assisted by the witch of Despair. They do not intend to let us
in if they can help it. Now let us think what we must do."

Not a word was spoken as Daimur stood consulting his magic cap and
gazing out over the sea.

In a few moments he turned to the Captain.

"Have you any coal-oil?" he asked.

"A little, your majesty, about nine barrels, I think," answered the
Captain, as he sent a sailor to see how many there were. The man came
back to say that there were ten.

"Good," said Daimur. "Now have all the barrels brought up to the deck,
for we must pour the oil over the bow; it is the only thing that will
cut this vile mixture."

The barrels were brought up as quickly as possible, and Daimur himself
stood in the bow and directed the sailors. Four men held a barrel of
oil on each side of the bow, and at the instant they commenced to pour
it down the Captain ordered the remaining sails let out to the wind.

As the oil struck the tar mixture it first spread over the surface, and
then foamed up like soda water, and as the foam subsided the water
could be seen underneath.

With every sail filled the ship slowly made its way through the sticky
foaming mass, and when at the end of half an hour they were clear of
it, and the ship began to cut ahead through the water again, a big
cheer of relief went up.

All was not over, however, as they were now within the narrow passage,
and the Captain was very nervous. He had never been through it before
without a pilot, and although he had the wheel himself he was not sure
that he knew the course.

King Cyril now stepped forward and offered to take the wheel, as he had
often steered his own yacht through the channel, and knew it perfectly,
so in case some other trap had been laid for them Daimur gave him his
magic cap and glasses to wear until they should be safely in the harbor.

In and out among the black reefs they wound, and shortly after two
o'clock in the afternoon cast anchor in the harbor, and were soon
ashore.

As the usurping Prince and his witch of a wife had felt very safe
behind their ring of magic tar they had set no guards about, and
consequently Daimur and his friends, with his marines as guards, were
marching up the city street towards the palace before you could say
"Jack Robinson," with nobody to stop them.

There were a good many people out in the streets, as it was market day,
and in a few moments a crowd had gathered to see the procession. Of
cour