As he descended, he threw up his head with: “Ha!--O'Hara”; announced his immediate departure with only a secretary and two lords-in-waiting, left a mystical note for Loveday, saying that he had decided to go alone in quest of Margaret, and went almost secretly, only the salute informing the _Boodah_ as he steamed away. In reality he was in haste to face O'Hara, and the yacht's bows turned, not eastward, but southward, under forced draught, to arrive at the _Mahomet_ in early afternoon. As her flags indicated the Lord of the Sea absent, there was no salute, and, landing in a panama and jacket, in the Collector's Office he gave the sign of mum, and, led only by a blue-jacket, went spying the depths of the _Mahomet_. In many parts, noticing a singular odour, “What is it I smell?” he asked. “Incense, my Lord King”, the man answered. On the fourth floor he entered the loveliest _bijou_ chapel, the coenaculum gold-plated, altar flower-piled, frescoed roof, “stations” in oils, where a lonesome Moorish youth slothfully swung and swung a thurible ruby-studded: but in vestments of no _enfant de choeur_--of an ancient Phrygian. Another descent and Hogarth reached a region of laugh and harping: whereupon, dismissing his guide, he tracked the music into a nook so rare, that he stood amazed--a Court of Love, or Mahommedan Heaven, or grot of Omar--anything old, lovely, and devil-sacred--the air chokingly odorous, near a fountain some brazen demon--Moloch or Baal--buried in roses, over everything roses, bounty of flowers, a very harvest-home of Chloris, Flora in revel; and smooth youths bearing cups for some twenty others, all garlanded, besides those on the marble stage; and on the stage itself a scene of dancing girls, Sevillian, Neapolitan, Algerian, mixed with masked Satyrs, which made Hogarth pale, while at a Herod's-table buried under fruits, wines, flowers and gold, reclined Pat O'Hara, tonsured now, crowned with ivy and violets, gowned in a violet toga; while under a pendulum whose swings left whiffs of incense behind lay Harris insensible. As Hogarth descended into it, harp and dance ceased; some leapt to their feet: but O'Hara sat still, gazing in a dead silence through glairy eyes, while Hogarth, looking about, spied an electric button in a couch, touched it, and soon a man in uniform stood at a door above. “Who are you?” asked Hogarth. “John Souttar, head-telegraphist, may it please your Lordship's Majesty”. “Make haste: tell the First Lieutenant and the Chief Constable that the Lord of the Sea is here”. By now all the revellers were on their feet; no sound: only, the clicking pendulum voyaged, landed an incense-whiff, and voyaged, like traders. Then the Lieutenant appeared, mottled and panting, and immediately the Constable. “Ah, Royds”, said Hogarth: “is it practicable to flood this room quickly with a hose?” “I--should think so, my Lord King”. “See to it. First set guards at the exits”.