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England, George Allan, 1877-1936

"The Flying Legion"


And here an orange flash vied with a delicate old rose; there a rich
carnation sparkled beside a misty gray, like fading clouds along the
dim horizons of fairyland.
The Master murmured: "It's true, then--partly true. Rrisa knew part of
it!"
"Not all?" asked the woman.
"I hardly think the Caliph el Walid's gold was ever brought to Jannati
Shahr," he answered. "Coals to Newcastle, you know. And these jewels
are not all uncut. Some are finely faceted, some uncut. But in the
main Rrisa spoke the truth. He told what he believed."
"Yes," assented the woman. Then she added: "Spartan simplicity, is it
not? No elaborate coffers. Not even leather sacks. Just bins, like so
much wheat."
"The shining wheat of Araby!"
"Of the whole Orient!"
They fell silent, peering with fixed attention. And gradually some
calm returned to the others. At the door, too, the turmoil had ceased.
No doubt the Jannati Shahr men, baffled, had sent for much gunpowder
to blow in the massive planking. That silence became ominous.
Still the Legionaries could take no thought of anything but the
Caliph el Walid's hoard. As they stood, squatted, or knelt around
the pits--pits about two and a half feet square and deeper than the
deepest thrust of any arm--it seemed to them that bottomless lakes
and seas of light were opening down, down below them into unfathomed
depths of beauty.


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