"Eh? La Dorada? Why, a sort of chief female spy--she is friendly with many high officers and civilian dignitaries, you comprehend. She is----" "_Was_," interrupted Farrell. "Three assassins finished her." "_Diable!_" exclaimed the Marquis. He was amazed rather than grieved. "You take it calmly, for a lover," remarked Farrell. "Lover?" The Marquis laughed sourly. "I, her lover? Camouflage, to account for her presence down here, and along the Riviera. As to her being assassinated, that is easily explained: her mission must have been completed. So she was killed to insure her continued secrecy, and also to warn her dupes that they would follow suit if they relented or weakened in the course dictated by Hassan. And that move makes it all the more conclusive that France is due for an explosion." The confusion was being untangled. Farrell wondered at Antoinette Delatour's connection, and the source of the dreams that had haunted her; but the chains that bound the Marquis were white-hot and ready to break, so that conversation would have to wait. "All right, heave!" directed Farrell. The chains parted. * * * * * They stripped the bodies of the white-robed Ismailians, and armed themselves with their simitars and pistols, as well as taking the extra cartridges that studded one of the belts. And the keys that had admitted the executioners completed the equipment. As the hot ends of the chain cooled, the Marquis bound them to his limbs so that they would not clank. "I wonder," said Farrell as they turned toward the iron-bound door, "if those lads are completely out." "_Cordieu!_ But I am absent-minded!" growled the Marquis. He drew the simitar at his side. As Farrell unlocked the door, he heard the sword-strokes that assured beyond all doubt that three more had entered _al jannat_. "Wait a minute!" exclaimed Farrell as the door closed behind them. "We may run into a detachment on the way down here to finish me. Do you know of any other way except the passage used by your executioners?" The Marquis reflected for a moment as he wiped and sheathed his blade. "I do," he replied. "But we'd stand a good chance of getting lost and perishing in a labyrinth. This network is older than the Roman occupation. We have reclaimed but a fraction of it. It is the sanctuary of some awful, prehistoric past. And there were living proofs...." The Marquis shuddered at the recollection of what he had seen. "We killed most of them. But--as for me, I prefer to face men like ourselves! Anyway, if Shirkuh is dead, Hassan will be busy until another Prior is appointed. Shirkuh was an adept who studied in Tibet. A necromancer----" Farrell shivered, and as they advanced up the passageway, told the Marquis what he had seen at the château. "_Canaille!_" muttered the Marquis. "The night I was imprisoned! Just like him. And as you suspect, enough assassins in the crowd to spread the rumor of his miracle.