PART I

TALES OF ABÛ TABÂH

I

THE YASHMAK OF PEARLS

The _duhr_, or noonday call to prayer, had just sounded from the

minarets of the Mosques of Kalaûn and En-Nasîr, and I was idly noting

the negligible effect of the _adan_ upon the occupants of the

neighboring shops--coppersmiths for the most part--when suddenly my

errant attention became arrested.

A mendicant of unwholesome aspect crouched in the shadow of the narrow

gateway at the entrance to the Sûk es-Saîgh, or gold and silver

bazaar, having his one serviceable eye fixed in a malevolent stare

upon something or someone immediately behind me.

It is part and parcel of my difficult profession to subdue all

impulses and to think before acting. I sipped my coffee and selected

a fresh cigarette from the silver box upon the rug beside me. In this

interval I had decided that the one-eyed mendicant cherished in his

bosom an implacable and murderous hatred for my genial friend, Ali

Mohammed, the dealer in antiques; that he was unaware of my having

divined his bloody secret; and that if I would profit by my accidental

discovery, I must continue to feign complete ignorance of it.

Turning casually to Ali Mohammed, I was startled to observe the

expression upon his usually immobile face: he was positively gray,

and I thought I detected a faint rattling sound, apparently produced

by his teeth; his eyes were set as if by hypnosis upon the uncleanly

figure huddled in the shadow of the low gate.

"You are unwell, my friend," I said.

Ali Mohammed shook his head feebly, removed his eyes by a palpable

effort from the watcher in the gateway, but almost instantly reverted

again to that fixed and terrified scrutiny.

"Not at all, Kernaby Pasha," he chattered; "not in the least."

He passed a hand rapidly over a brow wet with perspiration, and

moistened his lips, which were correspondingly dry. I determined upon

a diplomatic _tour de force_; I looked him squarely in the face.

"For some reason," I said distinctly, "you are in deadly fear of the

wall-eyed mendicant who is sitting by the gate of the Sûk es-Saîgh,

O Ali Mohammed, my friend."

I turned with assumed carelessness. The beggar of murderous appearance

had vanished, and Ali Mohammed was slowly recovering his composure.

I knew that I must act quickly, or he would deny with the urbane

mendacity of the Egyptian all knowledge of the one-eyed one;

therefore--

"Acquaint me with the reason of your apprehensions," I said, at the

same time offering him one of his own cigarettes; "it may be that I

can assist you."

A moment he hesitated, glancing doubtfully in the direction of the

gate and back to my face; then--

"It is one of the people of Tîr," he whispered, bending close to my

ear; "of the evil _ginn_ who are the creatures of Abû Tabâh."

I was puzzled and expressed my doubt in words.

"Alas," replied Ali Mohammed, "the Imám Abû Tabâh is neither a man nor

an official; he is a magician."

"Indeed! then you speak of one bearing the curious name of Abû Tabâh,

who is at once the holder of a holy office and also one who has

dealings with the _ginn_ and the _Efreets_. This is strange, Ali

Mohammed, my friend."

"It is strange and terrible," he whispered, "and I fear that my path

is beset with pitfalls and slopeth down to desolation." He pronounced

the _Takbîr_, "_Alláhu akbar!_" and uttered the words "_Hadeed! yá

mashûm!_" (Iron! thou unlucky!), a potent invocation, as the _ginn's_

dread of that metal is well known. "There are things of which one may

not speak," he declared; "and this is one of them."

Sorely puzzled as I was by this most mysterious happening, yet,

because of the pious words of my friend, I knew that the incident was

closed so far as confidences were concerned; and I presently took my

departure, my mind filled with all sorts of odd conjectures by which I

sought to explain the matter. I was used to the superstitions of that

quarter where almost every gate and every second street has its

guardian _ginnee_, but who and what was Abû Tabâh? An Imám,

apparently, though to what mosque attached Ali Mohammed had not

mentioned. And why did Ali Mohammed fear Abû Tabâh?

So my thoughts ran, more or less ungoverned, whilst I made my way

through streets narrow and tortuous in the direction of the Rondpoint

du Mûski. I saw no more of the wall-eyed mendicant; but in a court

hard by the Mosque of el-Ashraf I found myself in the midst of a

squabbling crowd of natives surrounding someone whom I gathered, from

the direction of their downward glances, to be prone upon the ground.

Since the byways of the Sûk el-Attârin are little frequented by

Europeans, at midday, I thrust my way into the heart of the throng,

thinking that some stray patron of Messrs. Cook and Son (Egypt, Ltd.)

might possibly have got into trouble or have been overcome by the

heat.

