his face. Caressingly he touched the uniform, the helmet. He unhooked
the pistol from where it hung, and carried it back to the table.

There he laid it down, and drew up his chair in front of it. For
a moment, silence fell as he remained there studying the
automatic--silence save for the faint, far hum of the city, the
occasional melodious note of steamer-whistles on the river.

The Master's face, now that full light brought out its details, showed
a white scar that led from his right ear down along jaw and throat,
till the collar masked it. Gray hairs, beyond those of his age,
sprinkled his temples. Strangely he smiled as he observed the nicks
and deep excoriations in stock and barrel of the formidable weapon.
He reached out, took up the gun once more, weighed it, got the feel of
it, patted it with affection.

"We've been through some wonderful times together, old pal, you and
I," said he. "We thought it was all over, didn't we, for a while? But
it's not! Life's not done, yet. It's maybe just beginning! We're going
out on the long trek, _again_!"

For a while he sat there musing. Then he summoned Rrisa again, bade
him remove the tray, and gave him instructions about the guest soon
to arrive. When Rrisa had withdrawn, the Master pulled over one of the
huge atlases, opened it, turned to the map of Arabia, and fell into
deep study.

Rrisa's tapping at the door, minutes later, roused him. At his order
to advance, the door swung. The Arab ushered in a guest, then silently
disappeared. Without a sound, the door closed.

The Master arose, advancing with outstretched hand.

"Bohannan! God, but I'm glad to see you!"

Their hands met and clasped. The Master led Bohannan to the table and
gestured toward a chair. Bohannan threw his hat on the table with a
large, sweeping gesture typical of his whole character, and sat down.
And for a moment, they looked at each other in silence.

A very different type, this, from the dark, sinewed master of
_Niss'rosh_. Bohannan was frankly red-haired, a bit stout, smiling,
expansive. His blood was undoubtedly Celtic. An air of great geniality
pervaded him. His hands were strong and energetic, with oddly
spatulate fingers; and the manner in which his nails had been gnawed
down and his mustache likewise chewed, bespoke a highly nervous
temperament belied by his ruddy, almost boyish face. His age might
have been thirty-five, but he looked one of those men who never fully
grow up, who never can be old.

"Well, what's doing now?" demanded he, fixing blue eyes on his host.
He produced a cigarette and lighted it, inhaled smoke deeply and blew
a thin gray cloud toward the ceiling. "Something big, eh? by the way
you routed me out of a poker-game where I was already forty-seven
dollars and a half to the good. You don't usually call a fellow, that
way, unless there's something in the wind!"

"There is, now."

"Big?"

"Very."

"So?" The newcomer's eyes fell on the pistol. "Yes, that looks like
action, all right. Hope to heaven it _is_! I've been boring myself
and everybody else to death, the past three months. What's up? Duel,
maybe?"

"Yes. That's just it, Bohannan. A duel." And the Master fixed strange
eyes on his companion. His muscular fingers fell to tapping the
prayer-rug on the table, drumming out an impatient little tattoo.

"Duel? Lord's sake, man! With whom?"

"With Fate. Now, listen!" The Master's tones became more animated.
A little of the inward fires had begun to burn through his
self-restraint. "Listen to me, and not a word till I'm done! You're
dryrotting for life, man. Dying for it, gasping for it, eating your
heart out for it! So am I. So are twenty-five or thirty men we know,
between us, in this city. That's all true, eh?"

"Some!"

"Yes! We wouldn't have to go outside New York to find at least
twenty-five or thirty in the same box we're in. All men who've been
through trench work, air work, life-and-death work on various fronts.
Men of independent means. Men to whom office work and club life
and all this petty stuff, here, is like dish-water after champagne!
Dare-devils, all of them, that wouldn't stop at the gates of Hell!"

"The gates of Hell?" demanded Bohannan, his brow wrinkling with glad
astonishment. "What d'you mean by that, now?"

