Muhammed indicated the opening with a shrug.
"The best we can do, Sidi," he deprecated. "Till matters adjust themselves you must keep company with Yakoob's contraband."
Landon shrugged his shoulders.
"Air?" he questioned laconically. "It is supplied—how?"
Muhammed passed on the question. The Jew pointed to the bosom of his bournous, which rose and fell in the draught which rose from below.
"There are innumerable crevices which open through the wall of the fort ditch," he said. "For this reason the Sidi must not use a light—at night."
Landon shrugged his shoulders pessimistically, and took his son by the hand. "Come, my boy," he said. "We are going to play that childhood's favorite and most successful comedy—the Robbers in the Cave. You and I are to be the leaders of the gang."
Little John peered doubtfully into the darkness.
"And Muhammed?" he asked, looking at the Moor with expectant, trusting eyes.
There was a queer intensity in the Moor's glance as he bent over the small figure hesitating at the head of the steps. His smile was kindly and reassuring.