But Zeno could find none, and the place was not so large as he had at first supposed. He counted eight columns in each direction, which gave sixty-four for the whole number, and he guessed the cistern to be about one hundred feet square. The walls were covered with smooth cement, to which the dust hardly adhered, and which extended upwards to the spring of the vault, at the same level as the capitals of the columns. There was no opening to be found except the one entrance. Zeno followed the steep inclined passage upwards till he reached the closed door which, as he well understood, must be at a considerable distance from the cistern. It was made of oak, and though it might have been in its place a couple of hundred years it was still perfectly sound. The lock had been wrenched off long ago, probably to be used for some neighbouring house, but Zeno had heard the stones rolled up outside the door, and even before he tried it, he knew that he could not make it move. He wondered whether Tocktamish had set a watch, and he called out and listened for an answer, but none came; he shouted, with the same result. Then he took up his lantern and went down again, for it was clear that the soldiers thought him so safely confined that it would not be necessary to guard the entrance. Since that was their opinion, there was nothing to be done but to agree with them. Zeno lay down in the dust, rolled himself in the spare cloak, placing a doubled fold of it between his head and the base of a column, and he was soon fast asleep. CHAPTER XIV There was consternation in little Omobono's face the next morning when he learnt that his master had gone out during the night, and had not come home. The secretary would not believe it at first, and he went himself to Zeno's bedroom and saw that the couch had not been slept on; he could tell that easily, though it was not a bed but a narrow divan covered with a carpet; for the two leathern pillows were not disturbed, and the old dark red cloak which Zeno always used as a covering was neatly folded in its place. It had been with him through the long campaign in Greece, and he had the almost affectionate associations with it which men of action often connect with objects that have served them well in dangerous times. Zeno had not slept at home, and he had changed his clothes before going out. Questioned by Omobono, Vito could not say with any certainty what the master had put on; in fact, he could not tell at all. All the cloth hose and doublets and tunics were in their places in the cedar wardrobes and chests of drawers, except those he had taken off, which lay on a chair. It looked, said the servant, as if the master had gone out without any clothes at all!