it led me through a swing door covered with red baize into what appeared
to be a modern annexe to the castle. Here at last it terminated on
the spring of an alarming-looking and deep-throated bell that hung
immediately over a certain door.

On this door I knocked, hoping that it might be that of Mr. Savage and
praying earnestly that it did not enclose the chaste resting-place of
the cook or any other female. Too late, I mean after I had knocked,
it occurred to me that if so my position would be painful to a degree.
However in this particular Fortune stood my friend, which does not
always happen to the virtuous. For presently I heard a voice which I
recognized as that of Mr. Savage, asking, not without a certain quaver
in its tone,

"Who the devil is that?"

"Me," I replied, being flustered.

"'Me' won't do," said the voice. "'Me' might be Harum or it might be
Scarum, or it might be someone worse. Who's 'Me'?"

"Allan Quatermain, you idiot," I whispered through the keyhole.

"Anna who? Well, never mind. Go away, Hanna. I'll talk to you in the
morning."

Then I kicked the door, and at length, very cautiously, Mr. Savage
opened it.

"Good heavens, sir," he said, "what are you doing here, sir? Dressed