Who or what lay at the heart of that gathering I never learned. I was

still some distance from the centre of the disturbance when an

evil-smelling sack was whipped over my head and shoulders from behind,

a hand clapped upon my mouth and jaws; and, lifted in muscular arms,

I found myself being borne inarticulate down stone steps, as I gathered

from the sound, into some cool cellar-like place.

II

In my capacity as Egyptian representative of Messrs. Moses, Murphy &

Co., of Birmingham, I have sometimes found myself in awkward corners;

but in Cairo, whether the native or European quarter, I had hitherto

counted myself as safe as in London and safer than in Paris. The

unexpectedness of the present outrage would have been sufficient to

take my breath away without the agency of the filthy sack, which had

apparently contained garlic at some time and now contained my head.

I was deposited upon a stone-paved floor and my wrists were neatly

pinioned behind me by one of my captors, whilst another hung on to my

ankles. The sack was raised from my body but not from my face; and

whilst a hand was kept firmly pressed over the region of my mouth,

nimble fingers turned my pockets inside out. I assumed at first that I

had fallen into the clutches of some modern brethren of the famous

Forty, but when my purse, note-case, pocket-book, and other belongings

were returned to me, I realized that something more underlay this

attempt than the mere activity of a gang of footpads.

At this conclusion I had just arrived when the stinking sack was

pulled off entirely and I found myself sitting on the floor of a small

and very dark cellar. Beside me, holding the sack in his huge hands,

stood a pock-marked negro of most repulsive appearance, and before me,

his slim, ivory-colored hands crossed and resting upon the head of an

ebony cane, was a man, apparently an Egyptian, whose appearance had

something so strange about it that the angry words which I had been

prepared to utter died upon my tongue and I sat staring mutely into

the face of my captor; for I could not doubt that the outrage had been

dictated by this man's will.

He was, then, a young man, probably under thirty, with perfectly

chiseled features and a slight black moustache. He wore a black

_gibbeh_, and a white turban, and brown shoes upon his small feet. His

face was that of an ascetic, nor had I ever seen more wonderful and

liquid eyes; in them reposed a world of melancholy; yet his red lips

were parted in a smile tender as that of a mother. Inclining his head

in a gesture of gentle dignity, this man--whom I hated at

sight--addressed me in Arabic.

"I am desolated," he said, "and there is no comfort in my heart

because of that which has happened to you by my orders. If it is

possible for me to recompense you by any means within my power,

command and you shall find a slave."

He was poisonously suave. Beneath the placid exterior, beneath the

sugar-lipped utterances, in the deeps of the gazelle-like eyes, was

hid a cold and remorseless spirit for which the man's silken demeanor

was but a cloak. I hated him more and more. But my trade--for I do not

blush to own myself a tradesman--has taught me caution. My ankles were

free, it is true, but my hands were still tied behind me and over me

towered the hideous bulk of the negro. This might be modern Cairo, and

no doubt there were British troops quartered at the Citadel and at

the Kasr en-Nîl; probably there was a native policeman, a

representative of twentieth-century law and order, somewhere in the

maze of streets surrounding me: but, in the first place, I was at a

physical disadvantage, in the second place I had reasons for not

desiring unduly to intrude my affairs upon official notice, and in the

third place some hazy idea of what might be behind all this business

had begun to creep into my mind.

"Have I the pleasure," I said, and electing to speak, not in Arabic

but in English, "of addressing the _Imám Abû Tabâh_?"

I could have sworn that despite his amazing self-control the man

started slightly; but the lapse, if lapse it were, was but momentary.

He repeated the dignified obeisance of the head--and answered me in

English as pure as my own.

"I am called Abû Tabâh," he said; "and if I assure you that my

discourteous treatment was dictated by a mistaken idea of duty, and if

I offer you this explanation as the only apology possible, will you

permit me to untie your hands and call an _arabîyeh_ to drive you to

your hotel?"

"No apology is necessary," I assured him. "Had I returned direct to

Shepheard's I should have arrived too early for luncheon; and the odor

of garlic, which informed the sack that your zeal for duty caused to

be clapped upon my head, is one for which I have a certain penchant if

it does not amount to a passion."

Abû Tabâh smiled, inclined his head again, and slightly raising the

ebony cane indicated my pinioned wrists, at the same time glancing at

the negro. In a trice I was unbound and once more upon my feet. I

looked at the dilapidated door which gave access to the cellar, and I

made a rapid mental calculation of the approximate weight in pounds of

the large negro; then I looked hard at Abû Tabâh--who smilingly met my

glance.

"Any one of my servants," he said urbanely, "who wait in the adjoining

room, will order you an _arabîyeh_."

