Choosing the right-hand door, Tom gently turned the handle; the door opened to his push, and, inserting his hand, he discovered, as he had ventured to hope, a heavy key in the lock. He silently withdrew it, closed the door, and turned the key on the outside; Abdul at the same time, taking the cue, did the same with the other door on the left. Both locks squeaked somewhat, and Tom thought he heard voices within. Without waiting, however, to assure himself on this point—feeling that he had the inmates secure, at least for a time—he pushed on down the stairway, followed by Abdul, and they came, as they had expected, upon a strong door bolted on their side. Tom gently slid the bolts, opened the door, and found himself in a small vestibule. On the far side of this was another door, which the Moor thought was the inner door of the guest-chamber. This Tom expected would be locked on the outside, but when he flashed his torch at it he saw that the bolts were not shot. He turned the handle of the door, which opened outwards. No doubt, he thought, the Moors considered their prisoner quite safe without the necessity of locking him in from this side. Access to the lower quarters being barred, they would not object to his going up to the roof, perhaps, for fresh air. The other door to the right of the guest-chamber leading on to the terrace was securely locked, as Abdul proved by pushing it gently so as to avoid noise. Tom tiptoed through the door, and cautiously lowering his torch in order to avoid flashing it on any window openings on the far side, swept it round the room. He gave a start of keen disappointment when he found that the place was untenanted. It bore traces of recent occupation, but the occupant, whoever he was, had been removed. There were a couple of bright oriental rugs on the floor, a dish such as the Moors are accustomed to serve sweetmeats on, and one or two other native articles; but on one of the rugs lay a well-browned brier pipe, which was clearly of European origin, and indeed Tom was conscious of the familiar odour of tobacco—a very different smell from that made by the kief or hashish smoked by the Moors. And, strangest contrast of all, a somewhat tattered newspaper, and a bulky volume in a red paper cover, showed that the sheikh’s prisoner had certainly inhabited this room, and had found some means of lightening his captivity. Tom took in these details in a moment. Anxious to further his errand, he did not pause to look at the contents of the room minutely, but hurried across to a door on the farther side, leading, he suspected, to the terrace. This was bolted, but from the inside. He halted in perplexity. What had become of the prisoner? “Have they taken him to the upper apartments?” he asked Abdul in a whisper. “No, master,” replied the lad. “No Moor would think of it.” “Do you think he has been released? But no: that is unlikely. Salathiel would certainly not have come so far in that case, would he?”