‘That seems probable,’ observed Mouraki. ‘But to enable whom to ascend and descend, friend Kortes?’
‘Anyone who desires, my lord.’
‘Then I will ascend,’ said Mouraki.
‘A thousand pardons, my lord!’
‘Stand aside, sir. What, you dare—’
‘Run back to your room,’ I whispered. ‘Quick. Good-night.’ I caught her hand and pressed it. She turned and disappeared swiftly through the door which gave access to the inside of the house and thence to her room; and I—glad that the interview had been interrupted, for I could have borne little more of it—walked to the battlements and looked over. Kortes stood like a wall between the astonished Mouraki and the ladder.
‘Kortes, Kortes,’I cried in a tone of grieved surprise, ‘is it possible that you don’t recognise his Excellency?’
‘Why, Wheatley!’ cried Mouraki.
‘Who else should it be, my dear Pasha? Will you come up, or shall I come down and join you? Out of the way, Kortes.’