III

When the card of Ali Mohammed was brought to me that evening, my

thoughts instantly flew to the wall-eyed mendicant of the Sûk

en-Nahhasîn, and to Abû Tabâh, the sugar-lipped. I left the pleasant

company of the two charming American ladies with whom I had been

chatting on the terrace and joined Ali Mohammed in the lounge.

Without undue preamble he poured his tale of woe into my sympathetic

ears. He had been lured away from his shop later that afternoon, and,

in his absence, someone had ransacked the place from floor to roof.

That night on his way to his abode, somewhere out Shubra direction I

understood, he had been attacked and searched, finally to reach his

house and to find there a home in wild disorder.

"I fear for my life," he whispered and glanced about the lounge in

blackest apprehension; "yet where in all Cairo may I find an

intermediary whom I can trust? Suppose," he pursued, and dropped his

voice yet lower, "that a commission of ten per cent--say, one hundred

pounds, English--were to be earned, should you care, Kernaby Pasha,

to earn it?"

I assured him that I should regard such a proposal with the utmost

affection.

"It would be necessary," he continued, "for you to disguise yourself

as an aged woman and to visit the _harêm_ of a certain wealthy Bey.

I have a ring which must be shown to the _bowwab_ at the gate of the

_harêm_ gardens upon which you would knock three times slowly and then

twice rapidly. You would collect the thousand _ginêh_ agreed upon and

would deliver to a certain lady a sandalwood box, the possession of

which endangers my life and has brought about me the hosts of Abû

Tabâh the magician."

So the head of the cat was out of the bag at last. But there was more

to come and it was not a proposition to plunge at, as I immediately

perceived; and I parted from Ali Mohammed upon the prudent

understanding that I should acquaint him with my decision on the

morrow.

The terrace of Shepheard's was deserted, when, having escorted my

visitor to the door, he made his way down into the Shâria Kâmel Pasha.

Two white-robed figures who looked like hotel servants, and a little

nondescript group of natives, stood at the foot of the steps. At the

instant that doubt entered my mind and too late to warn the worthy

Ali Mohammed, the group parted to give him passage; then ... a

terrific scuffle was in progress and one of the wealthiest merchants

of the Mûski was being badly hustled.

I ran down the steps, the carriage-despatcher and some other

officials, whom the disturbance had aroused from their secret lairs,

appearing almost simultaneously. As I reached the street, out from the

feet of the wrestling throng, like a football from a scrum, rolled a

neat _tarbûsh_.

Automatically I stooped and picked it up. Its weight surprised me.

Then, glancing inside the _tarbûsh_, I perceived that a little oblong

box, together with a quaint signet ring, were ingeniously attached to

the crown by means of silk threads tied around the knot of the tassel.

I glanced rapidly about me. I, alone, had seen the cap roll out upon

the pavement.

A hard jerk, and I had the box and the ring free in my hand. The tall

carriage-despatcher, his ferocious efforts now seconded by a native

policeman who freely employed his cane upon the thinly-clad persons of

the group, had terminated the scuffle.

Right and left active figures darted, pursued for some little distance

by the policeman and the two men from the hotel. There were no

captures.

A very dusty and bemused Ali Mohammed, his shaven skull robbing him of

much of the dignity which belonged to his _tarbûsh_, confronted me,

ruefully dusting his garments.

"Your _tarbûsh_, my friend," I said, restoring his property to him

with a bow.

One piercing glance he cast into the interior, then--

"O Allah!" he wailed--"O Allah! I am robbed! Yet----"

A sort of martyred resignation, a beatific peace, crept over his

features.

"To war against Abû Tabâh is the act of a fool," he declared. "To have

obtained the Bey's money would have been good, but to have obtained

peace is better!"

IV

I awoke that night from a troubled sleep and from a dream wherein

magnetic fingers caressed my forehead hypnotically. For a moment I

could not believe that I was truly awake; the long ivory hand of my

dreams was still moving close before me with a sort of slow fanning

movement--and other, nimble, fingers crept beneath my pillow!

Of my distaste for impulse I have already spoken, and even now, with

my mind not wholly under control, I profited by those years of

self-imposed discipline. Without fully opening my eyes, cautiously,

inch by inch, I moved my hand to that side of the bed nearer to the

wall, where there reposed a leather holster containing my pistol.

My fingers closed over the butt of the weapon; and in a flash I

became wide awake ... and had the ring of the barrel within an inch of

the smiling face of Abû Tabâh!

I sat up.

"Be good enough, my friend," I said, "to turn on the center lamp. The

switch, as you have probably noted, is immediately to the left of the

door."

Abû Tabâh, straightening his figure and withdrawing his hand from

beneath my pillow, inclined his picturesque head in grave salute and

moved stately in the direction indicated. The room was flooded with

yellow light. Its disorder was appalling; apparently no item of my

gear had escaped attention.

