Then, far and faint, as though coming along tortuous passages from
distances above, a muffled concussion smote their ears. The shock of
the air-wave was distinctly felt, eloquent of the catastrophe that in
a second of time had shattered every plan and hope.
As if an echo of that thunderous, far explosion, a faint wailing of
voices--echoing from very far above--drifted eerily along the passage;
voices in blended rage and fear, in hate, agony, despair.
"God above--!" the major gulped. "Captain Alden" whipped her pistol
from its holster, not a fraction of a second before the Master's
leaped into his hand. The torchlight flickered on Leclair's
service-revolver, and was reflected on the guns of every Legionary.
"If that's the explosive," Bohannan cried, "faith, we're in for it!
_Is_ it the explosive that's blown Hell out o' the Black Stone?"
A wild cry echoed down the passage. The Olema, his face suddenly
distorted with a passion of hate, snatched a pistol from beneath his
burnous.
"The dogs of Feringistan have spat on all Islam!" he screamed, in a
shrill, horrible voice. "The Black Stone is no more! Vengeance on the
unbelieving dogs! _Allah il Allah!_ Kill, kill, and let no dog escape!
"Sons of the Prophet! Slay me these dogs! Kill!"
CHAPTER XLIII
WAR IN THE DEPTHS
Horrible, unreal as a fever-born nightmare in its sudden frenzy, the
Arab's attack drove in at them.
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