"I got out of there somehow, though it seemed to take hours. Then I didn't know what to do. I stood at the edge of the dead forest trying to decide; trying, too, to keep myself from shrieking and running--anywhere. Then Corio's horn blew again--a sound, Cliff, worse than anything I've ever heard. It--it was a wicked sound, promising to fulfill every foul desire that ever tainted a human mind. It repelled, yet it lured irresistibly. And--I answered!" She stopped, and buried her face in her hands. After a moment she went on. "The sound stopped just as I found myself crawling on hands and knees up the stone stairway on the other side. Another started--that awful groaning--music--but it didn't draw me. I ran down the steps and scurried away like a rabbit trying to find a place to hide. "After a while I came back--I thought you must be in there--and I climbed up to the window. And--and--Cliff, it's hellish!" Her eyes, boring into his, widened in the same rigid terror he had seen in them when he joined her. "We could go back to the cove and get away on the _Ariel_, Vilma," Cliff said stonily. "And if you think we should, we will. But--I brought our friends here, and--well, I want to get them out if I can." With an effort Vilma nodded. "Of course. We can't do anything else." He released her and stepped up to the wall. "I'm going to see what's going on in there," he said. "You wait here till I come down." In sudden dread Vilma seized his arm. "No, Cliff. I couldn't stand waiting here alone. I'll go with you." He nodded understandingly. And together they began climbing the precipitous wall, fitting hands and feet in step-like crevices that made progress fairly rapid. Soon they were crouching on a wide stone ledge, clinging to thin, rusted bars, staring into the black castle. _3. The Steps of Torture_ A gigantic hall lay before them, a single chamber whose walls were the walls of the castle, whose arched ceiling rose far above them. Directly below their window a stone platform jutted from the wall, spreading entirely across the chamber. A stone altar squatted in the center of the platform, a strangely phosphorescent fire smoldering on its top. And from the altar descended a wide, wide stairway ending in the middle of the hall. All this Cliff saw in a single sweeping glance; afterward he had eyes for nothing save the lethal horror of a mad, mad scene, revealed by the dim radiance of the altar fire. Behind the altar stood five huge figures clad in long, hooded cloaks of scarlet. The central figure had arms raised wide, his cloak spread like the wings of some bloody bird of prey; and from his lips came a guttural incantation, a blasphemous chant in archaic Latin, in time with the wheeze of the buried organ. Now his arms dropped, and he was silent.