"Pray take a seat," I said; "this one close beside me."

Abû Tabâh gravely accepted the invitation.

"This is the second occasion," I continued, "upon which you have

unwarrantably submitted me to a peculiar form of outrage----"

"Not unwarrantably," replied Abû Tabâh, his speech suave and gentle;

"but I fear I am too late!"

His words came as a beam of enlightenment. At last I had the game in

my hands did I but play my cards with moderate cunning.

"You must pursue your inquiries in the _harêm_ of the Bey," I said.

Abû Tabâh shrugged his shoulders.

"The house of Yûssuf Bey has been watched," he replied; "therefore my

agents have failed me and must be punished."

"They are guiltless. It was humanly impossible to perceive my entrance

to the house," I declared truthfully.

Abû Tabâh smiled into my face.

"So it was _you_ who carried the sacred _burko_ of the Seyyîdeh

Nefîseh," he said; "and to-night Ali Mohammed brought you the reward

for your perilous journey."

"Your reasoning is sound," I replied, "and the accuracy of your

information remarkable."

I had scored the first point in the game; for I had learned that the

wonderful silken _yashmak_, pearl embroidered, which I had found in

the sandalwood box, was no less a curiosity than the face-veil of the

Seyyîdeh Nefîseh and must therefore be of truly astounding antiquity

and unique of its kind.

"The woman Sháhmarâh," continued my midnight visitor, the eerie light

of fanaticism dawning in his eyes, "who was once a dancing girl, and

who will ruin Yûssuf Bey as she ruined Ghûri Pasha before him, must be

for ever accursed and meet with the fate of courtesans if she dare to

wear the _burko_ of Nefîseh."

I had scored my second point; I had learned that the lady to whom Ali

Mohammed would have had me deliver the _yashmak_ was named Sháhmarâh

and was evidently the favorite of the notorious Yûssuf Bey. The

complacent self-satisfaction of Abû Tabâh amused me vastly, for he

clearly entertained no doubts respecting his efficiency as a searcher.

He was watching me now with his strange hypnotic eyes, which had

softened again, and his fixed stare caused me a certain uneasiness.

For a captured thief, sitting covered by the pistol of his captor,

he was ridiculously composed.

"You have performed an immoral deed," he said sweetly, "and have

pandered to the base desires of a woman of poor repute. I offer you an

opportunity of performing a good deed--and of trebling your profit."

This was as I would have it, and I nodded encouragingly.

"Unfold to me the thing that is in your mind," I directed him.

"I am a Moslem," he said; "and although Yûssuf Bey is a dog of dogs,

he is nevertheless a True Believer--and I may not force my way into

his _harêm_."

"He might return the veil if he knew that Sháhmarâh had it,"

I suggested ingenuously.

Abû Tabâh shook his head.

"There are difficulties," he replied, "and if the theft is not to

be proclaimed to the world, there is no time to be lost. This is my

proposal: Return to the woman Sháhmarâh, and acquaint her with the

fact that the sacred veil has been traced to her abode and her death

decided upon by the Grand Mufti if it be not given up. Force the

merchant Ali Mohammed to return the money received by him, using the

same threat--which will prove a talisman of power. Return to the

infidel woman the full amount; I will make good your commission,

to which, if you be successful, I will add two hundred pounds."

I performed some rapid thinking.

"You must give me a little time to consider this matter," I said.

Abû Tabâh graciously inclined his head.

"On Tuesday next a company of holy men who have journeyed hither from

Ispahân, go to view this relic; you have therefore five days to act."

"And if I decline?"

Abû Tabâh shrugged his shoulders.

"The loss must be made known--it would be a great scandal; the

merchant Ali Mohammed, and the woman, Sháhmarâh, must be

arrested--very undesirable; _you_ must be arrested--most undesirable;

and your banking account will be poorer by three hundred pounds."

"Frightfully undesirable," I declared. "But suppose I strike the first

blow and give you in charge of the police here and now?"

"You may try the experiment," he said.

I waved my hand in the direction of the door (I had reasons for

remaining in bed). "_Ma'salâma!_ (Good-bye)," I said. "Don't stay to

restore the room to order. I shall expect you early in the morning.

You will find the door of the hotel open any time after eight and I

can highly recommend it as a mode of entrance."

Having saluted me with both hands, Abû Tabâh made his stately

departure, leaving me much exercised in mind as to how he proposed to

account to the _bowwab_ for his sudden appearance in the building.

