As Farrell unlocked the door, he heard the sword-strokes that assured beyond all doubt that three more had entered al janat.
"Wait a minute!" exclaimed Farrell as the door closed behind them. "We may run into a detachment on the way down here to finish me. Do you know of any other way except the passage used by your executioners?"
The Marquis reflected for a moment as he wiped and sheathed his blade.
"I do," he replied. "But we'd stand a good chance of getting lost and perishing in a labyrinth. This network is older than the Roman occupation. We have reclaimed but a fraction of it. It is the sanctuary of some awful, prehistoric past. And there were living proofs. . . ." The Marquis shuddered at the recollection of what he had seen. "We killed most of them. But—as for me, I prefer to face men like ourselves! Anyway, if Shirkuh is dead, Hassan will be busy until another Prior is appointed. Shirkuh was an adept who studied in Tibet. A necromancer"
Farrell shivered, and as they advanced up the passageway, told the Marquis what he had seen at the chateau.
"Canaille!" muttered the Marquis. "The night I was imprisoned! Just like him. And as you suspect, enough assassins in the crowd to spread the rumor of his miracle.
"Our best chance," he resumed, "is to go to the vault where you saw Hassan unveiled, thence to the assembly hall of the assassins. Then cut our way out—if we can! The chances are slender""
"How about passing by the Garden?" wondered Farrell.
"Out of our way," protested the Marquis. "But why?"
"A . . . friend," replied Farrell. "Mademoiselle Delatour"
"What?" exclaimed the Marquis with a start. "Dieu de Dieu! How"
Then he controlled his agitation, beckoned for silence.
They emerged from the darkness and turned into an upward-sloping branch passage illuminated by torches thrust into sconces on the wall. Ahead of them they heard the measured tread of a sentry walking his post.
"Hang back," whispered the Marquis as he fingered the hilt of the broad-bladed knife that kept his simitar company. "I know the passwords. And he may not know I'm a prisoner—but be ready for trouble if he does!"
The sentry challenged the Marquis. There was an exchange of sign and countersign. Then as the sentry saluted, the Marquis' right hand flashed to the right; his body jerked forward. As Farrell advanced, he saw the sentry collapse and sprawl across the tiles in a grotesque heap.
"So far, so good," muttered the Marquis as he wiped his blade, and led the way.
A barred door yielded to the Marquis' touch on a concealed lever. They continued on their upward march. They halted finally before a door whose panels were of heavy and elaborately carved woodwork.
"Diable!" growled the Marquis as he tried the door. "Barred from the other side. The release this side does not help us."
The mutter of drums and the plucked strings of a sitar were plainly audible.
"Better wait until the place is vacant," whispered the Marquis. "And in the meanwhile, let's cut a loophole and see what's happening.”
They drew their knives and set to work.
