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THE TOWER OF SILENCE
(Continued from page 162)
Running feet. Shouts. A hand on my arm. An English voice. A short walk through the breach in the walk Then I fainted dead away.
The next I knew, I was in my own tent with Greaves standing beside me and an English doctor sitting at the edge of my cot. It seems that Mizrah had seen me scale the wall, and had then made his way back to camp with the news. Greaves wired the information on to the British at a coast fort, some two hundred miles away. A plane was dispatched at once to our camp. Greaves went up with the pilot, and they succeeded in locating me, in fact they threw me a note, evidently the paper that I mistook for a ghostly skull. They flew back to camp, and a council of war was held. It was decided to try and dynamite the wall of my prison. Luckily we had dynamite on hand for our excavating work. For good measure, and to divert attention, they also stuck a couple of sticks, with a time fuse attached, behind the big idol. The plan worked, as you already know. The natives were frightened half to death and lost no time in getting out of that vicinity. There was already a plague of some sort among them, and they no doubt considered the whole affair as a direct expression of the wrath of their god.
Today, although I am still a young man, my hair is perfectly white. The only other visible mark I bear of my experience is a tooth-scarred thumb, which, I explain to curious acquaintances, was caught in the jaws of a rat-trap. I hope my friends who read this will understand and will withhold any further questions on the subject. I have had enough of adventure. Even talking of it displeases me. Some time I hope to sleep without morbid nightmares goading my body into a clammy sweat of fear. That is not now.
