r King lying on the floor, shoulders
propped against the wall, head wrapped in a richly embroidered shawl
from Persia. Lamps had been kindled. The head wrappings had already been
somewhat loosened and Karyl was stirring with the indication of
returning consciousness.

"Oh, damn it!" remarked Martin in disgust. "He doesn't need to be both
trussed up and gagged, you know. He's quite safe. Take off the head
cloths."

He stuffed tobacco into his blunt bull-dog pipe as he supervised the
undoing of the smothering fabric and complacently looked at his
prisoner.

Freed from the bandage, and drinking in again reviving breaths, Karyl
awoke to the sense of his surroundings. His eyes at once swept the place
for Cara, but he saw only the closed door of the room where she was
detained.

Martin looked down and as their eyes met he casually nodded.

"Sorry to inconvenience you," he commented affably, "but this is
politics, you know. I happen to work for the other chap, King Louis." As
an afterthought he added: "And the other chap thinks that you are, to
put it quite civilly, unnecessary."

He smoked meditatively, while Karyl, without reply, scowled up into his
face. The sense of futility left Pagratide silent. He lay insanely
furious like a trapped wolf, able only to glare.

Suddenly the complacency deserted the Englishman's features, for a
startled expression. With a violent malediction he bent forward
listening.

Karyl's ears also caught the sound of feet on the stairs, immediately
followed by a crash upon the door.

Martin drew a heavy revolver from a holster under his coat, and his
voice ripped out orders with the sharp decision which had survived the
days when he wore a British uniform. "Here, you beggars," he shouted,
"to that door!"

As the Bedouins swarmed forward there came a second crash under which
the panels fell in, precipitating Von Ritz and Benton into a fierce
swarm of human hornets.

Falling desperately upon the newcomers with swords, knives and
_naboots_, the bravos afforded them no time to take breath after their
climb of the stairs.

Martin, standing with his pipe clamped between his teeth, took no part
in the onslaught. He cast a glance at the turmoil, then deliberately
cocked his weapon and leveled it at the breast of his captive.

Karyl realized that the Jackal was not to be led away from his single
purpose: that of execution. If he himself were to speak to his rescuers,
he must do it quickly.