ised his
pistol, covering Hero Paul, the speaker. "Silence!" he rasped.
"You're a thick-headed idiot not to see the truth. Can this priest
save Altara? No! You know damned well he can't! And yet you'd have us
killed."

"Now, Herakles," he swung on the priest, "about this Altara matter--if
you'll restore Altorius unharmed, guarantee our safety, and punish
those liars who condemned us to death, the other Wanderer and I will
undertake to not only prevent the sacrifice of Altara, but to bring
the Princess back as well!"

* * * * *

To all this Alden listened with increasing and indescribable dismay,
his blue eyes round as marbles. "My God!" he whispered in an
undertone. "What in the devil is Vic doing? _Undertake_ is _right_,
the crazy fool!"

"How will ye accomplish this mad boast?" demanded the arch-priest in
deep suspicion. "Know ye that the Sacred Virgin lies captive in the
dungeons of the great temple of Beelzebub? Know ye that this temple is
in the center of Jezreel, capitol of Jarmuth?"

"I had some idea that was the case."

"Know ye," continued, the graybeard priest, "that Altara is ever
guarded by two thousand picked priests and warriors? Know ye,
moreover, that this vile sacrifice will be made but two days hence?"

The aviator's lean, dark head inclined with a serenity he far from
felt.

At this point the scarred veteran officer who had spoken before broke
in, his face menacing. "Believe not this liar, oh Hero Giles! He
speaks with a tongue made bold by fear. He promises that which he
cannot accomplish!"

Had Victor Nelson had time to reflect upon the weirdness of the plan
he had evolved, he would probably have silently admitted that his
grizzled accuser was more than a little justified, but as it was he
smiled serenely.

From all sides rose a threatening shout. "Let the blasphemers be
sacrificed. Ares will protect us!"

* * * * *

His yellow brows knit, Hero Giles wavered, but as he hesitated there
ran through a great circular window a distant yet menacing shout.
"Down with Altorius, the Unlucky! Down with the sons of Hudson! Give
back to the ancient Gods their Sacred Virgin. Hail to Ares! Death to
the Wanderers! Death! Death!"

Drowning out these ominous cries there came from below the window the
brazen clang of trumpets and the clank of many armored men hurrying
forward. Presently the mob's outcry grew fainter, but still the cries