"Look then upon the battle and the destruction of the English dogs!" cried Abd-ul-Islam, giving the signal once more.
Immediately another picture appeared upon the wall—a picture of pseudo-British troops, uniformed so as to be familiar to the tribesmen, taking up a position for battle.
"Watch! O children of the Prophet!" cried the wonder-worker. "Behold the djinns which the Sultan Willem has under his command—for to him has the Prophet given the power of Solomon—behold the djinns that go before the Sultan's army destroying the English infidels!"
Great founts of black smoke leaped up among the soldiers on the wall—debris was flung high into the air—bodies lay upon the ground, visible where the smoke cleared. The soldiers fired quickly from behind cover, dodged, flung up their arms, and fell smitten by an invisible foe. The picture, though a "fake," was cleverly done and would have deceived more sophisticated spectators. The tribesmen did not suppress their exclamations of awe and wonder.
"Behold!" cried the showman. "The soldiers of the Sultan advance!" A serried line of German infantry swept across the picture, bayonets levelled, and the survivors of the defending troops fled before them. The line changed direction and marched straight towards the spectators, an irresistibly advancing menace, swelling larger and larger, uncannily silent.
Shrill cries of alarm broke out from the darkened room. "Aie! Aie! Allah protect us! We are God's and unto God shall we return!"
The line of infantry swelled to a superhuman immensity, seemed on the point of reaching the spectators—and then there was darkness.
From the gloom came the voice of the German emissary.
"You have beheld, O children of the true Faith, the infidel English ran like dogs!"