"All right, Dick. I have got a biggish bump on the side of my head, and
feel a little muddled still, but that is nothing. I can't think of any
plan for escaping from this place, Dick, nor of getting hold of a
disguise; for even if we could get out of this place and neighborhood we
must be detected, and in this town it is of no use trying to beg for
shelter or aid."

"It is all arranged," Dick said cheerfully. "I have got two of the best
disguises in the world, and we have only to dress up in them and walk
out."

Ned looked at Dick as if he thought that he had gone out of his mind.

"You don't believe me? Just you wait, then, two minutes, till I have
dressed up, and then I'll call you;" and without waiting for an answer,
Dick went out.

He speedily stripped to the waist, rubbed some mud from the damp floor on
his arms, wound the fakir's rags round his body with a grimace of disgust,
put the wig on his head--his hair, like that of all the garrison, had been
cut as close to the head as scissors would take it--shook the long,
knotted hair over his face and shoulders--behind it hung to the waist--
took the staff in his hand, and called quietly to Ned to come out. Ned
crept out, and remained petrified with astonishment.

"The fakir!" he exclaimed at last. "Good heavens, Dick! is that you?"

"It's me, sure enough," Dick said, taking off his wig. "Here is a wig in
which the sharpest eyes in the world could not detect you."