way – perhaps twenty yards – along this easier terrain, when something caught our eyes on the right-hand wall of the cave. I was about three or four yards behind Strange, but I think we saw it at the same moment.

“What on earth is that?’’ said I.

“It’s a tile of some sort,’’ Strange murmured, as much to himself as to me, and as I approached a little closer I could see that he was right.

It was a large tile, some seven or eight inches square, which seemed to have been set into a carved recess in the wall of the cave and affixed with mortar, some of which was visible round the edges. The tile itself, although a little dusty, was clearly creamy white in colour and highly glazed, showing in relief the face of a woman. It was a beautiful face, smiling in an angelic manner. At a glance, I could see that in its general style and craftsmanship it was from a later era than the time of Pellas II – at least late Greek, and possibly even Roman. This suggested that the tomb of Pellas II – if it were indeed in this cave – had been venerated centuries after his death. But as these thoughts flitted through my mind, I also recollected the warnings we had read in those ancient manuscripts.

“Thesprotia!’’ I cried. ‘‘Strange, it’s Thesprotia! Be careful! Remember the warnings!’’

“Don’t be absurd, Palfreyman!’’ came Strange’s reply, although he did not turn to me, but kept his eyes fixed upon that smiling face, almost as if he were physically unable to remove his gaze from it. ‘‘Don’t be superstitious!’’ It was then that a bitter thought flashed through my brain. I did not put it into words, not even in my own head, but, had I done so, it would have been something like, All right, Strange, you conceited fool! Be it on your own head! Die, if that is what you wish! A moment later, I had suppressed this thought, and cried aloud again.

“Strange!’’ I cried as he leaned forward to brush the dust from the tile with his hand. ‘‘Don’t look at it! Don’t look at the face!’’ Then some slight noise or sixth sense made me look down at his feet. There was something wrong there, I felt sure, although I could see nothing. I lowered my lantern to get a better look. ‘‘Strange!’’ I began. ‘‘The floor!’’

“The flaw is in your reasoning, Palfreyman,’’ he returned in that lazily arrogant manner of his, but the words died abruptly on his lips and, as there came a sudden sound of cracking and crumbling, he let out the most dreadful, deafening scream of fear. There was a puff of dust, and in a fraction of a second, my companion had vanished utterly from my sight. Clouds of dust had been stirred up and swirled about me, and for the best part of a minute I could see nothing at all. Then, as the dust cleared, I saw that where my colleague had been standing, in front of the tile on the wall, was a large gaping hole. It was clearly a classic Macedonian death trap, of which I had heard vague stories – a pit for the unwary, covered with sticks, dust and other debris, designed to protect the tomb of Pellas, and precisely what those ancient manuscripts had warned against. I ran to the edge of the hole, lay on the floor and peered down, but it was pitch black and I could see nothing. Evidently, Strange’s lantern had been extinguished as he fell. I held my own lantern as far down in the hole as I could, but it did not help. The pit was evidently very deep.

“Strange!’’ I called, again and again, but received no answer. In other circumstances, I might have lit a bundle of dry brushwood and tossed it down the hole to illuminate the bottom of the pit, but of course I could not do that while Strange was lying down there. Nor could I lower my lantern down on a rope, for we had brought no rope with us. I cursed myself for this, although, in truth, it was not my fault but Strange’s. If he had not been so impatient and determined to set off at once to look for Pellas’s tomb, we might have equipped ourselves properly for such an expedition.

Eventually I gave up calling down that dark pit, from which the only response was the echo of my own voice. I could do nothing further by myself; I would have to go and get help. I made my way to the mouth of the cave, where I found to my dismay that night had fallen, and the world outside the cave was as pitch black as that within. There was no moon that night, and save only the faint, cold light of the stars above me, there was not a light to be seen anywhere, from one horizon to the other.

I set off, picking my way carefully down the hill, but if the climb up had been difficult, the descent in the dark was almost impossible. I slipped, I stumbled, I fell. I picked myself up and carried on, but almost at once slipped again on the loose stones with which this part of the mountain was littered. It was almost hopeless, but I could achieve nothing by staying where I was, so I pressed on, testing every foothold before I put my weight on it. Then, perhaps inevitably, one small ledge, which had seemed firm when I tested it, abruptly collapsed when I put my whole weight on it, and in an instant I was plunging down the hill, head over heels, bringing down an avalanche of small rocks and stones with me, and with no idea whatever of where I was falling to. At some point in the fall, I cracked my head on a rock and knocked myself senseless, and that was the last thing I knew.