i-millionaire, I must say!"
Bohannan exploded. Simonds laughed, with tense nerves. One or two
others swore, bitterly cursing the men of El Barr.

The Master, "Captain Alden," and Leclair, however, gave no heed.
Already they were peering around, at the black walls where now only an
occasional thread of gold was to be seen.

Five openings led out of this singular chamber, all equally dark,
narrow, formidable.

"This seems to be a regular labyrinth, my Captain," said Leclair, in
French. "Surely a trap of some kind. They are clever, these Arabs.
They let the mouse run and hope, then--_voila_--he is caught!"

"It looks that way. But we're not caught yet. These infernal
passageways are all alike, to me. We must choose one. Well--this is as
good as any." He gestured toward an aperture at the left. "Men, follow
me!"

The passage they now entered was all of rock, with no traces whatever
of gold. For a few hundred feet its course was horizontal; then it
plunged downward like the first.

And almost immediately the temperature began to mount, once more.

"Faith, but I think we'd better be getting back!" exclaimed the major.
"I don't care much for this heat, or that roaring noise that's getting
louder all the time!"

"You'll follow me, or I'll shoot you down!" the Master flung at him,
crouching around. "I've had enough insubordination from _you_, sir!
Not another word!"

The stooping little procession of trapped Legionaries once more went
onward, downward. The muffled roar, ahead of them, rose in volume as
they made a final turning and came into a much more spacious vault
where moisture goutted from the black walls. A thin, steamy vapor was
rising from the floor, warm to the bare feet.

A moment the Legionaries stood there, blinking in the vague lamplight,
glad of the respite that permitted them to straighten up and ease
cramped muscles.

"No way out of _here_!" Bohannan grumbled. "Sure, we're at the end o'
nowhere. Now if we'd only taken another passage--"

Nobody paid him any heed. The major's exhibition of irrational greed
had lost caste for him. Even Lebon, the orderly, curled a lip of scorn
at him.

All eyes were eagerly searching for some exit from this ultimate pit.
Panting, reeking with sweat, fouled with blood and dirt, the doomed
men shuffled round the vault, blinking with bloodshot eyes.

No outlet was visible. The vault seemed empty. But all at once,
Bristol uttered a cry.

"Wine-sacks, by the living