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England, George Allan, 1877-1936

"The Flying Legion"

Every pocket was a-bulge with
incalculable wealth.
"Now I'm satisfied," he remarked in more rational tones. "I reckon I
must be worth more money, as I stand here, than any human being that
ever lived. You're looking at the richest man in the world, gentlemen!
And I'm going to die, the richest. If that's not some distinction,
what is? For a man that was bone-poor, fifteen minutes ago! Now, sir--"
A sudden cry interrupted him. That cry came from "Captain Alden."
"Here! Look here!"
"What is it?" demanded the Master. He started toward her, while
outside the door sounded dull commands, as if the Arabs-now organized
to effective work-were already preparing to blow open the last barrier
between them and their victims.
"What now?" the Master repeated, striding toward her.
"_See! See here!_"


CHAPTER XLVII

A WAY OUT?
The woman stood pointing into a black recess at the far end of the
crypt. All that the Master could discern there, at first, was a
darkness even greater than that which shrouded the corners of the
vault.
"Light, here!" he commanded. Ferrara swung a lamp, by its chain,
into the recess. They saw a low, square opening in the wall of dull,
gleaming metal.


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