With the strength of frenzy, he flung off his captors, rushed to her aid, his hard fists flailing.
The pigmies went down in his path like grain before the scythe. Reaching the altar, he seized the priest whose knife was already upraised, and, lifting him bodily, flung him full into the ugly snout of that snorting dragon.
Then, as a wail of dismay rose from the Cabiri, at this supreme sacrilege, he seized the now unconscious Diane and retreated with her toward the door.
But there spears barred his escape; and now, recovered from the first shock of this fearful affront to their god, the priests started toward him.
Standing at bay, with that limp, tender burden in his arms, Larry awaited the end.
As the maddened horde drew near, she stirred, lifted her pale face and smiled, her eyes still shut.
“Oh, Larry!”
“Diane!”
“You saved me. I won’t forget.”
Then, the smile still lingering, she slipped once more into merciful oblivion, and as Larry held her close to his heart, a new warmth kindled there.
But bitterness burned in his heart, too. He had saved her – won her love, perhaps – only to lose her. It wasn’t fair! Was there no way out?
The priests were close now, their pasty faces leering with fierce anticipation of their revenge, when suddenly, from down the gallery outside that guarded door, came the sharp crash of an explosion, followed by shouts and the rush of feet.
At the sound, the priests trembled, fled backward into the room and fell moaning before their idols, while the quaking guards strove frantically to close the door.
But before they could do so, in burst a half dozen brawny sailors in foreign uniform, bearing in their hands little black bulbs that looked suspiciously like grenades. Shouting in a tongue Larry could not distinguish above the uproar, they advanced upon the retreating guards and priests.
Then, when all were herded in the far corner of the room, the sailors backed toward the door. Motioning for Larry and Diane to clear out, they raised those sinister little missiles, prepared to fling them.
“Wait!” cried Larry, thinking of Professor Stevens.
And releasing Diane, who had revived, he rushed forward, seized the prostrate savant from amid the unresisting Cabiri, and bore him to safety.
“Daddy!” sobbed Diane, swaying to meet them.
“Back!” shouted one of the sailors, shoving them through the door.
The last glimpse Larry had of that fateful room was the horde of priests and guards huddled before their altar, voices lifted in supplication to that hideous dragon god.
Then issued a series of blinding flashes followed by deafening explosions, mingled with shrieks of anguish.
Sickened, he stood there, as the reverberations died away.
Presently, when it was plain no further menace would come from that blasted temple, their rescuers led the trio back down those winding galleries, and through that long, straight tunnel to the smaller pyramid.
Professor Stevens had recovered consciousness by now and was able to walk, with Larry’s aid, though a matted clot of blood above his left ear showed the force of the blow he had received.
The way, after reaching the smaller pyramid, led up those other galleries they had mounted the night before.
This time, undoubtedly, they were to be taken before that mysterious usurping emperor. And what would be the result of that audience? Would it but plunge them from the frying pan into the fire, wondered Larry, or would it mean their salvation?
Anyway, he concluded, no fate could be worse than the hideous one they had just escaped. But if only Diane could be spared further anguish!
He glanced at her fondly, as they walked along, and she returned him a warm smile.
Now the way led into a short, level passage ending in a door guarded by two sailors with rifles. They presented arms, as their comrades came up, and flung open the door.
As he stepped inside, Larry blinked in amazement, for he was greeted by electric lights in ornate clusters, richly carpeted floors, walls hung with modern paintings – and there at the far end, beside a massive desk, stood an imposing personage in foreign naval uniform of high rank, strangely familiar, strangely reminiscent of war days.
Even before the man spoke, in his guttural English, the suspicion those sailors had aroused crystallized itself.
A German! A U-boat commander!
“Greetings, gentlemen – and the little lady,” boomed their host, with heavy affability. “I see that my men were in time. These swine of Antillians are a tricky lot. I must apologize for them – my subjects.”
The last word was pronounced with scathing contempt.
“We return greetings!” said Professor Stevens. “To whom, might I ask, do we owe our lives, and the honor of this interview?”
Larry smiled. The old graybeard was up to his form, all right!
“You are addressing Herr Rolf von Ullrich,” the flattered German replied, adding genially: “commander of one of His Imperial Majesty’s super-submarines during the late war and at present Emperor of Antillia.”
To which the professor replied with dignity that he was greatly honored to make the acquaintance of so exalted a personage, and proceeded in turn to introduce himself and party. But Von Ullrich checked him with a smile.
“The distinguished Professor Stevens and his charming daughter need no introduction, as they are already familiar to me through the American press and radio,” he said. “While as for Mr. Hunter, your Captain Petersen has already made me acquainted with his name.”
At the mention of the commander of the Nereid, all three of them gave a start.
“Then – then my captain and crew are safe?” asked the professor, eagerly.
“Quite,” Von Ullrich assured him. “You will be taken to them presently. But first there are one or two little things you would like explained – yes? Then I shall put to you a proposal, which if acceptable will guarantee your safe departure from my adopted country.”
Whereupon the German traced briefly the events leading up to the present.
During the last months of the war, he had been placed in command of a special U-boat known as the “mystery ship” – designed to resist depth-charges and embodying many other innovations, most of them growing out of his own experience with earlier submarines.
One day, while cruising off the West Indies, in wait for some luckless sugar boat, he had been surprised by a destroyer and forced to submerge so suddenly that his diving gear had jammed and they had gone to the bottom. But the craft had managed to withstand the pressure and they had been able to repair the damage, limping home with a bad leak but otherwise none the worse for the experience.
The leak repaired and the hull further strengthened, he had set out again. But when in mid-Atlantic the Armistice had come, and rather than return to a defeated country, subject possibly to Allied revenge, he had persuaded his crew to remain out and let their craft be reported missing.
What followed then, though Von Ullrich masked it in polite words, was a story of piracy, until they found by degrees that there was more gold on the bottom of the ocean than the top; and from this to the discovery of the sunken empire where he now held reign was but a step.
They had thought at first they were looting only empty temples – but, finding people there, had easily conquered them, though ruling them, he admitted, was another matter. As, for instance, yesterday, when the priests had interfered with his orders and carried his three chief captives off to sacrifice.
“Where now, but for me, you would be food for their gods!” he ended. “And if you do not find my hospitality altogether to your liking, friends,