"We are all lost," he replied, his dead tongue thick in his dead mouth. "I cannot find the house where I live." "Go into any house; what difference does it make?" "I want to find my own house," I insisted. "Go and find it then. How should I know where it is if you do not?" "It is near the house of the jong," I told him. "Then go to the house of the jong," he suggested surlily. "Where is it?" I demanded in the same thick tones. He pointed down the street that I had been following; and then he turned and shuffled away in the opposite direction, while I continued on in the direction he had indicated. I wished to reach my destination quickly; but I dared not accelerate my speed for fear of attracting attention, and so I shuffled along in the lifeless manner of the other wayfarers. Somewhere ahead of me lay the palace of Skor, jong of Morov; there I was certain I would find Nalte. But after I found her--what? XVIII A SURPRISE The palace of Skor was a three-storied building of gray stone similar in its ugliness to his castle by the river in the forest, but it was considerably larger. It stood in no spacious plaza. Mean hovels were its near neighbors. All about it was a high wall, and before heavy gates stood a dozen warriors. It looked impregnable. I shuffled slowly past the gates, observing from the corners of my eyes. It seemed useless to attempt to enter there. The guards were posted for a purpose, and that purpose must be to keep out those who had no business within. What reason could I give for wishing to enter?--what reason that they would accept? It was evident that I must seek some other means of ingress. If I failed to find any then I might return to the gates as a last resort, but I can tell you that the outlook seemed most hopeless. I followed the high wall that inclosed the palace grounds, but nowhere did I find any place to scale it. It was about twelve feet high, just too high for me to reach the top with my fingers by a running jump. I reached the rear of the palace without discovering any place where I might scale the wall, and I was convinced that there was no place. There was plenty of litter and rubbish in the filthy street that encircled the wall but nothing that I could make use of as a ladder. Upon the opposite side of the street were mean hovels, many of which appeared deserted. In only a few, dim lights revealed a sign of--life, I was going to say--of occupancy. Directly across from me an open door sagged on a single hinge. It gave me an idea. I crossed the street. There were no lights in any of the near-by houses. That before which I stood appeared tenantless. Stealthily I crept to the doorway and listened. There was no sound from the gloom of the interior, but I must make sure that no one was there.