He could not get up again by the way he had come own. That was certain. Fearful now that he was trapped unless Christopher could find something with which to haul him up, he replaced his pistol underneath his robe and, getting out his own torch, flashed it round to see if the place had any other exit:
To his relief he found that he was at one end of a large cellar. Arms, ammunition, bales of cotton, root crops and all sorts of other things were stored in it besides the pyramid of grain on which he sat. A set of stone stairs at the far end and two ladders leading to trapdoors in other places showed that the cellar had several entrances. He slid down the heap of grain, hurried to the steps at the far end and up them. Pressing gently on the wooden door at their top, he found that it was unlocked and gave on to a dark corridor. Hastening down the steps, he ran back to the grain shaft and peered up to where Christopher was still holding the light.
`There's another way out,' he said in a swift whisper. `We must stick together. As I can't get up to you, you'd better come down to me. See the safety catch on your pistol is set before you jump.'
He stood aside and as Christopher landed with a soft thud, ankle deep in the grain, shot out a hand to steady him.
Flashing their torches before them, they made for the cellar stairs. Lovelace was leading, but it was Christopher who spotted the grim thing that lay just to the right of the lower steps.
`Half a mime,' he exclaimed. `What's this?'
Lovelace paused and lowered the beam of his torch. In his hurry he had not noticed it before, but a body lay there huddled in a limp, unnatural attitude, which suggested that it had been thrown there dead.
`Someone they've bumped off,' he muttered, staring at the vivid splashes of blood which stained the white shama at the level of the dead man's chest, Then, with a sharply indrawn breath, he stooped lower. The still face was dark brown and half hidden by a native headdress; but a deep scar ran from the left corner of the mouth to the chin.
'Good God!' he breathed. `It's the Austrian we met in Jibuti. The chap I saw for the first time outside Zarrif’s house in Athens,'
`Why, yes,' Christopher muttered, `The fellow who calls himself Baron Foldvar. I recognise him now in spite of his disguise. What the deuce can he have been doing here dressed up like that?'
`God knows! He's one of Zarrif’s people. Perhaps they caught him double crossing them, Whoever he was he must have been a decent fellow once, though, so let's straighten him out. He looks too terrible like that,'
The Baron could not have been dead for many hours, as rigor mortis had not set in. His chest was riddled with bullets, so he must have died instantaneously. They arranged his body decently, drew a piece of sacking over his face, and left him. Their nerves keyed up to the highest pitch, they tiptoed up the steps.
The corridor on to which the cellar gave was dark and silent. The torches showed it to be like that in a modern house, and they guessed they were now in Ras Desoum's own residence. The ground floor passage ended in a door fifteen feet away.
'Put out your light,' whispered Lovelace, and, as he switched off his own, they crept down the passage, their guns grasped in their hands.
The door was not locked, and opened to his touch. He saw at once that it gave on to a large room; the starlight was sufficient to outline a, row of windows which showed faintly in contrast to the solid blackness of the opposite wall.
Suddenly a deep growl sounded, Lovelace switched round, Two bright, yellow eyes were gleaming at him in the darkness. It was not a dog and, next second, came the appalling realisation of what those fierce yellow eyes portended.
It was a lion! In this country almost given over to wild beasts, the Abyssinian nobles kept lions as a protection in their houses. The Emperor himself had had a couple which used to lie across the doorway of his workroom until the British Minister complained and they were removed in consequence.
There was no time to think. Christopher flashed the torch he still held in his left hand as the great beast gave a full throated roar, As it sprang they pressed the triggers of their pistols and poured half the contents of their weapons into its face and body.
The brute crashed to the floor within a couple of feet of them, writhed, turned on its back, stabbed the air wildly with its unsheathed claws, and thrashed its tail in its death agony; but those crashing shots in the silence of the night had roused every man, woman and child in Ras Desoum's house and courtyards.
Shouts of alarm and the patter of naked, running feet sounded almost before the acrid smoke had ceased to drift from the pistol barrels.
`Quick!' yelled Christopher. "Zirrif! I've got to get him!' He dashed for the door which gave on to the court.
With desperate fingers he wrenched back the bolts, while Lovelace lit him with his torch. They both tumbled outside.
'The gun' shouted Lovelace, 'Make for the machinegun
Side by side they sprinted across the open towards the bungalow, In one bound they were upon the stoep. Lovelace flung himself flat and grabbed the tripod as though it was a Rugby football. Christopher burst in through the door of the bungalow nearest the lighted window. The crack of a pistol sounded from the room then another. One of the bullets shattered the window. There was a scream as it hit someone in the court. Flashes began to stab the darkness by the gate, and the bullets of the native guard smacked into the brickwork above Lovelace's head. Next moment he had his thumbs on the buttons of the machine gun, and its staccato clatter made the night hideous.
The horn that had been blown for the closing of the gates at sunset sounded again. Shouting and clamour came from the outer courts. Ras Desoum's retainers thought that Zarrif’s white gunmen were attacking their overlord. The gates were flung open and they came streaming in.
Lovelace knew his position was untenable. Behind him more shooting and sounds of commotion came from the bungalow; any second Zarrif’s men might dash out and take him in the rear. He ceased fire, grabbed the heavy gun, and staggered with it to a new position twenty yards away where he could cover either the gate or the bungalow. As he set it down a stab of pain shot through him like the searing of a white hot iron; a bullet had hit him in the shoulder.
Suddenly Christopher appeared in one of the doorways of the bungalow. A gunman came out of another at the same instant. He was pulling on his coat, but, taking Christopher for an attacking native, he fired at him from the hip. Christopher jumped just before the flash, half turned, shot the fellow down, and raced over to Lovelace.
`Zirrif wasn't in either of those rooms,' he panted, his heart beating as though it would burst from the triple strain of excitement, exertion, and altitude.
`Perhaps he's in the house,' Lovelace gasped. He fired another burst in the direction of the gate, knowing that if they could not keep the natives back they would be overwhelmed and torn to pieces.
Shrieks of agony told him his shots had found their marks, but hundreds of warriors from the outer courts were now forcing the front ranks of the mob forward.
Bullets sang over the spot where Christopher and Lovelace lay crouched, but the main fire of the Abyssinians was directed at the bungalow.
Zarrif’s men, believing that the Abyssinians intended a midnight massacre, were barricading themselves in. One of them was yelling commands in Spanish, The lights which had been lit at the first alarm were put out again and a second machine gun was brought into action from one of the windows.
Christopher grabbed Lovelace by the arm 'The house! the house! I've got to get Zirrif.'
`All right! One moment!' Lovelace fired a final burst from his machine gun which exhausted the belt of ammunition. He was cursing the evil luck which had caused them to misjudge Zarrif’s whereabouts as he slipped a fresh clip of bullets into his automatic. If they had been right Christopher would have done his work by now and they might have stood some chance of escaping over the wall unobserved in the confusion.