i!

He saw the man stop beneath the lighted windows, look up, and then with
a glance to right and left, enter the shadow of the mosque and disappear
within the small court beside the house. Renwick thought rapidly and
clearly. In the court where Linke had disappeared there must be another
entrance to the house. For a fleeting second, the idea entered Renwick's
head to follow the man, and trust to fortune; but the wall and blue door
opposite tempted him. Inside the garden, at least there would be a
chance for concealment, and a vantage point from which he could watch
and hear what went on within the house. He waited a moment, trying to
decide whether or not he had better risk detection in the narrow strip
of moonlight, or wait and see if anyone moved in the street below. He
was on the point of taking the chance when from the door of a house just
below him, several men emerged. It was difficult to determine how many
there were, but Renwick thought that there were at least four--perhaps
five; but whether Bosnians or Turks he could not decide. And from their
stealth and silence, and the rapidity with which they followed the tall
figure of Linke into the dark passage, the obvious inference was that
they were bent upon mischief.

There was no further time to plan, so Renwick, with a quick look to
right and left, darted furtively across to the gate of the blue door and
tried the latch. It was unlocked, and quickly he entered the garden;
with his hand upon the revolver in his belt he waited, listening, but
there was no sound within but the plashing of the water of the fountain.
His eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness, and he searched the
shadows of the bushes by the reflected moonlight which silvered the
upper stories of the building. He saw that there was a door near the
center of the house facing the fountain, and upstairs in the windows
over it was the dull glow of a lamp or lantern. The windows of the other
room, which he had observed from across the street, were now darkened.
This was curious, but there was no time to debate upon it. He must act
quickly. He was sure now that Marishka was somewhere in this house, a
prisoner. She had sent for him, or why should Linke be here? He drew the
revolver from the folds of his sash, and with a keen glance to right and
left, crouching below the level of the shrubbery, he reached the door of
the house and tried it.

It was locked. He hesitated for a moment, looking over his sho