On opening it, a body of Turkish soldiers appeared drawn up in front of it.
"What is the cause of this disturbance?" inquired the leader of the troop.
Bosja quickly gave his own version of what had happened.
Of course, it was highly exaggerated.
He, a true believer, had been assaulted, robbed of his turban, and thrown downstairs by a rascally dog of a Giaour, who lodged in a room next to him.
This was quite sufficient to arouse the indignation of the officer, and, with three of his troop, that functionary ascended to seize the delinquent.
But, on reaching the room, it was discovered to be empty.
"The Frankish hound laughs at our beards," said the officer. "He has escaped by the window."
And such had been the intention of Mark Antony Figgins.
But not being accustomed to such perilous descents, he had found himself baffled in his flight, and was now perched on a ledge, half way between the window and the ground, unable either to proceed or to return.