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The verdict on Bohannan was madness, mirage, desertion. For two days the major had been babbling of wine and water, been beholding things that were not, been hurling jewels at imaginary vultures. Now, well, the desert had got him. To pursue would have been insanity. They got the two remaining camels up, by dint of furious beating and of hoarse eloquence in Arabic from the Master and Lebon.
When Rrisa had withdrawn, the Master pulled over one of the huge atlases, opened it, turned to the map of Arabia, and fell into deep study. Rrisa's tapping at the door, minutes later, roused him. At his order to advance, the door swung. The Arab ushered in a guest, then silently disappeared. Without a sound, the door closed. The Master arose, advancing with outstretched hand. "Bohannan!
The Master nodded silently, keeping dark eyes fixed on the horizon of cloud-rack. Above, the last faint prickings of stars were fading. The moon had paled to a ghostly circle. Shuddering, Nissr fled, with vapory horizons seemingly on her own level so that she appeared at the bottom of an infinite bowl. Bohannan, feeling need of speech, tried to be casual as he added: "I don't feel sleepy. Do you?
Bohannan was frankly red-haired, a bit stout, smiling, expansive. His blood was undoubtedly Celtic. An air of great geniality pervaded him. His hands were strong and energetic, with oddly spatulate fingers; and the manner in which his nails had been gnawed down and his mustache likewise chewed, bespoke a highly nervous temperament belied by his ruddy, almost boyish face.
We're due to start in seven minutes, you know. Rrisa will attend to all this. We three have got to be getting forward to the pilot-house." Bohannan nodded. "Let's have some air in here, anyhow," said he, turning toward one of the windows. "This place is damned hot!" "We'll need all the heat, soon," the Master commented.
When he was gone, the Master called Bohannan and Leclair, outlined the next coup in this strange campaign, and assigned crews to them for the implacable carrying-out of the plan determined on surely the most dare-devil, ruthless, and astonishing plan ever conceived by the brain of a civilized man.
"Try to force some sense-impression to his brain. It is sleep, but it is more than that. The best experiment for any doubting Thomas to employ is just to waken this guard if possible." Bohannan shook his head. "No," he answered, "I'm not going to make a fool of myself. There's no going against any of your statements. I'm beginning to find that out, definitely. Let's be on our way!"
The Olema's gaudy burnous crimsoned swiftly. "Got him!" shouted Bohannan, firing again, again, into the tangle of sub-chiefs and Maghrabi men. Adams pitched forward, cleft to the chin by a simitar. The firing leaped to point-blank uproar, on both sides. The men of Jannati Shahr numbered more pistols, but the Legionaries had quicker firers.
Rrisa beckoned the stranger, who obeyed. At the exit he faced about and sharply saluted. The Master returned it. Then he vanished, and the door noiselessly closed behind them. The Master turned to Bohannan. "Now," said he, "these few last details. Time is growing very short. Only a few hours remain. To work, Major to work!"
As each man's name was uttered he came down along the table, took the box extended to him, thrust it into his pocket, saluted stiffly, and withdrew in silence. At the end of a few minutes, no one was left but the Master, Bohannan, and the man in the celluloid mask. "Have you no orders for me, sir?" asked the aviator, still erect in his place at the far end of the table.
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