A little silence fell on them, as they inspected it.
One man coughed, spitting blood. Another wheezed, with painful
respiration. The smell of sweat and blood sickened the air.
"That's some door, all right!" judged Bohannan, peering at its dark
wood, heavily banded with iron. "Faith, but they've got a padlock on
that, big enough to hold the Pearly Gates!"
"It is only a question, now, of the key," put in Leclair, with French
precision.
"Faith, _here's_ a trap!" the Irishman continued. "A trap, for you!
And thirteen rats in it! Lucky, eh?"
"In Jananti Shahr," the memory of a sentence flashed to the Master,
"we do not anoint rats' heads with jasmine oil!" But all he said was:
"Light, here! Bring lamps!"
Three Legionaries obeyed. The flare of the crude wicks, up along the
door, showed its tremendous solidity.
"A little of our explosive would do this business," the Master
declared. "But it's obvious nothing short of that would have much
effect. I think, men, we'll make our stand right here.
"If we put out all lights, we'll have the attackers at a disadvantage.
We can account for fifty or more, before they close in. And--'Captain
Alden,' sir! Where are you going? Back, here!"
The woman gave no heed.
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