As the stone came clear, into the hands of the invaders, a
dank, chill blast of air blew from the aperture against the white
men's faces. It seemed to issue as from a cavern; and with it came a
low, groaning sound, as of a soul in torment.
A shadow fell across the Haram; the light of the sun was dulled. The
sudden crack of a rifle-shot snapped from the arcade, and a puff of
rock-dust flew from the corner of the Ka'aba, not two feet from the
major's head.
"Come on, men!" cried the major. "Away!"
Some latent mysticism had been stirred in him; some vague, half-sensed
superstition. Nothing more natural than that a cold draught should
have soughed from the pent interior of the temple, or that the
air-liner, slowly turning as she hung above the Haram, should with her
vast planes have for a moment thrown her shadow over the square. But
the Celt's imaginative nature quivered as he gripped the stone.
"You, quick, on the other end!" he cried to Emilio. "You, Lombardo,
steady her! So! Now--to the nacelle!"
The rifles were opening a lively fire, already, as the men staggered
over the prostrate Moslems, reached the nacelle and with a grunt and
a heave tumbled the Hajar el Aswad into it.
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