one roof, Abdul Ali yelling like a maniac,
and Grim trying to squeeze the wind out of him. Even then, as we
rolled and fought, I could still hear the thundering on the door.
No doubt the noise they made prevented them from hearing Abdul
Ali's yells for help.

The man's strength was prodigious, although he was puffy and
short-winded. It began to look as if we would have to knock him
on the head to get control of him. But even so, there was no
rope--no sign of Mahommed ben Hamza and his men. You can think
of a lot of things while you fight for your life eighty miles
away from help. I wondered whether Grim would throw him over the
parapet, and whether we two would have to take our chance of
mountaineering down that ragged corner of the wall.

But suddenly about a hundred and eighty pounds of human brawn
landed feet-first on my back. A voice said "Taib,* Jimgrim!" and
two other men jumped after him from somewhere on the ruined wall
above us. In another second Abdul Ali was held hand and foot,
tied until he could not move, and then a wheat-sack was pulled
down over his head and made fast between his legs. [*All right.]

"You're late!" said Grim. "Quick! Where's the rope? Are your
men below?"

The thundering on the door had ceased. Either they were coming
up the steps already, or had gone to reach the parapet some other
way. It did not occur to me, or for that matter to any of us in
the excitement of the minute, that they might be holding a
consultation below, or might even have abandoned the idea of
following, although I think now that must be the explanation, for
what we did took more time than it takes to set it down.

Ben Hamza made one end of the rope fast around Abdul Ali's feet.
He would not listen to argument. He said he knew his business,
and certainly the knot was workmanlike. Then he called over the
parapet (an Arab never whistles) and a voice answered from the
southern side of the moat, where some fallen stones cast a
shadow. Then the three of them lifted Abdul Ali over, and
lowered him head-first.

It was a slow business, for otherwise he would have been stunned
against the first projection. I thought that Grim looked almost
as nervous as I felt, but Mahommed ben Hamza was having the time
of his life, and could not keep his tongue still.

"Head upwards a man can yell," he explained to me, grinning from
ear to ear. "Feet upwards, too afraid to yell!" Then the
thundering on the door beg