"The sacred room," whispered Anita, "beyond those doors. Frithjof has closed them. He is there. I know it—I know it!"
Chet was still holding the body of O'Malley. Only his choked breathing showed that he still lived, but now he stirred and struggled in Chet's grasp, while he struck out blindly and hoarse sounds came from his throat.
Chet clapped one hand over the pilot's mouth. "For the love of heaven, Spud," he said fiercely, "be still! Don't speak—don't say a word! It's Chet—Chet Bullard! I've got you, we're all right!"
The pilot's struggles ceased, and Chet eased him to the floor where he sat still gasping for breath; the fumes from that place of death had been strangling in his throat.
Beside him Chet heard the girl repeating in softest tones the name she had heard for the first time.
"Chet—Chet Bullard! How odd a name! But I love it—I couldn't help but love it."
In the great room were some who had turned toward the sound of Chet's scuffling; they were walking slowly toward the half-opened door.
"Come!" said Anita Haldgren again, and fled like a slender, golden-haired wraith down the narrow hall.
More twisting passages until Chet was hopelessly lost. But he no longer needed to carry O'Malley, who was running beside him, and he had implicit faith in the girlish guide who went before. He was not surprised when they came after many detours to a narrow door of wrought metals in white and gold, whose inset designs were worked in glowing jewels.