"Just what I say! It's possible to gather together a kind of
unofficial, _sub rosa_, private little Foreign Legion of our own,
Bohannan--all battle-scarred men, all men with at least one decoration
and some with half a dozen. With that Legion, nothing would be
impossible!"

He warmed to his subject, leaned forward, fixed eager eyes on
his friend, laid a hand on Bohannan's knee. "We've all done
the conventional thing, long enough. Now we're going to do the
unconventional thing. We've been all through the known. Now we're
going after the unknown. And Hell is liable to be no name for it, I
tell you that!"

The Celt's eyes were alight with swift, eager enthusiasm. He laid his
hand on the other's, and gripped it hard in hot anticipation.

"Tell me more!" he commanded. "What are we going to do?"

"Going to see the stuff that's in us, and in twenty-five or thirty
more of our kind. The stuff, the backbone, the heart that's in you,
Bohannan! That's in me! In all of us!"

"Great, great! That's me!" Bohannan's cigarette smoldered, unheeded,
in his fingers. The soul of him was thrilling with great visions. "I'm
with you! Whither bound?"

The Master smiled oddly, as he answered in a low, even tone:

"To Paradise--or Hell!"




CHAPTER III


THE GATHERING OF THE LEGIONARIES

One week from that night, twenty-seven other men assembled in the
strange eyrie of _Niss'rosh_, nearly a thousand feet above the city's
turmoil. They came singly or in pairs, their arrival spaced in such a
manner as not to make the gathering obvious to anyone in the building
below.

Rrisa, the silent and discreet, brought them up in the private
elevator from the forty-first floor to the Master's apartment on the
top story of the building, then up the stairway to the observatory,
and thus ushered them into the presence of the Master and Bohannan.
Each man was personally known to one or the other, who vouched
absolutely for his secrecy, valor, and good faith.

This story would resolve itself into a catalogue were each man to be
named, with his title, his war-exploits, his decorations. We shall
have to touch but lightly on this matter of personnel. Six of the
men were Americans--eight, including the Master and Bohannan; four
English; five French; two Serbian; three Italian; and the others
represented New Zealand, Canada, Russia, Cuba, Poland, Montenegro, and
Japan.

Not one of these men but bore a wound or more, from the Great
Conflict. This matter of having a scar had been made one prime
requisite for admission to the Legion. Each had anywhere from one to
half a dozen decorations, whether the Congressional Medal, the V.C.,
the Croix de Guerre, the Order of the Rising Sun, or what-not.

Not one was in uniform. That would have made their arrival far too
conspicuous. Dressed as they were, in mufti, even had anyone noted
their coming, it could not have been interpreted as anything but an
ordinary social affair.

Twenty-nine men, all told, gathered in the observatory, clearly
illuminated by the hidden lights. All were true blue, all loyal to
the core, all rusting with ennui, all drawn thither by the lure of the
word that had been passed them in club and office, on the golf links,
in the street. All had been pledged, whether they went further or not,
to keep this matter secret as the grave.

Some were already known to each other. Some needed introduction. Such
introduction consumed a few minutes, even after the last had come and
been checked off on the Master's list, in cipher code. The
brightly lighted room, behind its impenetrable curtains, blued with
tobacco-smoke; but no drop of wine or spirits was visible.

The Master, at the head of the table, sat with his list and took
account of the gathering. Each man, as his name was called, gave that
name in full, briefly stated his service and mentioned his wound.

All spoke English, though some rather mangled it. At any rate, this
was to be the official language of the expedition, and no other was to
be allowed. The ability to understand and obey orders given in English
had, of course, to be one essential requisite for this adventurous
band of Legionaries.

When all the credentials had been proved satisfactory, the Master
rapped for order. Silence fell. The men settled down to listen, in
tense expectancy. Some took chairs, others occupied the divan, still
others--for whom there were no seats--stood along the walls.

Informal though the meeting still was, an air of military restraint
and discipline already half possessed it. The bright air seemed to
quiver with the eagerness of these fighting-men once more to
thrust out into the currents of activity, to feel the tightening of
authority, the lure and tang of the unknown.

