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England, George Allan, 1877-1936

"The Flying Legion"


"A passage, eh?" the Master ejaculated.
"Maybe a _cul-de-sac_," she answered. "But--there's no telling--it may
lead somewhere."
"By Allah! Men! Here--all of you!"
The Master's voice rang imperatively. They all came trooping with
naked or slippered feet that slid in the wet redness of the floor.
Broken exclamations sounded.
Seizing the lamp, the Master thrust it into the opening, which
measured no more than four feet high by three wide. The light smokily
illuminated about three yards of this narrow passage. Then a sharp
turn to the right concealed all else.
Whither this runway might lead, to what peril or what trap it might
conduct them, none could tell. Very strongly it reminded the Master
of the gallery in the Great Pyramid of Gizeh, which he had seen
twelve years before--the gallery which in ancient days had served as a
death-trap for treasure-seekers.
That gallery, he remembered, had contained a cleverly hidden stone
in its floor which once on a time had precipitated pilferers down a
vertical shaft more than a hundred feet, to death, in the bowels of
that huge, terrifying mausoleum.
Was this passage of similar purpose and design? In all probability,
yes.


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