This, however, was no affair of mine, and, first reclosing the window,

I unfastened from around my left ankle the sandalwood box and the ring

which I had bound there by a piece of tape--a device to which I owed

their preservation from the subtle fingers of Abû Tabâh. Furthermore,

to their presence there I owed my having awakened when I did. I am

persuaded that the mysterious Egyptian's passes would have continued

to keep me in a profound sleep had it not been for the pain occasioned

by the pressure of the tape.

Opening the sandalwood box, and then the silver one which it enclosed,

I re-examined the really wonderful specimen of embroidery whereof they

formed the reliquary. The _burko_ was of Tussur silk, its texture so

fine that the whole veil, which was some four feet long by two wide,

might have been passed through the finger ring and would readily be

concealed in the palm of the hand.

It was of unusual form, having no forehead band, more nearly

resembling a _yashmak_ than a true _burko_, and was heavily

embroidered with pearls of varying sizes and purity, although none of

them were large. Its intrinsic value was considerable, but in view of

its history such a valuation must have fallen far below the true one.

When its loss became known, I estimated that Messrs. Moses, Murphy &

Co. could readily dispose of three duplicates through various channels

to wealthy collectors whose enthusiasms were greater than their

morality. The sale to a museum, or to the lawful owners, of the

original (known technically as "the model") would crown a sound

commercial transaction.

Cock-crow that morning discovered me at the private residence, in the

Boulevard Clot-Bey, of one Suleyman Levi, with whom I had had minor

dealings in the past.

V

At nine o'clock on the following Monday night, an old Egyptian woman,

enveloped from head to foot in a black _tôb_ and wearing a black crêpe

face-veil boasting a hideous brass nose-piece, halted before a doorway

set in the wall guarding the great gardens of the palace of Yûssuf

Bey. I was the impersonator of this decrepit female. Abû Tabâh, who

thus far had accompanied me, stepped into the dense shadow of the

opposite wall and was thereby swallowed up.

I rapped three times slowly upon the doorway, then twice rapidly.

Almost at once a little wicket therein flew open, and a bloated negro

face showed framed in the square aperture.

"The messenger from Ali Mohammed of the Sûk en-Nahhasîn," I said, in

a croaky voice. "Conduct me to the Lady Sháhmarâh."

"Show her seal," answered the eunuch, extending through the opening

a large, fat hand.

I gave him the ring so fortunately discovered in the _tarbûsh_ of my

friend the merchant and the hand was withdrawn. Within a colloquy took

place in which a female voice took part. Then the door was partly

opened for my admittance--and I found myself in the gardens of the

Bey.

In the moonlight it was a place of wonder, an enchanted demesne; but

more like an Edmond Dulac water-color than a real garden. The palace

with its magnificent _mushrabîyeh_ windows, so poetically symbolical

of veiled women, guarded by several fine, straight-limbed palm trees,

spoke of the Old Cairo which saw the birth of _The Arabian Nights_

and which so many of us imagine to have vanished with the _khalîfate_.

A girl completely muffled up in many-hued shawls and scarves, so that

her red-slippered feet and two bright eyes heavily darkened with

_kohl_ were the only two portions of her person visible, stood before

me, her figure seeming childish beside that of the gross negro--whom

I hated at sight because he reminded me of the one whom I had

encountered in Abû Tabâh's cellar.

"Follow me, quickly, mother," said the girl. "You"--pointing

imperiously at the black man--"remain here."

I followed her in silence, noting that she pursued a path which ran

parallel with the wall and lay wholly in its shadow. The gardens were

fragrant with the perfume of roses, and in the center was a huge

marble fountain surrounded by kiosks projecting into the water, tall

acacias overshadowing them. We skirted two sides of the palace, its

_mushrabîyeh_ windows mysteriously lighted by the moon but showing no

illumination from within. There we came to the entrance to a kind of

trellis-covered walk, mosaic paved and patched delightfully with

mystic light. It terminated before a small but heavy and nail-studded

door, of which my guide held the key.

Entering, whilst she held the door ajar, I found myself in utter

darkness, to be almost immediately dispelled by the yellow gleam of

a lamp which the girl took from some niche, wherein, already lighted,

it had been concealed. Up a flight of bare wooden stairs she conducted

me, and opened a second prison-like door at their head. Leaving the

lamp upon the top step, she pushed me gently forward into a small,

octagonal room, paneled in dark wood inlaid with mother-o'-pearl and

reminding me of the interior of a magnified _kursee_ or coffee table.

Rugs and carpets strewed the floor and the air was heavy with the

smell of musk, a perfume which I detest, it having characterized the

personality of a certain Arab lady who sold me so marvelous a Damascus

scimitar that I was utterly deceived by it until too late.

