Graham rubbed his chin.

The man with the flaxen beard came back towards them, turned suddenly, listened for a moment, lifted his eyebrows at the older man, and hurried off through the archway towards the balcony.  The tumult of shouting grew louder, and the thickset man turned and listened also.  He cursed suddenly under his breath, and turned his eyes upon Graham with an unfriendly expression.  It was a surge of many voices, rising and falling, shouting and screaming, and once came a sound like blows and sharp cries, and then a snapping like the crackling of dry sticks.  Graham strained his ears to draw some single thread of sound from the woven tumult.

Then he perceived, repeated again and again, a certain formula.  For a time he doubted his ears.  But surely these were the words:  “Show us the Sleeper!  Show us the Sleeper!”

The thickset man rushed suddenly to the archway.

“Wild!” he cried.  “How do they know?  Do they know?  Or is it guessing?”

There was perhaps an answer.

“I can’t come,” said the thickset man; “I have him to see to.  But shout from the balcony.”

There was an inaudible reply.

“Say he is not awake.  Anything!  I leave it to you.”

He came hurrying back to Graham.  “You must have clothes at once,” he said.  “You cannot stop here—­and it will be impossible to—­”

He rushed away, Graham shouting unanswered questions after him.  In a moment he was back.

“I can’t tell you what is happening.  It is too complex to explain.  In a moment you shall have your clothes made.  Yes—­in a moment.  And then I can take you away from here.  You will find out our troubles soon enough.”

“But those voices.  They were shouting—?”

“Something about the Sleeper—­that’s you.  They have some twisted idea.  I don’t know what it is.  I know nothing.”

A shrill bell jetted acutely across the indistinct mingling of remote noises, and this brusque person sprang to a little group of appliances in the corner of the room.  He listened for a moment, regarding a ball of crystal, nodded, and said a few indistinct words; then he walked to the wall through which the two men had vanished.  It rolled up again like a curtain, and he stood waiting.

Graham lifted his arm and was astonished to find what strength the restoratives had given him.  He thrust one leg over the side of the couch and then the other.  His head no longer swam.  He could scarcely credit his rapid recovery.  He sat feeling his limbs.

The man with the flaxen beard re-entered from the archway, and as he did so the cage of a lift came sliding down in front of the thickset man, and a lean, grey-bearded man, carrying a roll, and wearing a tightly-fitting costume of dark green, appeared therein.

“This is the tailor,” said the thickset man with an introductory gesture.  “It will never do for you to wear that black.  I cannot understand how it got here.  But I shall.  I shall.  You will be as rapid as possible?” he said to the tailor.