It was slow work, but we finally succeeded in hollowing out a groove in its surface about eighteen inches long and two inches deep.  That was our mold.

Then to melt the golden platters.  We took four of the urns, placing them in a group on the floor, and just at the tip of the flames placed the granite vessel, supported by four blocks of stone which we pried loose from one of the seats.  In the vessel we placed the golden platters.

But we found, after several hours, that we did not have sufficient heat—­or rather that the vessel was too thick to transmit it.  And again we set to work with our improvised chisels and hammers, to shave off its sides and bottom.  That was more difficult and required many hours for completion.

Finally, with the profane portion of our vocabularies completely exhausted and rendered meaningless by repetition, and with bruised and bleeding hands, we again arranged our furnace and sat down to wait.  We had waited until the dishes from our dinner had been removed, and we were fairly certain to be alone for several hours.

Finally the gold was melted, stubbornly but surely.  We took the thick hide cover from the couch and, one on each side, lifted the vessel of liquid metal and filled our mold.  In an hour it was hardened into a bar the shape of a half-cylinder.  We removed it and poured in the remainder of the gold.

It would appear that the gain was hardly worth the pains, and I admit it.  But at the least I had kept Harry occupied with something besides his amatory troubles, and at the best we had two heavy, easily handled bars of metal that would prove most effective weapons against foes who had none whatever.

We had just removed the traces of our work as completely as possible and secreted the clubs of yellow metal in a corner of the apartment when the sound of pattering footsteps came from the corridor.

Harry gave me a quick glance; I moved between him and the door.  But it was Desiree.

She entered the room hurriedly and crossed to the farther side, then turned to face the door.  Her cheeks were glowing brightly, her eyes flashed fire, and her breast heaved with unwonted agitation.  Before either she or I had time to speak Harry had sprung to her side and grasped her arm.

“What has he done now?” he demanded in a tone scarcely audible in its intensity.

“I—­don’t—­know,” said Desiree without removing her eyes from the door.  “Let me go, Harry; let me sit down.  Paul!  Ah!  I was afraid.”

“For us?” I asked.

“Yes—­partly.  The brute!  But then, he is human, and that is his way.  And you—­I was right—­you should have gone to the Cave of the Sun when he required your presence.”

“But it was merely an invitation.  Cannot one refuse an invitation?” I protested.

“But, my dear Paul, the creature is royal—­his invitations are commands.”