From near the top, the Master, glancing down, could see the
white-robed mass of the Arabs, the small, compact group of his own
men; and, behind them all, the dim, black lines of the stranglers. But
already the Olema was gesturing for him to enter the highest of the
galleries.
Into this, carved in the virgin metal, both made their way. The
torchlight flung strange, wavering gleams on smooth walls niched with
dark embrasures. At the further end of the passage, the Olema stopped.
"Here is a new trophy, just added to all that Allah hath placed in our
hands," said he, gravely. "There are some three-and-twenty places yet
left, to fill. Wilt thou see the new trophy?"
The Master nodded silently. Raising the torch, the Olema thrust it
into one of the embrasures. There the Master beheld a human skull.
The empty eye-sockets, peering out at him, seemed to hold a malevolent
malice. That the skull had been but freshly cleaned, was obvious.
"Abd el Rahman?" asked the Master.
"Yea, the Apostate," answered Bara Miyan. "At last, Allah hath
delivered him to us of El Barr."
"Thou hast used a heavy hand on the Apostate, O Sheik."
"We of Jannati Shahr do not anoint rats' heads with jasmine oil.
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