The tension grew unendurable. The priests were advancing slowly, as though assured that their quarry could not escape. In the lead Thotmes was smiling and stroking his beard with one hand.
“Surrender,” he called out. “No harm will come to you—for a while. Not till we need new beast-gods!”
Desquer’s face went a mottled red. But still there was no fear in the man. He faced the throng, still holding his guns—and suddenly sheathed one and began to search his pockets. His low voice rapped out.
“Quick, you fools! See if there’s anything on you we can use for ammunition. It doesn’t have to be coal—carbon will do.”
Tony shot one hurried glance at the mob of priests. Desquer gave a little cry of triumph and brought out a single coal-cartridge from his tunic pocket. “Good! Only one, but—” He slipped it into the gun’s firing cup.
There was a queer look, almost of amusement, on Tony’s dark face. He gripped Jimmy’s arm and whispered, “Wait!”
Desquer stepped forward. He raised his gun and called, “Halt!”
A flashing smile came from Thotmes. The high priest did not reply. He kept on. . . .
And Desquer fired.
Thotmes seemed surprised. He paused, lifting his hands to a chest that was a gory mass of red ruin. He stared at his bloodstained fingers.