"Roofways," came the answer with a yawn.
The whole place seemed opium-soddened; there was a cloying savour of poppy and dead roses in the narrow turret stairs which led upward; so narrow that the stone wall on either side was polished by the elbows of the passers up and down.
The first floor was dark save for the fading moonlight seen through the open window archways, so he went up again, until the wide roof set amid the encircling shadowy trees through which the pale gleam of the river showed, lay beneath his feet.
And overhead were the stars beginning their watch of the night.
One seemed to have fallen from heaven to burn in a silver filagree shrine, in shape like a domed mausoleum, which was the only thing dimly visible in the darkness; that, and still more dimly the lute with broken strings which lay before it illumined by the twinkling light.
"Bayazîd!"
He stood and called; till from the night beyond the light came a chanting, drowsy, half coherent voice--
None knows the Secret! Therefore take the cup
Lightly with laughing lip and drink it up.
Though it be heart's blood!--just one little sup
So ... That is good!... Now die!
"True wisdom, Hafiz, prince of poets," murmured Birbal as he went forward and called again.
This time the answer came from near, "Yea! I am Bayazîd. Welcome friend!"