Something emerged from the shadow of the pilaster that buttressed the wall. Farrell dropped flat, still striving to extricate himself and tackle his enemy. He secured a footing and leaped up, butting his shoulder with a terrific jolt into his enemy's stomach. A grunt and a gasped curse. A warning cry from Nureddin. The knife in Farrell's hand slashed a dozen meshes in the net. Then, before he could follow up and extricate himself, a form dropped from a window directly above, driving him flat against the paving. His knife dug vainly between the cobblestones. He recovered, thrust upward.... Smack! Something hard and heavy and swiftly moving swept his senses away as he felt his blade bite home. _6. Satan's Garden_ The slow, steady drip-drip-drip of water dropping against stones crept into Farrell's consciousness and finally became an impression distinct from the trip-hammer throbbing of his battered head. He stirred, and found that he was not bound. The holster under his left arm was empty. One of his knives, however, remained. "If they wanted my hide, they could have taken it in the alley," he reflected as he pieced together his recollections of the encounter. "So far, it looks as if I've got 'em fooled." Then, in Arabic, "_Aie_ ... my head! O dogs and sons of dogs, come out and fight! _Ya_ Nureddin, thou son of a strumpet, thou uncle of camels! Thou eater of unclean food!" The cell echoed with his bellowing. As he paused for breath, he reeled, clutched at the wall from whose base he had arisen, and supported himself. A torch flared smokily in the distance, from its sconce in the wall of the passage that opened into his cell. "Father of many pigs!" he stormed as he kicked the iron grillework that barred his advance, and rattled the chain and lock that secured the door. The clattering and jangling finally drew a protest from beyond Farrell's field of vision. Then a fat, white-bearded fellow with bleary eyes and a bloated, sottish face emerged from a cross passage. "Silence a moment!" he croaked as he took the torch from its sconce and advanced toward the grille. "Bring me that dog of a Nureddin!" raged Farrell. "One thing at a time," replied the warden. "Calm down and I'll promise you action." "Oh, very well, then," agreed Farrell. "Lead on, Uncle." Uncle drew a pistol and, keeping Farrell covered, unlocked the door. "Now, wild man, forward!" he ordered. "And no false moves."