“How did this fellow get in here?” Dalzel demanded in his trumpet voice.

Before anyone could answer, Flower-in-the-Night performed her part in the plan by bursting out from among the other princesses and throwing herself gracefully down on the steps of the throne. “Have mercy, great djinn!” she cried out. “He only came to rescue me!”

Dalzel laughed contemptuously. “Then the fellow’s a fool. I shall throw him straight back to earth.”

“Do that, great djinn, and I shall never leave you in peace!” Flower-in-the-Night declared.

She was not acting. She really meant it. Dalzel knew she did. A shiver ran through his narrow, pale body, and his gold-taloned fingers gripped the arms of the throne. But his eyes still flamed with rage. “I shall do what I want!” he trumpeted.

“Then desire to be merciful!” cried Flower-in-the-Night. “Give him at least a chance!”

“Be quiet, woman!” trumpeted Dalzel. “I haven’t decided yet. I want to know how he managed to get in here first.”

“Disguised as the cook’s dog, of course,” said Princess Beatrice.

“And quite naked when he turned into a man!” said the Princess of Alberia.

“Shocking business,” said Princess Beatrice. “We had to put him in the Paragon’s petticoat.”

“Bring him closer,” commanded Dalzel.

Princess Beatrice and her assistant lugged Abdullah toward the steps of the throne, Abdullah walking with little mincing steps that he hoped the djinns would put down to the petticoat. The reason, in fact, was that the third thing under the petticoat was Jamal’s dog. It was gripped rather firmly between Abdullah’s knees in case it escaped. This part of the plan made it necessary to be minus one dog, and none of the princesses had trusted Dalzel not to send Hasruel looking for it and prove that everyone was lying.

Dalzel glared down at Abdullah, and Abdullah hoped very much that Dalzel truly had almost no powers of his own. Hasruel had called his brother weak. But it occurred to Abdullah that even a weak djinn was several times stronger than a man. “You came here as a dog?” Dalzel trumpeted. “How?”

“By magic, great djinn,” Abdullah said. He had intended to make a detailed explanation at this point, but under the Paragon’s petticoat, a hidden struggle was developing. Jamal’s dog turned out to hate djinns even more than it hated most of the human race. It wanted to go for Dalzel. “I disguised myself as the dog of your cook,” Abdullah began to explain. At this point Jamal’s dog became so eager to go for Dalzel that Abdullah was afraid it would get loose. He was forced to grip his knees together tighter yet. The dog’s response was a huge, snarling growl. “Your pardon!” panted Abdullah. Sweat was standing on his brow. “I am still so much of a dog that I cannot refrain from growling from time to time.”