And Rrisa, what of him?  Shut into his cabin, with the door locked against intrusion, he was lying face downward on the metal floor, praying.  For the first time in the world’s history, a Moslem’s kiblah, or direction of prayer, was directly downward!

“Reverse!” ordered the Master.  Nissr hovered exactly above the Haram enclosure.  “Lower to five hundred feet, then hold her!”

The air-liner sank slowly, with a hissing of air-intakes into the vacuum-floats, and hung there, trembling, quivering with the slow back-revolution of her screws, the swift energy of her helicopters.  The Master put her in charge of Janina, the Serbian ace, and descended to the lower gallery.

Here he found the crew assembled by Bohannan and Leclair ready for the perilous descent they were about to make.

He leaned over the rail, unmindful of the ragged patter of bullets from below, and with a judicial eye observed the prospect.  His calm contrasted forcibly with the frenzied surging of the pilgrim mobs below, a screaming, raging torrent of human passion.

Clearly he could discern every detail of the city whereof Mohammed wrote in the second chapter of the Koran:  “So we have made you the center of the nations that you should bear witness to men.”  He could see the houses of dark stone, clustering together on the slopes like swallows’ nests, the unpaved streets, the Mesjid el Haram, or sacred square, enclosed by a great wall and a colonnade surmounted by small white domes.

At the corners of this colonnade, four tall white minarets towered toward the sky—­minarets from which now a pretty lively rifle-fire was developing.  A number of small buildings were scattered about the square; but all were dominated by the black impressive cube of the Ka’aba itself, the Bayt Ullah, or Allah’s house.

The Master gave an order.  Ferrara obeying it, brought from his cabin a piece of apparatus the Master had but perfected in the last two days of flight over the Sahara.  This the Master took and clamped to the rail.

“Captain Alden,” said he, “stand by, at the engine-room phone from this gallery, here, to order any necessary adjustments as weights are dropped or raised.  Keep the ship at constant altitude as well as position.  Major Bohannan and Lieutenant Leclair, are your crews ready for the descent?”

“Yes, sir,” the major answered. “Oui, mon capitaine,” replied the Frenchman.

“Tools all ready?  Machine-guns installed?  Yes?  Very well.  Open the trap, now, and swing the nacelle by the electric crane and winch.  Right!  Steady!”

The yells of rage and hate from below were all this time increasing in volume and savagery.  Quite a pattering of rifle-bullets had developed against the metal body of the lower gallery and—­harmlessly glancing—­against the fuselage.

Smiling, the Master once more peered over.  He seemed, as indeed he was, entirely oblivious to any fear.  Too deeply had the Oriental belief of Kismet, of death coming at the appointed hour and no sooner, penetrated his soul, to leave any place there for the perils of chance.