minutes more or less don't matter. But,
faith, I'll die a millionaire, and that's something I never
expected to be. Fine, fine! Give me a minute more, and I'll die
a multi-millionaire! Sure, imagine that, will you? Major Aloysius
Bohannan, gentleman-adventurer, a multi-millionaire! That's what I'll
be, and the man don't live that can stop me now!"

With the laugh of a madman, the major fell to his knees again beside
the pit, plunged his hands once more into the gleaming, sliding mass
of wealth, and recommenced cramming his pockets.

The Master laughed again.

"It's quite immaterial, after all," said he. "I led you into this.
And now it's very nearly a case of _sauve qui peut_. The sooner your
pockets are full, to the extreme limit, the sooner something like
reason will return to you. Jewels being of interest to a man at
death's door--it's quite characteristic of you, Bohannan. Help
yourself!"

"Thanks, I will!" Bohannan flung up at him, blood-drabbled face pale
and drawn by the flaring lamplight. "A _multi_-millionaire! Death? I
should worry! Help myself? Faith, I just will, that!"

"Anyone else, here, feel so disposed?" the Master inquired. "If so,
get it over and done with. We've got fighting ahead, and we'd better
quench whatever thirst there is for wealth, first."

No one made any move. Only Bohannan's mind had been unsettled by the
hoard, to the extent of wanting to possess it. Now that death loomed,
empty pockets were as good, to all the rest, as any other sort.

"You're all a pack of damned fools!" Bohannan sneered. "You could die
richer than Rockefeller, every man-jack of you, and you--you don't
want to! Sure, it's _you_ that's mad, not me!"

No one answered. They all stood peering down at him, their faces
tense, wounded, dirty; their eyes gleaming strangely; the shadow of
Azrael's wing already enfolding them. Then, a few detached themselves
from the little group and wandered off into the gloom, away from the
pits. Leclair muttered:

"I prefer loading my automatic, to loading my pockets! Odd, the major
is, eh? Ah well, _a chacun sa chimere!_"

"Everybody's weapons fully loaded?" the Master demanded. "Be sure they
are! And don't forget the mercy-bullets, men. These Arabs are rather
ingenious in their tortures. They make a specialty of crucifying
unbelievers--upside down. That sort of thing won't do, for us not for
fighting-men of the Legion!"

Bohannan, laughing, stood up. Every pocket was a-bulge