"Bel-Ar would flay him for this night's work, did he find him," he said. "You say the dog has been a good friend to you. Well, this man Mordo, with all his glum ways, is a good fellow. I will not leave my old drinking companion to the mercy of Bel-Ar." Without answer, Polaris handed the light to Oleric, and stooped and swung the limp figure of Mordo to his shoulder. Oleric glanced at the keys in his hand and then at the door. "I'll not turn the locks," he said. "I would not have the poor slave within starve while they made new keys." He led the way along the corridor, past a broad stone stairway, to the south wall of the old palace, where it fronted on the black avenue called Chedar's Flight. There in the wall were other doors of bronze. Oleric paused before one of them. "Will I ever enter Mordo's wine-cellars again, I wonder?" he said. He found the key and opened the heavy door. Within, the light disclosed rack after rack, seemingly without end, of dust-covered flagons. They threaded their way among them until Oleric found what he sought. In the stone floor of the chamber in a far corner was a round trap-door of bronze. The captain had to tug one of the wine-racks to one side to disclose it. "Lay Mordo down, comrade, and help," he said, when his utmost strength had failed to stir the door. Polaris, still balancing his burden on his shoulder, bent down and caught the ancient ring of the door in one hand. Before Oleric could lay hold to help him he straightened, the mighty muscles of his back cracking with the effort. The door was open. The trap yawned on a dark stairway leading down through the rock. Far below sounded the plashing of waters. "Mind where you set your feet," warned Oleric as he started down. "Where are Everson and the old man?" asked Polaris. "They wait us below in the hidden canal--they and one other," replied the captain. "They entered by another way, while I was busied in the house of Mordo." Oleric closed the trap and left the keys on the stair-top. Down fully threescore steps they went, and stood on a wharf of stone at the edge of a narrow canal that had been cut in the rock. Overhead, the roof was arched and vaulted. At the lip of the wharf was moored a small marizel, the golden plates of which caught the rays of the lamplike fire. "All the way from the Temple of the Sun to the harbor of Adlaz this canal leads, cut through the rock underneath Chedar's Flight," said Oleric. He stepped on the rear deck of the little craft and struck softly on its door, which was opened at once. A short man of middle age came onto the deck. He was clothed in the garb of a sailor. As the light fell on him, Polaris saw that his hair was almost as red as that of Oleric. "Now here is another good man of Ruthar," said the captain. And to the man he said, "Urk, this is the man whereof I have told you." From head to foot, Urk gave the son of the snows a long and searching glance. Then he folded his arms on his breast and bowed low.