Sergeant Marakas cleared his throat.

"My Mel and I just lost one," he said. "Perhaps..."

Ardel smiled briefly and nodded.

"Then it is cheap. Let it be done."

With the toe of his boot and a nod, Ardel then indicated Det's fallen scepter.

"What of the magician's rod? Is it not dangerous?" he asked.

Mor nodded, bent slowly and retrieved it from where it had fallen. He began to twist and tug at it, muttering the while.

"Yes," he finally said, succeeding in separating it into three sections. "It cannot be destroyed, but if I were to banish each segment to a point of the great Magical Triangle of Int, it may be that it will never be reclaimed. It would certainly be difficult."

"You will do this, then?"

"Yes."

At that moment, Mouseglove slipped from behind the arras and down the stairwell. Then he paused, held his breath and listened for an outcry. There was none. He hurried on.

When he reached the dimness of the great stair's bottom, he turned right, took several paces and paused. They were not corridors, but rather natural tunnels that faced him. Had it been the one directly to the right from which he had emerged earlier? Or the other which angled off nearby? He had not realized that there were two in that vicinity....

There came a noise from above. He chose the opening on the extreme right and plunged ahead. It was as dark as the route he had traversed earlier, but after twenty paces it took a sharp turn to the right which he did not recall.

Still, he could not afford to go back now, if someone were indeed coming. Besides, there was a small light ahead....

A brazier of charcoal glowed and smoked within an alcove. A bundle of faggots lay upon the floor nearby. He fed tinder into the brazier, blew upon it, coaxed it to flame. Shortly thereafter, a torch blazed in his hand. He took up several other sticks and continued on along the tunnel.