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England, George Allan, 1877-1936

"The Flying Legion"


"This is a devil of a place for a multi-millionaire, I must say!"
Bohannan exploded. Simonds laughed, with tense nerves. One or two
others swore, bitterly cursing the men of El Barr.
The Master, "Captain Alden," and Leclair, however, gave no heed.
Already they were peering around, at the black walls where now only an
occasional thread of gold was to be seen.
Five openings led out of this singular chamber, all equally dark,
narrow, formidable.
"This seems to be a regular labyrinth, my Captain," said Leclair, in
French. "Surely a trap of some kind. They are clever, these Arabs.
They let the mouse run and hope, then--_voila_--he is caught!"
"It looks that way. But we're not caught yet. These infernal
passageways are all alike, to me. We must choose one. Well--this is as
good as any." He gestured toward an aperture at the left. "Men, follow
me!"
The passage they now entered was all of rock, with no traces whatever
of gold. For a few hundred feet its course was horizontal; then it
plunged downward like the first.
And almost immediately the temperature began to mount, once more.
"Faith, but I think we'd better be getting back!" exclaimed the major.


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