The Vulture's Nest
a figure was advancing toward the castle. Edith saw that it was John Donovan.
He had taken only a few steps before a patrol challenged and he halted while a pair of riflemen examined him. Presently the trio began to walk back to the Kurgan. Donovan wore a sun helmet, and was immaculate in his flannels and white jacket beside the short, dingy natives. He strode ahead carelessly, hands in his pockets.
Edith had rejoiced at sight of the man she loved, moving toward her out of the wilderness of rocks. Her heart beat a brief refrain of exultation. Then she bit her lip and repressed a cry of distress.
Apparently Donovan was unarmed. He seemed to take no notice of the two guards. The light of the newly risen sun was dead in his eyes. And he was coming straight into the trap Monsey had set for him and the Sayaks.
The Russian himself was more than a little surprised. Quickly he scanned the near-by woods beyond the rocks, where there was no sign of further movement. "An Englishman, that's certain," he muttered to himself. "No one else would walk or dress like that—here. Now who?"—he glanced at Edith, then peered at the window. "By the sacred head of the Prophet, it's Donovan himself without a beard! I didn't know him at first. Look here!" He gripped the girl's arm viciously. "Silence, you hear? Not a word out of you! Or I'll order my men to shoot him down. Besides that, Abbas may skewer you with his cursed knife on his own account"
He flung a word at the Alaman and scrambled toward the stair.
"I'm going to welcome the khan who is your
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