the door, he examined it critically. From a fold in his sleeve he drew a small black tube which he inserted in the keyhole. Then, turning to the Pasha, he said quietly, in Persian, "The light is very bad. I can scarcely see. I pray you, let me hold the lamp."
Unhesitatingly, the Musselman complied with his request. As he did so Anniston's face took on a smile of mastery.
"Back!" he cried, brandishing the blazing lamp, "for your lives!" And even as he spoke he touched the tip of the flame to the tiny black tube. It sputtered and hissed in a way which seemed to bode disaster.
The creditors understood. Panic-stricken, they turned and fled to safety, but not so the Pasha. His face went ghastly white, and springing forward, he clutched at the sparking fuse. Too late, his hand fell upon it. There was a blinding flash, a dull, muffled roar, a burst of flame, then quietness ensued.
When the smoke cleared away, the creditors cautiously returned and surveyed the wreckage. Abdulla Pasha lay face upward on the stone floor a few yards from the entrance to the treasure-room. Blood was oozing slowly from a deep wound in his temple and his right hand was terribly mangled. Jeevanjee Kadir knelt over him, but Abdulla Pasha had already breathed his last.
For a moment, the creditors gazed upon him in silence, then they turned their eyes upon the treasure-room. The door had been shaken from its hinges by the explosion. Inquisitively, they entered the chamber. A musty smell prevailed within the place, a
