, distinct doubts of his ruthless ability to pass that supple,
clawing, incensed creature at the door.

He whirled and made a bolt for the window, striking at the fastened
grill. He heard the snapping of wooden bolts and the splintering of
wood and out through the hole he climbed to a precipitous, head-long
flight that fairly felt the clutching hands upon his ankle.

He had meant to make a jump for it. A three-story plunge into the
Nile appeared a gentle exercise compared to the alternative within
the palace, but in the very act of releasing his hold he changed his
mind.

Quicker than he had ever moved before, in any vicissitude of his
lithe and agile youth, he clambered up, not down, and crouching back
from sight upon the jutting top of the window, he sent his coat
sailing violently through space.

He dared not look over for its descent upon the water, for other
heads were peering from below and he could hear an excited outburst
of speech, that broke sharply off.

Evidently they were hurrying down to the water gate. Swiftly he
utilized this misdirection for his own ends.

The roofs. That was the refuge to make for. Flat, long-reaching
roofs, from which one could climb off onto a wall or a palm or a
side street.

He had only a story to ascend and he made it in record time, fearful
that the searchers whom he heard now launching a boat below would
turn their eyes skywards.

But he gained the top without an outcry being raised and found
himself upon the roof where the ladies of the harem took their air
unseen of any save the blind eyes of the muezzin in the Sultan
mosque upon the hill. There were divans and a little taboret or two
and a framework where an awning could be raised against the sun.

There was also a trap door.

And here, tempestuously he changed his mind again. He abandoned the
goal of outer walls and chances of escape. He wrenched violently at
that trap door. It was bolted but the bolt was an ancient one and
gave at his furious exertions, letting him down into a narrow spiral
staircase between walls.

Down he plunged in haste, before some confused searcher should dash
up. It was no place to meet an opposing force. Nor was the corridor
in which he found himself much better.

It was black and baffling as a labyrinth, with unexpected turnings,
and he kept gingerly close to the wall with one hand clutching a bit
of iron which he had taken into his possession and his pocket when
Aziza had led him