Two of the Tuareg, doubled up with pain, were rubbing their ribs with low oaths.

I need not say that I profited by this silent confusion to glide into the room.  I was now flattened against the wall of the second corridor, down which King Hiram had just disappeared.

At that moment a clear gong echoed in the silence.  The trembling which seized the Tuareg assured me that I had chosen the right way.

One of the six men got up.  He passed me and I fell in behind him.  I was perfectly calm.  My least movement was perfectly calculated.

“All that I risk here now,” I said to myself, “is being led back politely to my room.”

The Targa lifted a curtain.  I followed on his heels into the chamber of Antinea.

The room was huge and at once well lighted and very dark.  While the right half, where Antinea was, gleamed under shaded lamps, the left was dim.

Those who have penetrated into a Mussulman home know what a guignol is, a kind of square niche in the wall, four feet from the floor, its opening covered by a curtain.  One mounts to it by wooden steps.  I noticed such a guignol at my left.  I crept into it.  My pulses beat in the shadow.  But I was calm, quite calm.

There I could see and hear everything.

I was in Antinea’s chamber.  There was nothing singular about the room, except the great luxury of the hangings.  The ceiling was in shadow, but multicolored lanterns cast a vague and gentle light over gleaming stuffs and furs.

Antinea was stretched out on a lion’s skin, smoking.  A little silver tray and pitcher lay beside her.  King Hiram was flattened out at her feet, licking them madly.

The Targa slave stood rigid before her, one hand on his heart, the other on his forehead, saluting.

Antinea spoke in a hard voice, without looking at the man.

“Why did you let the leopard pass?  I told you that I wanted to be alone.”

“He knocked us over, mistress,” said the Targa humbly.

“The doors were not closed, then?”

The slave did not answer.

“Shall I take him away?” he asked.

And his eyes, fastened upon King Hiram who stared at him maliciously, expressed well enough his desire for a negative reply.

“Let him stay since he is here,” said Antinea.

She tapped nervously on the little silver tray.

“What is the captain doing?” she asked.

“He dined a while ago and seemed to enjoy his food,” the Targa answered.

“Has he said nothing?”

“Yes, he asked to see his companion, the other officer.”

Antinea tapped the little tray still more rapidly.

“Did he say nothing else?”

“No, mistress,” said the man.

A pallor overspread the Atlantide’s little forehead.

“Go get him,” she said brusquely.

Bowing, the Targa left the room.