The gate was then opened, and Hassan made his gift to the sentry. Muhammed peered at the money and turned it over slowly, seeming dissatisfied. Weighing it in his hand, he remonstrated: “O my eyes, this is very little. For me alone, it might suffice. But there are many besides me your helpers in this business. Think not I could act as I do, without the connivance of one or two of my superiors. Then ... the guard at the gate....” “See here, take this and be content.” Hassan doubled the sum given. “It will serve, perhaps,” said Muhammed, with a shrug. “Come, follow me.” But he continued to grumble in an undertone. Though the gate was left ostentatiously open behind them, Shibli felt imprisoned. Too late, he repented of his rashness in aspiring to vie with brave men. As they followed the soldier across the yard, he kept close to Hassan Agha for protection. Their guide unlocked a heavy door. He struck a match and, shielding the flame with his hand, showed them steps leading down to a vault. “Deign to enter. Ennoble these Frankish matches.” “May thy house be destroyed! We need more light than those provide,” objected Hassan testily. “Cut thy life!” retorted Muhammed in anger. “Didst think I would carry a lantern hither through the common yard, to show any man our business who may happen to be awake and looking out? By Allah, you expect much, and give mighty little!” “Aha, is it the smallness of the gift, my brother? Thou shalt have more, much more, when we come forth with the rifles.” Mollified by this assurance, Muhammed said more civilly: “On the right, a few paces from the foot of the stair, you will find a lantern hanging by the wall. Be careful to strike no match in the armory itself, for there is much gunpowder.” “Shibli, stay without and watch,” ordered Hassan. “No, no! Let me enter. For the love of Allah, let me enter with you,” cried the youth, panic-stricken at the prospect of being left alone. “No, it were a sin for thee.” “Enter none the less,” whispered Muhammed. “It is a dungeon worth seeing. The walls, the roofs, the pillars, are of the rarest workmanship. I will keep watch instead of thee.” Shibli required no urging to fulfill his one desire. He slipped in after the Circassians, and the soldier, as if for a precaution, closed the door behind him. He felt his way down eight stone steps till he found hard-trodden earth beneath his feet. Presently, amid the darkness ahead of him, there broke a storm of curses. A match was struck, forming a cocoon of light in the distance. Hassan cried in a terrible voice: “Here is no lantern—no armory. And the door is shut upon us. We are trapped, entombed. May Allah slay me where I stand if I slay not ten men for this trick upon us.” Shibli crouched at the foot of the steps, annihilated, a drumming in his ears. All at once the door above opened, and shrouded figures entered from the lesser darkness. It shut again ere Hassan and the rest could come at it.