he. "Hi'm
completely--"

At this moment Mr. Hanlon stopped upon a landing. It had been a long
while since there had been a landing, and they were all glad to rest
upon it. They crowded about Mr. Hanlon in the dark.

"The door is over there," said he. "Keep close to me."

He walked a few feet forward across the level floor, and came to a stop
again.

"'Tis the top of the tower," said he. "I hope we're not too late to save
the young lad's life. Stand close behind me."

He moved forward again, and stopped; he was evidently feeling a wall
with his hands.

"Ah!" said he. "'Tis the door itself. Now, thin, we'll see!"

He knocked upon the door with his knuckles.

There was no response.

He knocked again.

There was a sound upon the other side of the door, as of the rattling of
a chain and the sliding of a bolt.

A slit of light appeared up and down in the dark wall; it became wider;
it was apparent that the door was opening; and in another moment the
door was flung wide, and in the doorway stood an Old Man, holding up in
his right hand a lantern in which glimmered a candle.

CHAPTER XXVII

THE SORCERER'S DEN

He was an old man, rather stout, dressed in a short gown tied in with a
cord about the middle, and wearing sandals on his feet. He stooped
somewhat; a white beard hung to his waist; his head was bald, except for
a forelock of white hair which drooped over his forehead towards his
eyes. There was a humorous twinkle in his eye, and a smile overspread
his broad round face.

"'Tis the old parrty who will cure the Chivalier," said Mr. Hanlon,
behind his hand.

"It's the Old Man of the Mountain," whispered Toby.

"It's the Magician who built the Tower," whispered Queen Miranda, in
alarm.

"Hit's me own father, as ever was!" cried Mr. Punch, aloud. "Greetings,
old dear! 'Ere's a surprise, what? 'Owever did you come 'ere? Hi'm no
end glad to see you, and the larst person Hi should 'ave thought to see
in this--My word, what a lark!"

"Come in, Punch," said the old gentleman, affably, "and your friends
too. I'm very glad to see you, my boy. I've had some trouble in getting
you here, but here you are at last, thanks to my good friend Hanlon, and
you are now well out of the hands of Shiraz. Put the Little Boy down in
that chair, and we'll see what we can do for him!"

To speak of a grown-up youth with a mustache as a Little Boy seemed
hardly respectful, but Freddie did not seem to mind it; indeed,