there. We can't stay all night looking
for him in the dark." Gerrard spoke roughly, fighting down the horror
of such a watch as he suggested, and Charteris yielded, recognising
that his friend's nerves were dangerously strained.

"I should have preferred to make our rear safe, but he will hardly
venture to attack us single-handed. Give me the lantern, old boy, and
you lead for a bit."

Shamefacedly Gerrard obeyed, realising that the dread of a stealthy
step behind had not for Charteris the paralyzing terror it had for him,
and they groped their way on, trying to assure one another that the
sounds which reached them when they paused were merely the echoes of
their own movements. At length a very faint glimmer became visible far
in front, and they crept towards it. It seemed to come from a doorway
on the left-hand side of the passage, and co-ordinating their former
knowledge of the place with the distance they had now come, they saw
that it must proceed from the open door of the secret treasury.
Creeping up to this with the utmost precaution, they paused for a
moment in the shadow to reconnoitre. The light came from a dim lamp in
the middle of the room, round which they could discern the sleeping
forms of several men--five or six, perhaps, but their mufflings made it
difficult to distinguish them clearly. One rather removed from the
rest, and lying on a charpoy instead of the floor, was evidently Sher
Singh himself. Charteris put the lantern deliberately into his pocket,
and drawing swords and revolvers, he and Gerrard stepped into the
doorway.

"Your Highness is tracked! Surrender!" were the words that pealed into
the room and roused the sleepers.

"Maharaj, fear not! There are but two Feringhees here!" cried another
voice from behind, and instantly the man nearest to the lamp threw a
quilt over it. There was a clash of arms as the men roused from sleep
seized the weapons they had laid beside them, but through it Gerrard's
ear detected another sound, a grinding noise on the floor, coming from
behind. He recognised it at once; it was the grating of the
turning-stone as it closed. The man who had tracked them and given the
alarm was cutting off their retreat. Gerrard turned mechanically, and
putting out his hand, felt the stone beginning to fill the doorway
behind him. Stooping, he groped for the stone doorpost, and snatching
off his cap, thrust it across the corner where the outer edge of the
doorpost