The Lighted Match - Page 131/142

"Von Ritz! To that door!" he shouted loudly, but the Galavian and his

companion, fighting desperately to hold their own, with the shouts and

clamor of the struggling Moslems in their ears, did not hear, and the

Englishman only smiled.

"They are quite busy, you know," he drawled in a half-apologetic tone.

"Give them a bit of time."

Von Ritz was fighting with the blade of his sword-cane, while Benton,

too closely pressed to make use of his pistol, was relying upon his

fists. Indeed, the two white men owed their lives to the crowding which

made effective fighting impossible on either side.

At last the Turks gave back a few steps for a fresh rush and Benton,

taking instant advantage of the widened space, fired into the crowd.

They turned in terror at the first report and went stampeding to the

several doors. Then for the first time the rescuers caught sight of the

Englishman standing guard over the bound figure on the floor.

With the grim smile of one who, recognizing the end, neither flinches

nor dallies, Martin fired two shots from his leveled revolver.

A half-second too late Benton's magazine pistol ripped out in a frenzied

series of spats. The Englishman swayed slightly, his face crimson with

blood, then, propping himself weakly against the wall, he fired one

ineffectual shot in reply. Slowly wilting at waist and knees, his figure

slipped to the floor and lay shapelessly huddled near that of Karyl. The

stench of powder filled the room. Twisting spirals of smoke curled

ceilingward.

Von Ritz and Benton, kneeling at the King's side, raised him from the

floor. The wounded man attempted to speak. His eyes turned inquiringly

toward the door of the other room. Benton caught the questioning look

and nodded his head. Then Karyl settled back against the officer's

supporting shoulder after the fashion of a reassured child.

"The King is dead," said Colonel Von Ritz quietly. There was something

very pathetic in the steady despair of his voice.

A door opened, and several Bedouins retreated shame-faced and cowed

before a heavy Turk who wore the Sultan's uniform. His small, pig-like

eyes blazed with terrifying wrath. Looking about the room for a moment,

he volcanically reviled them.

"You dogs! You pigs! You serpents!" he shrieked. "Your hearts shall be

thrown to the buzzards! Your children dishonored! You have dared to

attack the foreign Pashas, and you--Mohammed Abbas--!" The shopkeeper

fell trembling to his knees. "Your filthy shop shall be pulled down

about your ears. You make it a trap--your feet shall be bastinadoed

until you are a cripple for life!" Then his rage choked him, and,

wheeling, he walked over to Benton, contemptuously kicking the prostrate

body of Martin Effendi as he went.