Facing them from the end of the table, the Master stood and spoke
to them, with Bohannan seated at his right. His face reflected quite
another humor from that of the night, a week before, when first this
inspiration had come upon him.

He seemed refreshed, buoyant, rejuvenated. His eyes showed fire. His
brows, that had frowned, now had smoothed themselves. His lips smiled,
though gravely. His color had deepened. His whole personality, that
had been sad and tired, now had become inspired with a profound and
soul-felt happiness.

"Gentlemen all, soldiers and good men," said he, slowly. "In a general
way you know the purpose of this meeting. I am not given to oratory. I
do not intend making any speech to you.

"We are all ex-fighters. Life, once filled with daring and adventure,
has become stale, flat, and unprofitable. The dull routine of business
and of social life is Dead Sea fruit to our lips--dust and ashes. It
cannot hold or entertain us.

"By this I do not mean that war is good, or peace bad. For the vast
majority of men, peace is normal and right. But there must be always
a small minority that cannot tolerate ennui; that must seek risks and
daring exploits; that would rather lay down their lives, today, in
some man-sized exploit, than live twenty-five years longer in the dull
security of a humdrum rut.

"Such men have always existed and probably always will. We are all,
I believe, of that type. Therefore you will all understand me. I will
understand you. And each of you will understand the rest.

"Major Bohannan and I have chosen you and have invited you here
because we believe every man in this room is precisely the kind of
man I have been defining. We believe you are like ourselves, dying
of boredom, eager for adventure; and willing to undergo military
discipline, swear secrecy, pledge honor and risk life itself, provided
the adventure be daring enough, the reward promising enough. If there
is anyone here present who is unwilling to subscribe to what I have
said, so far, let him withdraw."

No one stirred. But a murmur arose, eager, delighted:

"Go on! Go on--tell us more!"

"Absolute obedience to me is to be the first rule," continued the
Master. "The second is to be sobriety. There shall be no drinking,
carousing, or gambling. This is not to be a vulgar, swashbuckling,
privateering revel, but--"

A slight disturbance at the door interrupted him. He frowned, and
rapped on the table, for silence. The disturbance, however, continued.
Someone was trying to enter there against Rrisa's protests.

"I did not bring you up, sir," the Arab was saying, in broken English.
"You cannot come in! How did you get here?"

"I'm not in the habit of giving explanations to subordinates, or
of bandying words with them," replied the man, in a clear, rather
high-pitched but very determined voice. The company, gazing at him,
saw a slight, well-knit figure of middle height or a little less,
in aviator's togs. "I'm here to see your master, my good fellow, not
you!"

The man at the head of the table raised a finger to his lips, in
signal of silence from them all, and beckoned the Arab.

"Let him come in!" he ordered, in Rrisa's vernacular.

"_A, M'alme_" submitted the desert man, standing aside and bowing as
the stranger entered. The Master added, in English:

"If he comes as a friend and helper, uninvited though he be, we
welcome him. If as an enemy, traitor, or spy, we can deal justice to
him in short order. Sir, advance!"

The stranger came to the foot of the table. Men made way for him. He
stood there a moment in silence, dropped his gauntlets on the table
and seemed peering at the Master. Then all at once he drew himself up,
sharply, and saluted.

The Master returned the salute. A moment's silence followed. No man
was looking elsewhere than at this interloper.

Not much could be seen of him, so swaddled was he in sheepskin jacket,
aviator's helmet, and goggles. Leather trousers and leggings completed
his costume. The collar of the jacket, turned up, met the helmet. Of
his face, only the chin and lower part of the cheeks remained visible.

The silence tautened, stretched to the breaking-point. All at once the
master of _Niss'rosh_ demanded, incisively:

"Your name, sir?"

"Captain Alfred Alden, of the R.A.F."

"Royal Air Force man, eh? Are you prepared to prove that?"

"I am."

