“Let those soldiers be brought,” said Sinan, “and tell their story.”

They were brought and stood by their captain, but they had no story to tell.  They swore that they had not slept on guard, nor heard a sound, yet when morning came the prince was gone.  Again the Lord of Death stroked his black beard.  Then he held up the Signet before the eyes of the three men, saying: 

“You see the token.  Go.”

“Lord,” said the fedai, “I have served you well for many years.”

“Your service is ended.  Go!” was the stern answer.

The fedai bowed his head in salute, stood for a moment as though lost in thought, then, turning suddenly, walked with a steady step to the edge of the abyss and leapt.  For an instant the sunlight shone on his white and fluttering robe, then from the depths of that darksome place floated up the sound of a heavy fall, and all was still.

“Follow your captain to Paradise,” said Sinan to the two soldiers, whereon one of them drew a knife to stab himself, but a dai sprang up, saying: 

“Beast, would you shed blood before your lord?  Do you not know the custom?  Begone!”

So the poor men went, the first with a steady step, and the second, who was not so brave, reeling over the edge of the precipice as one might who is drunken.

“It is finished,” said the dais, clapping their hands gently.  “Dread lord, we thank thee for thy justice.”

But Rosamund turned sick and faint, and even the brethren paled.  This man was terrible indeed—­if he were a man and not a devil—­and they were in his power.  How long would it be, they wondered, before they also were bidden to walk that gulf?  Only Wulf swore in his heart that if he went by this road Sinan should go with him.

Then the corpse of the false palmer was borne away to be thrown to the eagles which always hovered over that house of death, and Sinan, having reseated himself upon the cushion, began to talk again through his “mouth” Masouda, in a low, quiet voice, as though nothing had happened to anger him.

“Lady,” he said to Rosamund, “your story is known to me.  Salah-ed-din seeks you, nor is it wonderful”—­here his eyes glittered with a new and horrible light—­“that he should desire to see such loveliness at his court, although the Frank Lozelle swore through yonder dead spy that you are precious in his eyes because of some vision that has come to him.  Well, this heretic sultan is my enemy whom Satan protects, for even my fedais have failed to kill him, and perhaps there will be war on account of you.  But have no fear, for the price at which you shall be delivered to him is higher than Salah-ed-din himself would care to pay, even for you.  So, since this castle is impregnable, here you may dwell at peace, nor shall any desire be denied you.  Speak, and your wishes are fulfilled.”

“I desire,” said Rosamund in a low, steady voice, “protection against Sir Hugh Lozelle and all men.”