Raising a heavy curtain draped in a door shaped like an old-fashioned

keyhole, and embellished with an intricate mass of fretwork carving,

my guide went out, leaving me alone with my reflections. This interval

was very brief, however, and was terminated by the reappearance of the

girl, who this time made her entrance through a second doorway masked

by the paneling. A faint musical splashing sound greeted me through

the opening; and when my guide beckoned me to enter and I obeyed,

I found myself in a chamber of barbaric beauty and in the presence

of the celebrated Sháhmarâh.

The apartment, save for one end being wholly occupied by a magnificent

_mushrabîyeh_ screen, was walled with what looked like Verde Antico

marble or green serpentine. An ebony couch having feet shaped as those

of a leopard and enriched with gleaming bronze, having the skins of

leopards cast across it, and, upon the skins, silken soft cushions

wrought in patterns of green and gold, stood upon the mosaic floor at

the head of three shallow steps which descended to a pool where a

fountain played, softly musical; wherein lurked gleaming shapes of

silver and gold. Bright mats were strewn around, and at one corner of

the pool a huge silver _mibkharah_ sent up its pencilings of aromatic

smoke.

Upon this couch Sháhmarâh reclined, and I perceived immediately that

her reputation for beauty was richly deserved. There was something

leopardine in her pliant shape, which seemed to harmonize with the

fierce black and gold of the skins upon which she was stretched; she

had the limbs of a Naiad and the eyes of an Egyptian Circe. Upon her

head she wore a _rabtah_, or turban, of pure white, secured and

decorated in front by a brooch of ancient Egyptian enamel-work

probably fourteenth dynasty, and for which I would gladly have given

her one hundred pounds. If I have forgotten what else she wore it may

be because my senses were in somewhat of a turmoil as I stood before

her in that opulent apartment--which I suddenly recognized, and not

without discomfiture, to be the _meslakh_ of the _hammám_. I can only

relate, then, that the image left upon my mind was one of jewels and

dusky peach-like loveliness. Jewels there were in abundance, clasped

about the warm curves of her arms and overloading her fingers; she

wore gold bands thickly encrusted with gems about her ankles (the slim

ankles of a dancing girl); and a fiery ruby of the true pigeon's-blood

color gleamed upon the first toe of her left foot, the nails of which

were highly manicured and stained with henna.

Fixing her wonderful eyes upon me--

"You have brought the veil?" she said.

"The merchant Ali Mohammed ordered me to convey to him the price

agreed upon, O jewel of Egypt," I mumbled, "ere I yielded up this a

poor man's only treasure."

Sháhmarâh sat upright upon the couch. Her delicate brows were drawn

together in a frown, and her eyes, rendered doubly luminous by the

pigment with which they were surrounded, glared fiercely at me, whilst

she stamped one bare foot upon a cushion lying on the mosaic floor.

"The veil!" she cried imperiously. "I will send the merchant Ali

Mohammed an order on the treasury of the Bey."

"O moon of the Orient," I replied, "O ravisher of souls, I am but a

poor ugly old woman basking in the radiance of beauty and loveliness.

Would you ruin one so old and feeble and helpless? I must have the

price agreed upon; let it be counted into this bag"--and concealing

my tell-tale hands as much as possible, I bent humbly and placed a

leather wallet upon a little table beside her which bore fruits,

sweetmeats, and a long-necked gold flagon. "When it is done, the

_yashmak_ of pearls, which only thy dazzling perfection might dare to

wear, shall be yielded up to thee, O daughter of musk and ambergris."

There fell a short silence, wherein the fountain musically plashed and

Sháhmarâh shot little inquiring glances laden with venom into the

mists of my black veil, and others which held a query over my shoulder

at her confidant.

"I might have you cast into a dungeon beneath this palace," she hissed

at me, bending lithely forward and extending a jeweled forefinger. "No

one would miss thee, O mother of afflictions."

"In that event," I crooned quaveringly, "O tree of pearls, the veil

could never be thine; for the merchant Ali Mohammed, who awaits me at

the gate, refuses to deliver it up until the price agreed upon has

been placed in his hands."

"He is a Jew, and a son of Jews, who eats without washing! a devourer

of pork, and an unclean insect," she cried.

She extended the jeweled hand towards the girl who stood behind me

and who, having loosened her wraps, proved to be a comely but

shrewd-looking Assyrian. "Let the money be counted into the bag,"

she ordered, "that we may be rid of the presence of this garrulous

and hideous old hag."

"O fountain of justice," I exclaimed; "O peerless _houri_, to behold

whom is to swoon with delight and rapture."

From a locked closet the Assyrian girl took a wooden coffer, and

before my gratified eyes began to count out upon the little table

notes and gold until a pile lay there to have choked a miser with

emotion. (The ready-money transactions of the East have always

delighted me.) But, with the chinking of the last piece of gold upon

the pile--

"There is no more," said the girl. "It is one hundred pounds short."

