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away, freed herself.
    “There ought to be a way out of here,” Mason said abruptly, unsteadily. “The Master depended on the centaur’s killing his victims. There’d be no need to make this place a real prison. I—I’ll look around.”
    In a corner Mason found a tiny stream that emerged from a hole in the wall and ran along a channel to disappear into a drain. Where the stream emerged there was a tube that slanted up into the darkness. It did not look inviting but after a careful search of the den Mason realized that it was the only means of egress.
    “Want to try it, Alasa?” he asked. The girl had been watching him, and now she nodded and came to his side. “I’ll go first,” Mason offered. “If I can get through, you’ll be able to.”
    He fell on hands and knees, crept into the hole. The water was not deep. It rilled beneath him, icy-cold and murmuring softly.
    Mason was in a tunnel, a tube barely wider than the width of his shoulders, so smooth that at times he almost lost his footing. If the slope grew much steeper, he knew, it would be impossible to mount it. Behind him he heard the girl, her breathing soft and uneven.
    The faint light that filtered from behind them grew dim and died away entirely. They clambered through utter darkness.
    Interminable journey through the hidden heart of Al Bekr! More than once Mason felt chill despair touch him, but he knew that to retrace his steps would be useless, probably fatal. In the den of the centaur they would be at the mercy of Nirvor and the Master, but here they had at least a chance, though a slim one.
    The tube grew level again. Fumbling in the dark, Mason felt emptiness beside him. The sound of falling water came. He realized that the tunnel branched here, forking into two tubes up one of which they had climbed. He called, “Not too fast, Alasa! Take hold of my foot—”
    Slowly they edged past the unseen abyss. Then forward again, on hands and knees that were raw and bleeding—on and on interminably. Until, at last, a faint greenish glow heartened Mason. He increased his pace.
    A mesh grating was set in the tube above him. He fumbled with it vainly. It was fast. With a word to the girl, Mason braced himself, thrusting his back against the barrier. Veins bulged in his forehead as he strained to lift it.
    There was a faint creaking, but the grating did not give. Mason rested, and then tried again. This time he managed to burst open the grated metal.
    Warily he lifted his head through the gap, peering around. They were in a room, green-lit and vacant, filled with water-tubes, pumps, unfamiliar machinery. Mason wriggled out through the gap he had made, helped Alasa climb free. Both of them were drenched and shuddering with cold.
    “So far, so good,” Mason said grimly. “Know where we are?”
    The girl shook her head. Dark hair clung damply to her bare shoulders. “This city is strange to me also. I don’t know how we can escape—or where we can hide.”
    “Well, we can’t stay here,” Mason grunted. “Come along,” He led the way to a tunnel-mouth in the wall. Warily they hurried along it. Al Bekr was still sleeping—but it would awaken soon, Mason thought. Moreover, if they encountered one of the robot guards, they no longer had Murdach’s paralysis-weapon.
    Twice they saw robots in the distance, but managed to evade them. It seemed hours later when, hurrying along a green-lit corridor, Mason heard footsteps approaching. He stopped short.
    Alasa’s face was white. She whispered, “What—”
    “We passed a door a minute ago,” Mason said softly. “Come on!”
    They ran back swiftly. The door was unlocked; Mason swung it open, revealing a tiny closet bristling with switches and apparatus. “In we go,” he commanded. “Hope we don’t electrocute ourselves.”
    The footsteps were louder. The two tumbled into the closet, and Mason drew the door shut. He had intended to leave a tiny crack for vision, but the panel swung closed with a click.