rvival with the flourishing weeds. All was wild--deserted--eerie.

A sense of dampness assailed me, and I raised my eyes to the
low-lying building wherein no light showed, no sign of life was
evident. The nearer wing presented a verandah apparently overgrown
by some climbing plant, the nature of which it was impossible to
determine in the darkness.

The zest for the nocturnal operation which temporarily had thrilled
me succumbed now to loneliness. With keen anxiety I awaited the
return of my more experienced accomplice. The situation was
grotesque, utterly bizarre; but even my sense of humour could not
save me from the growing dread which this seemingly deserted place
poured into my heart.

When upon the right I heard a faint rustling I started, and grasped
the revolver in my pocket.

"Not a sound!" came in Carneta's voice. "Keep just inside the
bushes and come this way. There is something I want to show you."

The various profuse growths rendered concealment simple enough--if
indeed any other concealment were necessary than that which the
strangely black night afforded. Just within the evil-smelling
thicket we made a half circuit of the building, and stopped.

"Look!" whispered Carneta.

The word was unnecessary, for I was staring fixedly in the direction
of that which evidently had occasioned her uneasiness.

It was a small square window, so low-set that I assumed it to be
that of a cellar, and heavily cross-barred.

From it, out upon a tangled patch of vegetation, shone a dull red
light!

"There's no other light in the place," my companion whispered.
"For God's sake, what can it be?"

My mind supplied no explanation. The idea that it might be a dark
room no doubt was suggested by the assumed role of Carneta; but I
knew that idea to be absurd. The red light meant something else.

Evidently the commencing of operations before all lights were out
was irregular, for Carneta said slowly--

"We must wait and watch the light. There was formerly a moat
around the Gate House; that must be the window of a dungeon."

I little relished the prospect of waiting in that swamp-like spot,
but since no alternative presented itself I accepted the inevitable.
For close upon an hour we stood watching the red window. No sound
of bird, beast, or man disturbed our vigil; in fact, it would
appear that the very insects shunned the neighbourhood of Hassan of
Aleppo. But the red light still shone out.

"We must r