"It is more than enough!" cried Sháhmarâh. "I am ruined. Give me the

veil and go."

"O vision of paradise," I exclaimed in anguish, "the merchant Ali

Mohammed would never consent. In lieu of the remainder"--I pointed to

the antique enamel in her turban--"give me the brooch from thy

_rabtah_."

"O sink of corruption!" was her response, her whole body positively

quivering with rage, "it is not for thy filthy claws. Here!"--she

pulled a ring containing a fair-sized emerald from one of her fingers

and tossed it contemptuously upon the pile of money--"thou art more

than repaid. The veil! the veil!"

I turned to the girl who had counted out the gold.

"O minor moon, whom even the glory of paradise cannot dim," I said,

"put the money in the wallet, for my hands are old and infirm, and

give it to me."

The Assyrian scooped the gold and notes into the leather bag with

the utmost unconcern, and as though she had been shelling peas into

a basket. The profound disregard for wealth exhibited in the _harêm_

of Yûssuf Bey was extraordinary; and I mentally endorsed the opinion

expressed by Abû Tabâh that the ruin of the Bey was imminent.

Securing the heavy wallet to the girdle which I wore beneath my

veilings, I placed upon the table where the money had lain a small

silken packet.

"Here is the veil," I said; "for my story of the merchant, Ali

Mohammed, who had refused to yield it up, was but a stratagem to

test the generosity of thy soul, as thy refusal to give me the

price agreed upon was but a subterfuge to test my honesty."

Heedless of the words, Sháhmarâh snatched up the packet, tore off the

wrappings, and in a trice was standing upright before me wearing the

_yashmak_ of pearls.

I think I had never seen a figure more barbarically lovely than that

of this soulless Egyptian so adorned.

"My mirror, Sáfiyeh! my mirror!" she cried.

And the girl placing a big silver mirror in her hand, she stood there

looking into its surface, her wonderful eyes swimming with ecstasy and

her slim body swaying in a perfect rapture of admiration for her own

beauty.

Suddenly she dropped the mirror upon the cushions and threw wide her

arms.

"Am I not the fairest woman in Egypt?" she exclaimed. "I tread upon

the hearts of men and my power is above the power of kings!"

Then a subtle change crept over her features; and ere I could utter

the first of the honeyed compliments ready upon my tongue--

"Send Amineh to warn Mahmûd that the old woman is about to depart,"

she directed her attendant; and, turning to me: "Wait in the outer

room. Thy presence is loathsome to me, O mother of calamities."

"I hear and obey," I replied, "O pomegranate blossom"--and, following

the direction of her rigidly extended finger, I shuffled back to the

little octagonal apartment and the masked door was slammed almost upon

my heels.

This room, which possessed no windows, was solely illuminated by a

silken-shaded lantern, but I had not long to wait in that weird

half-light ere my conductress, again closely muffled in her shawls,

opened the door at the head of the steps and signed to me to descend.

"Lead the way, my beautiful daughter," I said; for I had no intention

of submitting myself to the risk of a dagger in the back.

She consented without demur, which served to allay my suspicions

somewhat, and in silence we went down the uncarpeted stairs and out

into the trellis-covered walk. The shadow beneath the high wall had

deepened and widened since we had last skirted the gardens, and I

felt my way along with my hand cautiously outstretched.

At a point within sight of the flower-grown arbor beneath which I

knew the gate to be concealed, my guide halted.

"I must return, mother," she said quickly. "There is the gate, and

Mahmûd will open it for you."

"Farewell, O daughter of the willow branch," I replied. "May Allah,

the Great, the Compassionate, be with thee, and may thou marry a

prince of Persia."

Light of foot she sped away, and, my forebodings coming to a sudden

climax, I crept forward with excessive caution, holding my clenched

hand immediately in front of my face--a device which experience of

the hospitable manners of the East had taught me.

It was well that I did so. Within three spaces of the gate a noose

fell accurately over my head and was drawn tight with a strangling

jerk!

But that it also encircled my upraised arm, its clasp must have

terminated my worldly affairs.

My assailant had sprung upon me from behind; and, in the fleeting

instant between the fall of the noose and its tightening, I turned

about ... and thrust the nose of my Colt repeater (which I grasped in

that protective upraised hand) fully into the grinning mouth of the

negro gate-keeper!

There was a rattle and gleam of falling ivory, for several of the

_bowwab's_ teeth had been dislodged by the steel barrel. Keeping the

weapon firmly thrust into the man's distended jaws, I circled around

him, whilst his hands relaxed their hold upon the strangling-cord,

and pushed him backward in the direction of the door.