"If you're not, well--this won't be exactly a salubrious altitude for
you."

"I have my papers, my licenses, my commission."

"With you here?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very well," answered the Master, "I will examine them in due time.
English, American, or--?"

"I am a Canadian." answered the aviator. "I have seen nearly two
years' active service. I rank as an ace. I bear three wounds and have
been cited several times. I have the Distinguished Service Cross. What
more need I tell you, sir?"

His voice was steady and rang true. The Master nodded approval, that
seemed to echo round the room in a buzz of acceptance. But there were
still other questions to be asked. The next one was:

"How did you come here? It's obvious my man didn't bring you up."

"I came in my own plane, sir," the stranger answered, in a dead hush
of stillness. "It just now landed on the roof of this building. If you
will draw the curtains, there behind you, I believe you can see it for
yourself."

"I heard no engine."

"I volplaned in. I don't say this to boast sir, but I can handle the
average plane as accurately as most men handle their own fingers."

"Were you invited to attend this meeting by either Major Bohannan or
by me?"

"No, sir, I was not."

"Then, why are you here?"

"Why am I here? For exactly the same reason that all the rest are
here, sir!" The aviator swept his arm comprehensively at the ranks of
eagerly listening men. "To resume active service. To get back to duty.
To live, again! In short, to join this expedition and to share all its
adventures!"

"Hm! Either that, or to interfere with us."

"Not the latter, sir! I swear that!"

"How did you know there was going to be an expedition, at all?"
demanded the Master, his brows tensed, lips hard, eyes very keen. The
aviator seemed smiling, as he answered:

"I know many things. Some may be useful to you all. I am offering you
my skill and knowledge, such as they may be, without any thought or
hope of reward."

"Why?"

"Because I am tired of life. Because I want--must have--the freedom of
the open roads, the inspiration of some great adventure! Surely, you
understand."

"Yes, if what you say is true, and you are not a spy. Show us your
face, sir!"

The aviator loosened his helmet and removed it, disclosing a mass of
dark hair, a well-shaped head and a vigorous neck. Then he took off
his goggles.

A kind of communal whisper of astonishment and hostility ran round the
apartment. The man's whole face--save for eyeholes through which
dark pupils looked strangely out--was covered by a close-fitting,
flesh-colored celluloid mask.

This mask reached from the roots of his hair to his mouth. It sloped
away down the left jaw, and somewhat up the cheekbone of the right
side. The mask was firmly strapped in place around the head and neck.

"What does all this mean, sir?" demanded the Master, sharply. "Why the
mask?"

"Is that a necessary question, sir?" replied the aviator, while a buzz
of curiosity and suspicion rose. "You have seen many such during the
war and since its close."

"Badly disfigured, are you?"

"That word, 'disfigured,' does not describe it, sir. Others have
wounds, but my whole face is nothing but a wound. No, let me put it
more accurately--there is, practically speaking, no face at all. The
gaping cavity that exists under this mask would certainly sicken the
strongest men among you, and turn you against me.

"We can't tolerate what disgusts, even if its qualities be excellent.
In exposing myself to you, sir, I should certainly be insuring my
rejection. But what you cannot see, what you can only imagine, will
not make you refuse me."

The Master pondered a moment, then nodded and asked:

"Is it so very bad, sir?"

"It's a thing of horror, incredible, awful, unreal! In the hospital
at Rouen, they called me 'The Kaiser's Masterpiece.' Some of the most
hardened surgeons couldn't look at me, or dress my--wound, let us call
it--without a shudder. Ordinary men would find me intolerable, if they
could see me.

"Unmasked, I bear no resemblance whatever to a man, but rather to some
ghastly, drug-inspired dream or nightmare of an Oriental Dante. The
fact that I have sacrificed my human appearance in the Great Cause
cannot overcome the shrinking aversion that normal men would feel,
if they could see me. I say only this, that my mutilation is
indescribable. As the officer and gentleman I know you to be, you
won't ask me to expose this horror!"




