Alden" whipped her pistol
from its holster, not a fraction of a second before the Master's
leaped into his hand. The torchlight flickered on Leclair's
service-revolver, and was reflected on the guns of every Legionary.

"If that's the explosive," Bohannan cried, "faith, we're in for it!
_Is_ it the explosive that's blown Hell out o' the Black Stone?"

A wild cry echoed down the passage. The Olema, his face suddenly
distorted with a passion of hate, snatched a pistol from beneath his
burnous.

"The dogs of Feringistan have spat on all Islam!" he screamed, in a
shrill, horrible voice. "The Black Stone is no more! Vengeance on the
unbelieving dogs! _Allah il Allah!_ Kill, kill, and let no dog escape!

"Sons of the Prophet! Slay me these dogs! Kill!"

CHAPTER XLIII

WAR IN THE DEPTHS

Horrible, unreal as a fever-born nightmare in its sudden frenzy, the
Arab's attack drove in at them. The golden passageway flung from wall
to wall screams, curses in shrill barbaric voices, clangor of steel
whirled from scabbards, echoes of shots loud-roaring in that narrow
space.

Bara Miyan's pistol, struck up by the woman's hand, spat fire over the
Master's head just as the Olema himself went down with blood spurting
from a jugular severed by the major's bullet. The Olema's gaudy
burnous crimsoned swiftly.

"Got _him_!" shouted Bohannan, firing again, again, into the tangle of
sub-chiefs and Maghrabi men. Adams pitched forward, cleft to the chin
by a simitar.

The firing leaped to point-blank uproar, on both sides. The men of
Jannati Shahr numbered more pistols, but the Legionaries had quicker
firers. Arabs, Legionaries, Maghrabis alike falling in a tumult of raw
passions, disappeared under trampling feet.

Deafening grew the uproar of howls, curses, shots. The smell of dust
and blood mingled with the aromatic perfume of the cressets.

The Master was shouting something, as he emptied his automatic into
the pack of white-robed bodies, snarling brown faces, waving arms. But
what he was commanding, who could tell?

Like a storm-wave flinging froth ashore, the rush of the Moslems
drove the Legionaries--fewer now--back into the treasure-chamber. The
Master, violent hands on "Captain Alden," swung her back, away; thrust
her behind him. Her eyes gleamed through the mask as she still fired.
The Master heard her laugh.

From dimness of gloom, within the doorway, two vague figures rained
dagger-blows. Janina, mortally stab