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Updated: May 7, 2025
The Master assured himself that his night-glasses with the megaphotic reflectors were in their case slung over his shoulder. He looked once more to his weapons, both ordinary and lethal, and likewise murmured: "By the rising of the stars!" Then said he crisply, while the fire-glow of Leclair's strongly inhaled cigarette threw a dim light on the tense lines of his wounded face: "Come! Let us go!"
It filled the cabin with a kind of soft murmuring that soothed the senses like the drowsy undertone of bees at swarm. For a moment nothing happened. Then the pupils of Leclair's eyes began to dilate with astonishment. Immovable though he still remained, the most intense wonder made itself apparent in his look. Even something akin to fear was mirrored in his gaze. Again his lips twitched.
He entered, took the receiver and heard Leclair's voice from the pilot-house: "Clouds on the horizon, my Captain. And I think there is a mountain range coming in sight. Would you care to look?" The Master, very grim and silent, went into the pilot-house. He had decided to make no mention of what had happened. The suicide must pass as an accident. He himself must seem to have no knowledge of it.
Lebon had long since been told of his rescue; he and his lieutenant had embraced and had given each other a long story the enslaved man's story making Leclair's face white with rage, his heart a furnace of vengeance on all Islam.
"Yes, that you can be one of us." "Can that be true?" "It is!" The Master's right hand closed firmly on Leclair's. The Master's other hand went out and gripped him by the shoulder. To his feet sprang the Frenchman. Though still shaken and trembling, he drew himself erect. His right hand loosened itself from the Master's; it went to his aviator's helmet in a sharp salute. "J'y suis!
Its glossy, pitchlike surface, on the end that had been exposed from the wall, was all worn and polished smooth by innumerable caresses from Moslem hands and lips. "Very hygienic," the Master thought. "If there was ever a finer way devised for spreading the plague and other Oriental diseases, I can't very well imagine what it could be!" A bit of the stone had been broken off by Leclair's crowbar.
The torchlight flickered on Leclair's service-revolver, and was reflected on the guns of every Legionary. "If that's the explosive," Bohannan cried, "faith, we're in for it! Is it the explosive that's blown Hell out o' the Black Stone?" A wild cry echoed down the passage. The Olema, his face suddenly distorted with a passion of hate, snatched a pistol from beneath his burnous.
The 62d, with 4, 611, 686, 427, 889, 904 vibrations per second, is a field where only I have worked. And beyond these, no doubt, other octaves extend with infinite possibilities. "You will note, monsieur," he continued, while the dun penumbra still more and more withdrew him from Leclair's sight, "that great lacunae exist in the scale of vibratory phenomena.
The name of Allah drifted out of the all-enveloping night, to them, and that of his Prophet. A cry: "Ya Abd el Kadir " calling on a patron saint, died before the last word, "Jilani," could find utterance. Then silence, complete and leaden, fell with uncanny suddenness. The Master laughed, dryly. He touched Leclair's arm. "Strong medicine for the Beni Harb, Lieutenant," said he.
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