He crawled
to his feet, chastened.
"You win, sir," he answered. "Who goes first?"
A dull reverberation shuddered the rock, the air.
"_Vive Nissr_!" exulted Leclair. "Ah, now our men, they attack the
city!"
"I'm sorry to disillusion you," the Master answered, "but my explosive
produces an entirely different type of concussion. What we have just
heard is the blowing-in of the treasure-crypt door. There's no time to
lose, now. Who jumps, first?"
"Wait a minute!" cried "Captain Alden." Her eyes were gleaming through
the mask, with keen excitement. "Why neglect any chance of possibly
surviving?"
"What do you mean?" the Master demanded.
"Those wine-sacks!"
"Well?"
"Emptied, inflated, and tied up again, they'll float us! It's the
oldest kind of device used in the Orient!"
"By Allah, inspiration! Quick, men, the wine-skins!"
Himself, he set the example. Knife in hand, while Emilio held the lamp
for him, he crumbled the seals on one of the goat-skins, then cut
the leather thong that secured the neck, and quickly unwound it. He
dragged the sack to the black pit and tipped it up.
With a gulp and a gurgle, the precious old wine, clear ruby under the
dim light, gushed away down the steaming shaft that plunged to the
River of Night.
Pages:
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483