Anyhow she marched straight to the door and stood by it, _miaowing_ to be let out.
Ah! if he only could let her out! If the door were only open, thought poor Roy, as he worked away at the still immovable bar.
"No! Down, no! I can't," he murmured bitterly as the cat _miaowed_ more and more insistently.
But still the _miaowing_ went on.

Down became quite plaintive, then ill-used; finally she leaped onto Roy's shoulder, licked his ear with her rough red tongue as if to coax him, and was back again at the door asking to be let out.
Why was she so set on it?
Roy turned to look at her half stupidly and for a moment forgot his task; forgot how rapidly time was passing; forgot everything save that Down was asking to be let out.

So wearily he passed to the door, and scarcely conscious of what he was doing, laid his hand on the latch.
"I can't, Down," he said; "I can't open--" He broke off hurriedly.
For the latch yielded, the door opened!! It could never have been locked!! Had they forgotten, or, having secured the Heir-to-Empire, had they not cared what became of the henchman?
The latter, most likely, for there was no sentry in the arched passage along which Down had already disappeared.
Another second and Roy, sword in hand, had disappeared down it also, remembering as he ran a certain little fretted marble balcony which gave on the gardens below.

For Roy, of course, knew every turn of the Bala Hissar.

This balcony opened onto an unused gallery room.