He attempted to open the door only to find that it resisted his
every effort--it was locked upon the outside. Here indeed was a
sorry contretemps. Turan the panthan scratched his head. "Fortune
frowns upon me," he murmured; but beyond the door, Fate, in the
form of a painted warrior, stood smiling. Neatly had he tricked
the unwary stranger. The lighted doorway, the marching
patrol--these had been planned and timed to a nicety by the third
warrior who had sped ahead of Turan along another avenue, and the
stranger had done precisely what the fellow had thought he would
do--no wonder, then, that he smiled.
This exit barred to him Turan turned back into the corridor. He
followed it cautiously and silently. Occasionally there was a
door on one side or the other. These he tried only to find each
securely locked. The corridor wound more erratically the farther
he advanced. A locked door barred his way at its end, but a door
upon his right opened and he stepped into a dimly-lighted
chamber, about the walls of which were three other doors, each of
which he tried in turn.
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