eyes were turned upon the tall figure who stood before the Pharaoh.
"What do you say against the word of the slave?" asked Karamour at length.
"He lies, great Pharaoh! My heart was—and is—ever loyal to the cause," came the answer, in a weak, halting tone that plainly told his guilt.
"But the proof—what have you to show that would make me believe the slave's words to be false? Speak quickly; though your trial is just, it should be brief also. Haste—your proof against the charges."
"I did not plot with the captive, oh master. The sole purpose of my descent to the dungeons was to escort him to his former quarters, as you yourself had ordered. Believe me when I say my heart is ever true to the Pharaoh. In all the hosts of Karamour, there is none more loyal than Alexis Barakoff. Ask the captive—ask Bryant; he will tell you" and the man's eyes turned appealingly toward me for a confirmation of his lie.
Karamour leaned forward like a striking serpent.
"Usanti's words," he hissed.
"But lies, only lies!" cried the Russian. "He has fiendishly condemned me to raise himself in your favor; he would lie to kill your faithful followers and surround the court with slinking parasites. I have said or done no wrong, and well he knows it. He is but a miserable deformed wretch who has always hated me and seeks my ruin."
"Might he not have a just cause for such enmity?" asked Zola.
"Just cause—no. He entered my quarters once and I punished him for it. He has never forgiven me."
Was the wily Barakoff to win his way to freedom?
"Treason is a grave offense," the Frenchman reminded him.
"I have always thought it so."
"You persist then in your denial?"
"I persist in denying an untruth."
"None other has ever accused the black of untruths."
"None other has ever accused me."
"But the letter, my captain," Zola put in quickly. "Would you say Usanti wrote that also?"
Again that hesitant, condemning gulp.
"I—I do not know."
"A lie! a lie that comes from the depths of your black heart!" thundered Karamour. "Oh miserable creature, you have betrayed the trust of your ruler; broken your vows to the great cause. The countless centuries of love and reverence that would have kept your name sacred have been forgotten in that greed for gold. There is but one sentence for such treachery; but one punishment befitting that ever unpardonable crime:
"The Pit!"
A scream of terror rang out from the doomed man as the judgment was pronounced.
With a quickness that told of long practise, the dread sentence was now carried out. In the center of the great floor an iron ring had been securely fastened. A stout chain was now run through the ring, and with three blacks tugging hard on the iron links, a portion of the floor was slowly raised to disclose a cunningly concealed pit some six feet square.
A nauseating odor arose from the dark interior, a damp, smothering smell, made more terrible by the loud, blood-tingling squeals that accompanied it—sharp, angry barks that brought a sickly pallor to the sun-tanned faces of the Arabs, while the black guards cast nervous glances at their ruler. With one accord the entire assembly moved forward to that awful hole of death.
