The open door revealed three stone steps which the old man was ascending, one at a time.
Following him cautiously St.George heard a door grate outward at the head of the stair, saw the taper move forward in darkness, and the next moment found himself standing in the room of the tombs of the kings of Yaque.

And he saw that the panel which had swung inward to admit them was set low in the monolithic tomb of King Abibaal himself.
Old Malakh had crossed swiftly to the wall opposite the tomb, and stood before the vacant niche which was to be occupied, as Jarvo had announced, by "His Majesty, King Otho, by the grace of God." There, setting aside his taper, the old man stretched his arms upward to the empty shelf and with a gesture of inconceivable weariness bowed his head upon them and stood silent, the leaping candle-light silvering his hair.
"Upon my soul," thought St George with finality, "he's murdered him.
Old Malakh has murdered the king, and it's driven him crazy." With that he did step out of the dark, and he laid his hand suddenly upon the old man's shoulder.
"Malakh," he said, "what have you done with the king ?" The old man lifted his head and turned toward St.George a face of singular calm.

It was as if so many phantoms vexed his brain that a strange reality was of little consequence.

But as his eyes met those of St.George a sudden dimness came over them, the lids fluttered and dropped, and his lips barely formed his words: "The king," he said.

"I did not leave the king.