“Four scimitars added to our equipment will be useful, at close quarters,” he opined very coolly, unmindful of the dull uproar now battering at the inner door.  “Pick up the cutlery, men, and don’t forget the admirable qualities of the arme blanche!”

Himself, he took one of the long, curved blades.  The major, Leclair, and Ferrara—­an expert swordsman he had been, in the Italian army—­possessed themselves of the others.

Bohannan whistled his scimitar through the air.

“Very fine I call it!” he exclaimed, with a joyful laugh.  “Some little game of tag, what?  And our Moslem friends are still ‘it!’ We’re still ahead!”

“And likely to be, till our friends bring powder, mine that door, and blow it in!” The Master added:  “We’ve still a few minutes—­maybe more.  Now, then—­”

A shrill cry in French, from Lebon, drew all eyes away to the left of the small chamber.

“Voila!” the lieutenant’s orderly was vociferating.  They saw his distorted, torture-broken hand wildly gesticulating toward the floor.  “My Lieutenant, behold!”

“In the name of God, what now?” Leclair demanded, scimitar in hand.  The silver lamps struck high-lights from that gleaming blade, as he turned toward his orderly.  Never had he seen the man seized and shaken by excitement as at this moment.  “What hast thou found, Lebon?  What?”

“But behold—­behold!” choked the orderly.  Articulation failed him.  He stammered into unintelligible cries.  The Legionaries crowded toward him.  And in the dumb stupefaction that overcame them, the roaring tumult at the door was all forgotten.  The sentence of death hanging above them, faded to nothing.

Even the Master’s cold blood leaped and thrilled, at realization of what he was now beholding as the silver lamps swung from out-stretched hands.  Bohannan, for once, was too dazed for exuberance.

Only the Master could find words.

“Well, men,” said he, in even tones.  “Here it is, at last.  We’re seeing something no Feringi ever saw before—­the hidden treasure of Jannati Shahr!”

CHAPTER XLV

THE JEWEL HOARD

Men do strange things, at times, when confronted by experiences entirely outside even the limits of imagination.  At sight of the perfectly overwhelming masses of wealth that lay there in square pits chiseled out of the solid gold, most of the Legionaries reacted like men drunk or mad.

The hoard before them was enough to unbalance reason.

Leclair began to curse with amazing fluency in French and Arabic, while his orderly fell into half-hysterical prayer.  Bristol—­stolid Englishman though he was—­had to make a strong effort to keep his teeth from chattering.  The two Italians, one with an ugly wound on the jaw, burst out laughing, waving their arms extravagantly.  Simonds shouted jubilation and began to jump about in the most extraordinary fashion.  Wallace sat down heavily on the floor, held his lamp out over one of the pits and stared with blank incomprehension.