"Faith, an underground river of hot water!" ejaculated the Irishman
with an oath. "Some river!"
"Warm water, at any rate," the Master judged, getting up again. A
strange smile was in his eyes, by the smoky lamplight. "Well, men,
this is our way out. The Arabs are not going to have any slaughter
of victims, here. And what is more, they'll capture no dead bodies
of white men, in _this_ trap! There'll be at least ten skulls missing
from that interesting golden Pyramid of Ayeshah!"
"For God's sake!" the major stammered. "What--what are you going
to--do, now? Jump down that shaft?"
"Exactly. Your perspicacity does you credit, Major."
"Sure, you'll never catch _me_ jumping!"
"Gentlemen," the Master said, in a low, quiet voice, "I regret to
state that we have one coward among us."
CHAPTER XLVIII
THE RIVER OF NIGHT
The major's clenched fist was caught as it drove, by a scientific
guard from the Master's right. The Master dropped his lamp, and with a
straight left-hander sprawled Bohannan on the slimy pave. Impersonally
he stood over the crazed Celt.
"Will you jump, voluntarily," demanded he, "or shall we be under the
painful necessity of having to throw you down that pit?"
Enough rationality remained in the major to spur his pride.
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