continued. "A trap, for you!
And thirteen rats in it! Lucky, eh?"

"In Jananti Shahr," the memory of a sentence flashed to the Master,
"we do not anoint rats' heads with jasmine oil!" But all he said was:
"Light, here! Bring lamps!"

Three Legionaries obeyed. The flare of the crude wicks, up along the
door, showed its tremendous solidity.

"A little of our explosive would do this business," the Master
declared. "But it's obvious nothing short of that would have much
effect. I think, men, we'll make our stand right here.

"If we put out all lights, we'll have the attackers at a disadvantage.
We can account for fifty or more, before they close in. And--'Captain
Alden,' sir! Where are you going? Back, here!"

The woman gave no heed. She was half-way to the entrance door, round
the edges of which already torch-light had begun to glimmer as the
attackers strained it from its hinges.

Amazed, the Legionaries stared. The Master started after her. Now she
was on her knees beside one of the dead Maghrabis--the one killed
by Janina. She found nothing; turned to the other; uttered a cry of
exultation and held up a clumsy key.

Back over the floor of gold she ran. Her fingers held a crimson cord,
from which the key dangled.

"Those two--they were guardians of this vault, of course!" she cried.
"Here is the key!"

A cheer burst from the Legionaries. The Master clutched the key,
pressed forward to the inner door. A terrible intensity of emotion
seized all the survivors, as he fitted the key to the ponderous lock.

"God!" the Irishman grunted, as the wards slid back. The padlock
clattered to the floor. The hasp fell. In swung the door.

Through it pressed the Legionaries, with lamps swinging, pistols in
hand. As the last of them entered, the outer door collapsed with a
bursting clangor. Lights gleamed; a white-robed tumult of raging men
burst through. Shots crackled; yells echoed; and the sound of many
sandaled feet, furiously running, filled the outer chamber with sounds
of ominous import.

"_Ah, sacres cochons!_" shouted Leclair, emptying his pistol at the
pursuers. The Master thrust him back. The door clanged shut; down
dropped another bar.

Bohannan laughed madly. The fighting-blood was leaping in his veins.

"Oh, the grand fight!" he shouted. "God, the grand old fight!"

Confused voices, crying out in Arabic, wheeled the Master from the
door.

This inner chamber, very much smaller than the outer, was well lig