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      ‘Well?’ said a brisk voice, and the curtain of skins was lifted at one corner by a furry hand, and out peeped the bat’s ears and snail’s eyes of the Psammead.

      Anthea caught it in her arms and a sigh of desperate relief was breathed by each of the four.

      ‘Oh! which is the East!’ Anthea said, and she spoke hurriedly, for the noise of wild fighting drew nearer and nearer.

      ‘Don’t choke me,’ said the Psammead, ‘come inside.’

      The inside of the hut was pitch dark.

      ‘I’ve got a match,’ said Cyril, and struck it. The floor of the hut was of soft, loose sand.

      ‘I’ve been asleep here,’ said the Psammead; ‘most comfortable it’s been, the best sand I’ve had for a month. It’s all right. Everything’s all right. I knew your only chance would be while the fight was going on. That man won’t come back. I bit him, and he thinks I’m an Evil Spirit. Now you’ve only got to take the thing and go.’

      The hut was hung with skins. Heaped in the middle were the offerings that had been given the night before, Anthea’s roses fading on the top of the heap. At one side of the hut stood a large square stone block, and on it an oblong box of earthenware with strange figures of men and beasts on it.

      ‘Is the thing in there?’ asked Cyril, as the Psammead pointed a skinny finger at it.

      ‘You must judge of that,’ said the Psammead. ‘The man was just going to bury the box in the sand when I jumped out at him and bit him.’

      ‘Light another match, Robert,’ said Anthea. ‘Now, then quick! which is the East?’

      ‘Why, where the sun rises, of course!’

      ‘But someone told us—’

      ‘Oh! they’ll tell you anything!’ said the Psammead impatiently, getting into its bass-bag and wrapping itself in its waterproof sheet.

      ‘But we can’t see the sun in here, and it isn’t rising anyhow,’ said Jane.

      ‘How you do waste time!’ the Psammead said. ‘Why, the East’s where the shrine is, of course. There!’

      It pointed to the great stone.

      And still the shouting and the clash of stone on metal sounded nearer and nearer. The children could hear that the headmen had surrounded the hut to protect their treasure as long as might be from the enemy. But none dared to come in after the Psammead’s sudden fierce biting of the headman.

      ‘Now, Jane,’ said Cyril, very quickly. ‘I’ll take the Amulet, you stand ready to hold up the charm, and be sure you don’t let it go as you come through.’

      He made a step forward, but at that instant a great crackling overhead ended in a blaze of sunlight. The roof had been broken in at one side, and great slabs of it were being lifted off by two spears. As the children trembled and winked in the new light, large dark hands tore down the wall, and a dark face, with a blobby fat nose, looked over the gap. Even at that awful moment, Anthea had time to think that it was very like the face of Mr Jacob Absalom, who had sold them the charm in the shop near Charing Cross.

      ‘Here is their Amulet,’ cried a harsh, strange voice; ‘it is this that makes them strong to fight and brave to die. And what else have we here – gods or demons?’

      He glared fiercely at the children, and the whites of his eyes were very white indeed. He had a wet, red copper knife in his teeth. There was not a moment to lose.

      ‘Jane, Jane, QUICK!’ cried everyone passionately.