CHAPTER IV


THE MASKED RECRUIT

A little silence lengthened, while the strange aviator continued to
peer out with strangely shining eyes through the holes of his mask.
The effect of that human intelligence, sheltered in there behind that
expressionless celluloid, whose frail thinness they all knew covered
unspeakable frightfulness, became uncanny.

Some of the men eased the tension by blowing ribbons of smoke or
by relighting tobacco that had gone out while the stranger had been
talking. Others shifted, a bit uneasily. Voices began to mutter, pro
and con. The Master suddenly knocked again, for silence.

"I am going to accept this man," said he, sharply. "You notice I
do not put this to a vote, or consult you about it. Nor shall I, in
anything. The prime condition of this whole undertaking, as I was
saying when Captain Alden here arrived, is unquestioning obedience to
my authority.

"No one who is unwilling to swear that, need go any further. You must
have confidence in my plans, my judgment. And you must be willing to
obey. It is all very autocratic, I know, but the expedition cannot
proceed on any other basis.

"You are to go where I will, act as I command, and only regain your
liberty when the undertaking is at an end. I shall not order any man
to go anywhere, or do anything, that I would not do myself. On this
you can rely.

"In case of my death, the authority falls on Major Bohannan. He is
today the only man who knows my plans, and with whom I have had any
discussion. If we both are killed, then you can elect your own leader.
But so long as either of us lives, you have no authority and no
redress. I hope that's perfectly understood. Does any man wish to
withdraw?"

Not one budged. All stood to their decision, hard as rock.

"Very well," said the Master, grimly. "But remember, disobedience
incurs the death penalty, and it will be rigorously enforced. My word
is to be supreme.

"Such being the case, I decide to take this man. His skill as an
aviator cannot be denied. We shall need that. His ability to endure
suffering and still remain efficient seems proved. That may be
valuable; probably will be.

"I shall examine his credentials. If he turns out to be a spy--well,
life will be short, for him."

He addressed himself to the masked aviator, who was still standing in
an attitude of military attention.

"You are now one of us, sir. You become the thirtieth member of a
little group of as brave men, as daring and determined fighters as
can be found in America or in the world--all tried and tempered by the
fires of war; all decorated for conspicuous valor; all ready to follow
me to the ends of the earth and die, if need be; all eager to share in
an undertaking as yet unknown to them, but one that promises to be
the most extraordinary adventure ever undertaken on this planet. You
understand all that, sir?"

"I do!"

"Raise your right hand, sir."

The aviator obeyed.

"All the others, too!"

Every hand went up.

"Swear allegiance to me, fidelity, secrecy, courage, obedience. On the
thing you hold most dear, your honor as fighting-men, swear it!"

The shout that answered him, from every throat, made the eagle's nest
ring with wild echoes. The Master smiled, as the hands sank.

"With men like you," said he, "failure is impossible. The expedition
is to start at once, tomorrow night. No man in it has now any ties
or home or kin that overbalance his ties to me and to the _esprit de
corps_ of our body.

"The past is dead, for you. The future is all a mystery. You are
to live only in the present, day by day. And now for some practical
details.

"The means of transport you do not know. The perils and rewards are
problematical. Of the former there will be enough; as for the latter,
those lie on the knees of the gods. There will be no payment for any
man. Not a cent of money is involved in this service.

"Commissary will be furnished. Each man is to wear his campaign
equipment--his uniform and such kit as he can store in a rucksack.
Bring small-arms and ammunition. In addition, I will furnish bombing
material and six Lewis guns, with ammunition, also other materials of
which I shall now say nothing. These things will be transported to
the proper place without labor on your part. I think I have made the
outlines of the matter reasonably clear to every man present."

"Our orders, sir?" asked a voice with a French accent, down the table.
"Are we to have no precise orders before leaving this room?"

