“I’m afraid I must on this occasion. Who is to receive the sheikh and bamboozle him as to our doings, if we all go? He would scour the passages, thinking we were trying to escape, and we should be brought back before we could do anything.” “That’s so, sir. Go ahead,” and Mr Hicks got out his fountain pen and his writing-pad, and set to work on a letter to his paper, while Mansfield, by Cyril’s directions, made himself as smart as his extremely limited resources allowed. His employer was one of those fortunate people who contrive always to be presentable in spite of the most adverse circumstances, but he displayed unwonted anxiety about his appearance on this occasion, and Mr Hicks smiled grimly as he closed the stone door upon the flickering light carried by Mansfield. “You ought to have known me better, Count. As if all this prinking wouldn’t tell me what was on hand even if I hadn’t used my eyes last night! You deserve I should make a real blood-curdling, soul-thrilling, romantic, pathetic life-drama out of you and your Queen, but you and I are partners, and I’m on the square, any way.” The rock-cut staircase up which Cyril and Mansfield made their way was narrow and winding, but quite dry, and the edges of the stone were as sharp as if they had only been hewn a day. Air was admitted from the outer world by means of shafts reaching to the face of the rock, but these were too small to allow the entrance of more than a ray of light, which served to increase by contrast the surrounding darkness. A quantity of sand, admitted in the course of ages through these air-shafts, was heaped in the corners, but Cyril pointed out to Mansfield that the flowing robes of the nocturnal visitors had swept a clear pathway in the middle of the steps. The two men went on, up and up, now turning to the right and now to the left, sometimes finding themselves on ground which was almost level, and again confronted with steps nearly two feet high, until there was a change in the sound of their echoing footsteps, and they discovered that instead of solid rock the walls and roof were now of masonry. “This is the wall of the fortress, then!” said Cyril. “Interesting question where we shall come out--in the palace itself, or hopelessly outside.” He was hot and panting, and his voice vibrated strangely. Mansfield suggested a rest, but he shook his head. “No, no,” he said impatiently; “let us go through with it now, and know the worst.”