The sergeant halted beside the driver of the carriage, and at the same time seized the reins of one of the ponies; then the driver of the rickety chaise bent over towards him, looked suspiciously at the sentry, and, bending lower, whispered in the sergeant's ear. "Fool!" he said; "do you wish to harm even your own Governor? Must you then make a scene at the very gates of the city and so disclose his purposes? Listen a moment. Doubtless you have been on guard at this gate on many an occasion, and doubtless, too, you know of men of whom it may be said with justice that they walk in high places--even in the palace of the Governor. Then, if that is so, you will know of von Hildemaller." Instantly the Turkish sergeant looked up at the driver with a startled, if not frightened, expression on his face. "That man!" he exclaimed, "but surely----" "S--s--h, no 'buts'," the driver of the chaise murmured in warning tones. "Pass us out without further ado, for it would be ill for you if I were to report to my master that I was delayed here at the gate, and that the Governor's purpose was defeated." "Stand aside there! Pass without. Go on your way, friends, and may Allah bless you!" In a moment the sergeant's purpose had been entirely altered, the mention of the Turkish governor, and of von Hildemaller's name, having acted like magic, and at once the driver, who had cautioned the man in stage whispers, so mysteriously in fact, sat upright, gripped his reins again, and whipped up his sorry pony; while those two who straddled their ponies beside him dug their heels into their mounts, the three clattering over the cobbles between the gates, and passing out into the gathering darkness. A quarter of an hour later they pulled up about half a mile beyond the gates and waited for their passenger. "Phew!" exclaimed one of the trio, sliding from the rather uncomfortable saddle of the animal he was riding; "that was a near one as we were coming through the gates. Of course I couldn't understand a word of what was being said, but that sergeant fellow looked nasty. And, Geoff, what a scrimmage!" "Scrimmage? Oh!" "Yes, of course. In that yard and in that stable. Glad you downed that fellow who, Esbul tells us, was the leading ruffian hired by von Hildemaller." Geoff dropped from his pony at that precise moment, slung the reins over his arm, and entered into conversation with his companions. He felt very gay-hearted and unusually cheerful, and, moreover, he had enjoyed every bit of that scrimmage to which Philip had referred, and even the scene at the gate, which at one moment had looked so threatening.