"You are. Each man will receive his own, sealed, before leaving. I
am now about to give them out, in alphabetical rotation. This will
dismiss the meeting. You will withdraw as inconspicuously as you
came. Remember, you are to become as cogs in the machine that I have
devised. At the exact place, hour, minute, and second you are to do
exactly the thing ordered, _and nothing else_. Neglect, disobedience,
or failure will positively not be condoned, but will be punished as I
see fit, even to the death penalty.

"Come forward now, as I call your names, and receive what I shall give
you."

He opened a drawer in the table, took out many small boxes and
arranged them before him. Each box was carefully wrapped in stout
paper, securely tied, and sealed with red wax.

Standing there, firm, impassive, with narrowed eyes, he began reading
the names:


"Adams--Auchincloss--Brodeur--Cracowicz--Daimamoto--Emilio--Frazier--"

As each man's name was uttered he came down along the table, took the
box extended to him, thrust it into his pocket, saluted stiffly, and
withdrew in silence. At the end of a few minutes, no one was left but
the Master, Bohannan, and the man in the celluloid mask.

"Have you no orders for me, sir?" asked the aviator, still erect
in his place at the far end of the table. His eyes shone out darkly
through his shield.

"None, sir."

"All the others--"

"You are different." The Master set hands on his hips, and coldly
studied this strange figure. "The others have had their orders
carefully worked out for them, prepared, synchronized. You have come,
so to speak, as an extemporization, an auxiliary; you will add one
more unit to the flyers in the expedition, of which there are nine
aces, including Major Bohannan here. The others are now on their
way to their lodgings, to study their instructions, to memorize, and
prepare to carry them out. You are to remain here, with Major Bohannan
and with me."

"Until what time, sir?"

"Until we start. You will be under continual surveillance. If you
make any attempt to communicate in any way with anyone outside my
apartment, it will be the last thing you will ever do. You will
receive no other warning. Tomorrow night you will accompany us. Till
then, you remain my--guest."

The aviator nodded.

"Very well, sir," he accepted. "But, my machine?"

"I will attend to your machine."

"I should hate to leave it there on the roof."

"It will not be left on the roof."

"I don't understand, exactly--"

"There will be very many things you do not understand before this
expedition is over and done with. I need say no more."

Sharply he clapped his hands, thrice. In a moment, Rrisa appeared at
the door. The Master spoke a few guttural, aspirated words of Arabic.
Rrisa beckoned the stranger, who obeyed.

At the exit he faced about and sharply saluted. The Master returned
it. Then he vanished, and the door noiselessly closed behind them.

The Master turned to Bohannan.

"Now," said he, "these few last details. Time is growing very short.
Only a few hours remain. To work, Major--to work!"

At this same moment Auchincloss had already arrived at his rooms in
the McAlpine; and there, having carefully locked his door, had settled
himself at his desk with his sealed box before him.

For a moment he studied it under the electric light. Then, breaking
the wax with fingers tensed by eagerness, he tore it open. He spread
the contents on his blotting-pad. There was a small pocket-compass of
the best quality, a plain-cased watch wound up and going, a map and
a folded sheet of paper covered with typewriting. Auchincloss fell to
reading:

GENERAL ORDERS

You are to learn your specific orders by heart, and then destroy this
paper. You are to act on these orders, irrespective of every other
man. You are not to communicate the contents of this paper to any
other. This might upset the pre-arranged plan. You might try to join
forces, assist each other, or exercise some mistaken judgment that
might result in ruin. Each man is to keep his orders an absolute
secret. This is vital.

Each man, like yourself, is provided with a map, a watch, and a
compass. These watches are all self-luminous, all accurately adjusted
to synchronize to the second, and all will run forty-eight hours.

SPECIFIC ORDERS

Tomorrow, proceed inconspicuously to Tenafly, New Jersey, and hire a
room at the Cutter Inn. Carry your kit in a suit-case. At 7:30 p.m.,
go to Englewood. Go up Englewood Avenue toward the Palisades, turn
left (north) along the road near edge of cliff; proceed half a mile
and enter woods at your right. There you will find path marked "A" on