and in the center of the plaza stood the eroded and ancient
black marble statue of a rearing dragon.

"This must be the place!" Angus muttered from the shadows of the hood
that he had drawn up over his head.

* * * * *

As they hesitated, a few people peered furtively out at them from the
broken windows and sagging doors of the houses around the square. Then a
man came toward them. He was bent and crippled, a beggar wearing filthy
rags. His matted hair hung down over his eyes, and his whole body seemed
covered with the caked filth of one who had never thought of washing. As
the man came forward with a sort of limping shuffle, Gerry instinctively
laid his hand on the hilt of the sword he carried concealed under his
cloak, while Closana drew the concealing veil more closely over her
face.

"Alms, _hiziren_! A little charity of your generosity!" the beggar
whined as he came closer.

"What place is this?" Gerry asked, trying to give his voice the soft
tone and lisping accent characteristic of the Green Men.

The beggar limped a little closer and peered up into the shadows of
Gerry's hood. What he saw seemed to satisfy him.

"Take your hand from your sword hilt, friend!" he said in a low voice
quite unlike his previous whine, "what place do you seek?"

"The Place of the Dragon."

"This is it. Who sent you?"

"Sarnak sent us."

"It is good." The beggar pointed down a flight of worn stone steps that
led to the canal whose surface was some eight or ten feet below the
level of the plaza. "Go down there, below the bridge, and tap on the
stone that bears a rusted iron ring. You will find friends. Go quickly,
while there are no strangers to observe you."

"Do you trust that man?" Angus whispered in English as they turned away.
Gerry shrugged.

"We've got to. It's our only chance, We're too easy to recognize, in
spite of these clothes, to stay free in this city for long."

The black waters of the canal flowed sluggishly along between slimy
stone walls. Refuse drifted on the surface. The water itself had a foul
and penetrating odor. Gerry walked down the steps, and then along the
walk that stretched beside the water at one edge of the canal until he
was under an arch that served as a bridge to support the street above.
The arch was wide enough so that they were now completely hidden from
the view of anyone in the plaza above.

On one of the stones of the arch, at about the height of h