There was nothing whatever to indicate where the gray-beard and his crew were.

I could not remember exactly the direction of the entrance, but made for the wall, intending to feel my way along it; and just as I started to do that I heard the Gray Mahatma climbing up behind me.
He made hardly more noise than a cat.

But though the Mahatma was stealthy, he came swiftly, and in a moment I felt his hand touch me.
That was exactly at the moment when the music and colors were subdued to a sort of hell-brew twilight--the kind of glow you might expect before the overwhelming of the world.
"You are as strong as the buffalo himself," he said, mistaking me for King.

"Leave that fool here, and come with me." My right hand was free, but the Gray Mahatma had plenty of assistance at his beck and call.
So I put my hand in the small of his back and shoved him along in front of me.

If he should learn too soon that King, and not I, was down and out he might decide to have done with us both there and then.