The Lighted Match

A few moments later the "English Jackal" stood nonchalantly looking down

at the bound figure of the former King lying on the floor, shoulders

propped against the wall, head wrapped in a richly embroidered shawl

from Persia. Lamps had been kindled. The head wrappings had already been

somewhat loosened and Karyl was stirring with the indication of

returning consciousness.

"Oh, damn it!" remarked Martin in disgust. "He doesn't need to be both

trussed up and gagged, you know. He's quite safe. Take off the head

cloths."

He stuffed tobacco into his blunt bull-dog pipe as he supervised the

undoing of the smothering fabric and complacently looked at his

prisoner.

Freed from the bandage, and drinking in again reviving breaths, Karyl

awoke to the sense of his surroundings. His eyes at once swept the place

for Cara, but he saw only the closed door of the room where she was

detained.

Martin looked down and as their eyes met he casually nodded.

"Sorry to inconvenience you," he commented affably, "but this is

politics, you know. I happen to work for the other chap, King Louis." As

an afterthought he added: "And the other chap thinks that you are, to

put it quite civilly, unnecessary."

He smoked meditatively, while Karyl, without reply, scowled up into his

face. The sense of futility left Pagratide silent. He lay insanely

furious like a trapped wolf, able only to glare.

Suddenly the complacency deserted the Englishman's features, for a

startled expression. With a violent malediction he bent forward

listening.

Karyl's ears also caught the sound of feet on the stairs, immediately

followed by a crash upon the door.

Martin drew a heavy revolver from a holster under his coat, and his

voice ripped out orders with the sharp decision which had survived the

days when he wore a British uniform. "Here, you beggars," he shouted,

"to that door!"

As the Bedouins swarmed forward there came a second crash under which

the panels fell in, precipitating Von Ritz and Benton into a fierce

swarm of human hornets.

Falling desperately upon the newcomers with swords, knives and

naboots, the bravos afforded them no time to take breath after their

climb of the stairs.

Martin, standing with his pipe clamped between his teeth, took no part

in the onslaught. He cast a glance at the turmoil, then deliberately

cocked his weapon and leveled it at the breast of his captive.

Karyl realized that the Jackal was not to be led away from his single

purpose: that of execution. If he himself were to speak to his rescuers,

he must do it quickly. He raised his voice.