With a quick motion I seized him by the long hair, swung him to one side, and followed by the prince and a scant half dozen of my men, burst into the temple. Cries, shouts, curses came from the throng of priests, servants, acolytes and attendants as, glancing to right and left, into passages and rooms, we hurried on. Which way should we turn? Where should we seek? The place was a labyrinth of passages, of narrow halls, of cell-like rooms, a veritable warren, a miniature city within the vast pyramidal Kus. A cry from Azcopil caused me to wheel. We were alone. Our men, filled with superstitious fears at entering the sacred temple, had deserted us. But neither the prince nor I thought for an instant of turning back. Somewhere within the temple was the high priest; never once did we doubt that he knew of Itza’s whereabouts, and our only thoughts were to find him, threaten him, wring the truth from his grinning, hideous mouth. On every side were enemies, fanatical, outraged priests and temple servitors, buzzing like angry bees but, unarmed as they were, fearing to throw themselves upon us, contenting themselves with threats of their gods’ vengeance, by calling down curses and maledictions upon us. We paid little heed to them. I felt sure that we would not find either Itza or the high priest in this part of the vast structure. He would be hiding--like the cowardly, lurking reptile he was, in some secret, innermost lair. But where? We were wasting time seeking blindly for a way to reach him. We might wander for hours aimlessly and be no nearer to our quarry. Roughly I seized a scowling, threatening priest and shook him until his teeth chattered. Then, holding my dreaded pistol at his head, I ordered him to lead us to the quarters of the high-priest. Hardly able to speak for terror, with shaking knees, he babbled that he could not, that the punishment of the gods would fall upon him if he did so. “The curses of Kukulcan will fall upon you and all within the temple, if you do not!” I hissed at him. “And the thunder of Itzimin Chac will kill you where you stand!” * * * * * PITIFULLY he begged for mercy, implored me to spare him. But before I could reply, before I could repeat a threat, Azcopil’s spear flashed by my eyes and buried itself in the fellow’s throat. Leaping forward, the prince seized a fat elderly priest, whose robes showed him to be of an exalted order.