Another wheezed, with painful respiration.

The smell of sweat and blood sickened the air.
"That's some door, all right!" judged Bohannan, peering at its dark wood, heavily banded with iron.

"Faith, but they've got a padlock on that, big enough to hold the Pearly Gates!" "It is only a question, now, of the key," put in Leclair, with French precision.
"Faith, _here's_ a trap!" the Irishman continued.

"A trap, for you! And thirteen rats in it! Lucky, eh ?" "In Jananti Shahr," the memory of a sentence flashed to the Master, "we do not anoint rats' heads with jasmine oil!" But all he said was: "Light, here! Bring lamps!" Three Legionaries obeyed.

The flare of the crude wicks, up along the door, showed its tremendous solidity.
"A little of our explosive would do this business," the Master declared.