"Yes!" Hassan faltered.
"To where?"
"The wine-cellars."
"And from there?"
Hassan was suddenly voluble. Truth unlocked his tongue.
"Not know, mistress—not know another thing. No one enters wine-cellar but three men. One of those not know. If I guess—I, Hassan—I look at little chapel left standing in waste place. Perhaps I wonder sometimes, but I not know."
Pamela drew three notes from her gold purse, smoothed them out and handed them over.
"Three pounds, Hassan, silence, and good day! You'll live longer if you open your windows now and then, and get a little fresh air, instead of praying yourself hoarse."
Again the black figure swayed perilously towards her. She affected not to notice, not to notice the hand which seemed for a moment as though it would snatch the door handle from her grasp. She passed out pleasantly and without haste. The last sound she heard was a groan.
"Done your bit o' business, eh?" the landlady asked curiously.