She ought to have heard that; for he knew her to be a light sleeper. He paused doubtfully. Was she simply asleep, or had those two been at work? Then it occurred to him that he had been a fool not to ask the sherbet-hander _when_ the message had been left at Dilarâm's. It might have been that very day, in which case he could afford to postpone his inquiries till the morrow. He must find out. That was the first thing to be done. Late as it was growing, there was no slackening, as yet, in the tide of life ebbing and flowing through the bazaars, when he returned to them. Everybody in the city seemed astir, and he hastily turned his face to the lamp-sprinkled caverns of the arcaded shops, as he saw Burkut Ali and Jehân Aziz coming towards him in the crowd. They passed him talking together in low tones, and he looked after them doubtfully. Were they simply promenading, as half the town seemed to be doing, or----? Their sudden turn down a by-lane decided him. He followed cautiously. Alike though the bazaars and the by-ways of a native city are in form, the change of atmosphere between them is striking beyond words. So here, within a whisper of unceasing talk and movement, Lateefa found all silent, deserted. Lightless too; except when a farthing rushlight at a niched shrine where two lanes crossed, shone on the black slime in the gutters, as if it had been ink, and showed the glistening black streaks upon the windowless walls, down which the sewage from the upper stories of the tall houses trickled to the sewage below. Here and there a dog slunk in the shadows; here and there a woman crept furtively from doorway to doorway. And overhead, with a fathomless depth of purple in which the stars seemed trivial bits of tinsel, a notched ribbon of sky showed between the turreted roofs. A garland of marigolds--sending their curious odour into the general compound of smells as they hung over a closed door--and a muffled sound of women's laughter told of a marriage within. A knife--still swinging from the touch of the last visitor--and a louder shrill of voices drowning a woman's cries, told of birth. And that faint whimper--practised, conventional--meant death! All three within closed doors. And now, from the vantage-ground of the last turn, Lateefa waited and watched those two go on. Had they been there before? Had they the means of entry? No! The rattle of the wicket sounded loudly; then the voice of authority--'Open! Open to the Master! Open to the Nawâb!' Even to that there was no answer, and as the two looked at each other, Jehân's face was fierce with rage. ''Tis as thou saidst, when Dilarâm spoke of the message,' he muttered savagely. 'They are in league! Lateef is here, and means to defy us.' Then he raised his voice and called again, 'Open! Open to the Possessor! Open to the Master!' A door or two down the alley creaked ajar, showing dim white-sheeted figures of wonder; for that was not a call to be ignored.