hind one of those protected windows spurred him on.
Nonchalantly the mighty figure stepped from the sheltering shadows and leisurely crossed the street. He did not wish to excite suspicion, should any chance onlooker see him, by a sudden dash. Reaching the doorway of the edifice, he glanced sharply about; from all appearances he might have been in a city of the dead.
Delicate fingers, backed by a shrewd, imaginative mind, found the rude wooden latch, and solved its method of operation. Gently he pushed against the door and, not without surprise, felt it yield. Slowly the heavy planks swung inward until a space sufficient to admit his massive frame appeared, then he slid in and closed the door with his back.
The darkness was that of Acheron's pit; his eyes, keen as those of any jungle cat, were helpless to penetrate the blackness through which he moved with infinite stealth, arms outthrust before him, the cool hilt of his flint knife clutched in one muscular hand.
His nose warned him that there were men nearby; but the strangeness of his surroundings confused him as to their actual position.
One step forward he took—another, and yet another; then he trod full on the fingers of an outstretched hand!
CHAPTER V
Pursuit
The instant Tharn felt his foot press the unseen hand he wheeled soundlessly and sprang to the door. Closing his fingers about the latch, he stood there, waiting. To rush out now would be certain to awaken the disturbed sleeper; otherwise the man might blame the mishap on one of his companions and go back to sleep without investigating further.
He heard a stirring in the darkness.
"Jotan."
In the utter darkness of the room the single word sounded loud as a thunder-clap.
"Jotan," said the voice again.
"Uh?" came an answering grunt.
"Are you awake?"
"I wasn't—until you woke me," said Jotan testily.
"I think somebody stepped on my fingers," the first voice said. "They feel like it, anyway."
"You must have rolled over on them, Javan. Go back to sleep."
Tharn followed the conversation with interest, surprised that he could understand the words. He waited patiently and without panic for the speakers to act or to return to sleep.
"I tell you, my hand was stepped on," Javan insisted.
"What are you two talking about?" broke in a third voice.
"Javan claims someone has been walking on him," explained Jotan. "Make a light; he'll not sleep until we search the place."
Tharn heard one of the men rise and fumble about in a corner of the room. Suddenly a flame sputtered and took hold, lighting the room's interior with a feeble glow.
Waiting no longer, Tharn twisted the latch and tried to draw open the door. But something had gone wrong; he could not stir the heavy planks.
"There!" Javan shouted. "At the door! Didn't I tell—"
With a bound Jotan leaped from his bed and plunged forward, catching Tharn at the knees. The cave-man braced himself, then bent and grasped his attacker about the waist.
Jotan was a strong, agile man. As a rough-and-tumble fighter he had few equals. But when the arms of the in-
