But the enemy, instead of closing in to hew him to pieces, gaped stupidly, then yelled in terror. They were staring at something at his right, and to the rear. He glanced over his shoulder, compelled by the consternation that stopped them where they stood. * * * * * Farrell lowered his own point, himself struck with awe. He recalled what the Marquis had said about the denizens of that labyrinth of passages. A monstrous, amorphous thing had emerged from the circular pool into which Hassan had ordered the dead _fedawi_ to be flung. It was misshapen, and grotesque in its vague semblance to humanity. Its bulbous head had a single, circular eye the size of a saucer. It glittered glassily in the bluish, spectral light. The limbs were shapeless and ponderous, and it lumbered, dripping wet, across the tiles. Its feet fell with a metallic clank, and its breath hissed and wheezed. A second and similar creature was emerging from the water, even as the first advanced with slow, laborious pace. The hand clutched a short iron bar. The bar rose in a sweeping arc and crunched down on the skull of an Ismailian, spattering blood and brain in a shower. The second monster clambered over the coping, unlimbered a bludgeon, and with gruesome deliberation picked a victim and struck. There was a moment of silence unbroken save for the wheezing breath of the creatures from the pit. Then the Ismailians yelled in mortal terror. They forgot Farrell with his dripping blade and bewildered eyes; they forgot the Marquis, who stirred, and strove to lash out once more with his red scimitar; they forgot the golden-haired girl, and the malevolent Presence that, now silent, throbbed and pulsed, an aggregate of quivering, electric-bluish cold fire. They broke and fled toward the splintered door. At the height of their panic, Farrell understood. The monsters were men in diving-suits. The Marquis was down. Farrell could not himself thwart that monster that was drinking Antoinette's vital essence and taking her across the Border beyond recall; but he could slay until he dropped from wounds, or from weariness of slaughter. He hurdled the hedge of fallen Ismailians and with a cry of rage and grief joined his allies to exact vengeance. A third diver was at that moment emerging from the pool and joining the assault against the frenzied enemy, striking them down with remorseless precision as they struggled to crowd through the splintered panel of the door that had given Farrell admittance. Farrell, however, was not the only one whose wits had recovered from the terror inspired by the apparitions from the black pool. "Back and face them, _ya mumineen_!" shouted Hassan. "They are men like ourselves!"