"Come along at once," he told him; "let us slip out into the open and run for the road. It will be dusk almost by the time we reach it, and if that dog doesn't trace us we ought to be able to get clear away. I ought to explain that the man and his wife returned while you were asleep, and now, having decided that probably someone has been there at the cottage in their absence, they are sending the dog to search round." The yelps of the animal could be heard at that moment, as the two slid through the trees and out into the open. Then they took to their heels, and, following a hollow down which water no doubt poured in the rainy season, and which protected them from observation, they gained the high road within a little while--that rough high road, covered inches thick in sandy dust, along which the ruffianly von Hildemaller had passed in the hours of darkness. "We'll walk along steadily, taking notice of no one," said Geoff. "If we pass people, and they address us, leave it to me to answer, and I'll find some excuse for you. In any case, if I have to stop for a moment, you walk on, for there's nothing else that you can do, and to stop might prove dangerous." That evening, after dusk had fallen, and just before the gates of the city were closed, two rough shepherds from the desert passed into the city of Bagdad unnoticed, unchallenged, without raising the smallest suspicion. Passing along the main street which leads to the Bazaar, they turned off sharply into a narrow alley, which led them to an even narrower street, over which the rows of houses on either side met almost completely. "And now?" whispered Philip. "Where to? Here's Bagdad all right, and a fellow begins to feel a little more free. But what's our next move? Besides, there's a meal to be considered." "And a bed," Geoff told him. "This way. You'll find that we are not entirely without friends in this city. Follow straight up this street and turn off when I turn into another alley." Proceeding along that other dark and somewhat noisome alley, Geoff suddenly ran into an obstacle--an obstacle which rebounded and which proved to be a man, who was not less startled than himself. "Pardon!" the man cried, and would have hurried on. "One moment; your name?" asked Geoff, using the Armenian tongue. "Your name, my friend, for there is something in your voice that reminds me of one I have known." There was silence perhaps for a whole minute, while Philip slid up behind Geoff, ready to support him, and anticipating trouble. Then suddenly there came a glad cry of surprise from the individual who had cannoned into Geoff, and a hand gripped his arm firmly. "My master, you are Keith Pasha. Yes?" asked the voice--the voice was Esbul's. "I am," Geoff told him promptly in tones of relief, for indeed this was a most happy meeting.