She was half-way to the entrance door, round
the edges of which already torch-light had begun to glimmer as the
attackers strained it from its hinges.
Amazed, the Legionaries stared. The Master started after her. Now she
was on her knees beside one of the dead Maghrabis--the one killed
by Janina. She found nothing; turned to the other; uttered a cry of
exultation and held up a clumsy key.
Back over the floor of gold she ran. Her fingers held a crimson cord,
from which the key dangled.
"Those two--they were guardians of this vault, of course!" she cried.
"Here is the key!"
A cheer burst from the Legionaries. The Master clutched the key,
pressed forward to the inner door. A terrible intensity of emotion
seized all the survivors, as he fitted the key to the ponderous lock.
"God!" the Irishman grunted, as the wards slid back. The padlock
clattered to the floor. The hasp fell. In swung the door.
Through it pressed the Legionaries, with lamps swinging, pistols in
hand. As the last of them entered, the outer door collapsed with a
bursting clangor. Lights gleamed; a white-robed tumult of raging men
burst through. Shots crackled; yells echoed; and the sound of many
sandaled feet, furiously running, filled the outer chamber with sounds
of ominous import.
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