“You have traced it from the tower!” I repeated incredulously.
“To this room,” he whispered. “You remember the scene of the seventh hour?”
“And in the seven and twentieth day of the month was the earth dried,” I murmured.
“Precisely. The twenty-seven steps from the summit of the tower bring one to a door that opens on a passage. The other door to that passage is just to the right of your chair.”
“And how do you know that?” I demanded, staring at it.
“A lady fainted a few minutes ago. She was carried through that door to the landing for air. While the door was open I made good use of my opportunity, and I have taken the precaution to put the key of the door opening on to the tower into my pocket.”
I looked about me eagerly for the eighth landmark. The four walls were not suggestive.
“The painted ceiling,” prompted St. Hilary.
I looked upward. The decoration of the ceiling represented a king rising from his throne in the act of greeting a woman who made obeisance before him. I recognized the figures as those of King Solomon and the Queen of Sheba. The throne had six steps. At the base of the steps crouched two lions.
“And now that we have found the eighth landmark?” I asked quietly.