"Open thou black son of offal!" I said, "or I will blow thee a cavity

as wide as thy blubber mouth through the back of that fat and greasy

neck! This was, no doubt, a stratagem of thy mistress to test my

fitness to be entrusted with large sums of money?"

When, a few moments later, I stood in the lane outside the gardens

of Yûssuf Bey, and felt with my hand the fat wallet at my waist,

I experienced a thrill of professional satisfaction, for had I not

successfully negotiated a duplicate veil, embroidered with imitation

pearls which the excellent Suleyman Levi by dint of four days of

almost ceaseless toil had made for me?...

From the shadows of the opposite wall Abû Tabâh stepped forth,

stately.

"Quick!" I said. "I fear pursuit at any moment! Is the _arabîyeh_

waiting?"

"You have it?" he demanded, some faint sign of human animation

creeping over his impassive face.

"I have!" I replied. "I will give it to you in the _arabîyeh_."

Side by side we passed down the deserted thoroughfare to where, beside

a solitary palm, a pair-horse carriage was waiting. Appreciating

something of my companion's natural impatience, I pressed into his

hand the famous sandalwood box which once had reposed in the _tarbûsh_

of Ali Mohammed. The carriage rolled around a corner and out into the

lighted Shâria Mobâdayân. Abû Tabâh opened the sandalwood box, and

then, reverently, the inner box of silver. Within shimmered the pearls

of the sacred _burko_. He did not touch the relic with his hands, but

reclosed the boxes and concealed the reliquary beneath his black robe.

I heard the crackle of notes; and a little packet surrounded by a band

of elastic was pressed into my hand.

"Three hundred pounds, English," said Abû Tabâh. "One hundred pounds

in recompense for the commission you returned, and two hundred pounds

for the recovery of the relic."

I thrust the wad into the bag beneath my robe containing the other

spoils of the evening. A second and even more grateful glow of

professional joy warmed my heart. For in the reliquary which I had

handed to Abû Tabâh reposed the second product of Suleyman Levi's

scientific toils; his four days' labor having resulted in the

production of two quite passable duplicates; although neither were by

any means up to the standard of Messrs. Moses, Murphy & Co.

Coming to the house wherein I had endued my disguise, Abû Tabâh left

me to metamorphose myself into a decently dressed Englishman suitable

for admission to an hotel of international repute.

"_Lîltâk sa'îda_, Abû Tabâh," I said.

In the open doorway he turned.

"_Lîltâk sa'îda_, Kernaby Pasha," he replied, and smiled upon me very

sweetly.

VI

It was after midnight when I returned to Shepheard's, but I went

straight to my room, and switching on the table-lamp, wrote a long

letter to my principals. Something seemed to have gone wrong with the

lock of my attaché-case, and my good humor was badly out of joint by

the time that I succeeded in opening it. From underneath a mass of

business correspondence I took out a large, sealed envelope, which I

enclosed with a letter in one yet larger, to be registered to Messrs.

Moses, Murphy & Co., Birmingham, in the morning. I turned in utterly

tired but happy, to dream complacently of the smile of Abû Tabâh and

of the party of holy men who had journeyed from Ispahân.

Exactly a fortnight later the following registered letter was handed

to me as I was about to sit down to lunch--

The Hon. Neville Kernaby.

Shepheard's Hotel,

Cairo, Egypt.

DEAR MR. NEVILLE KERNABY--

We are returning herewith the silken veil which you describe as "the

authentic _burko_ of the Seyyîdeh Nefîseh, stolen from her shrine in

the Tombs of the Khalîfs." Your statement that you can arrange for its

purchase at the cost of one thousand pounds does not interest us, nor

do we expect so high-salaried an expert as yourself to send us

palpable and very inferior forgeries. We are manufacturers of

duplicates, not buyers of same.

Yours truly,

LLOYD LLEWELLYN.

(For Messrs. Moses, Murphy & Co.).

I was positively aghast. Tearing open the enclosed package, I glared

like a madman at the _yashmak_ which it contained. The silk, in

comparison with that of which the real veil was compared, was coarse

as cocoanut matting; the embroidery was crude; the pearls shrieked

"imitation" aloud! At a glance I knew the thing for one of the pair

made by Suleyman Levi!

The truth crashed in upon my mind. Following my visit to the _harêm_

of Yûssuf Bey, I had bestowed no more than a glance upon the envelope

wherein, early on the morning of the same day, I had lovingly sealed

the authentic veil; and a full hour had elapsed between the time of

parting with the sugar-lipped one and my return to my rooms at the

hotel.

I understood, now, why the lock of my attaché-case had been out of

order on that occasion ... and I comprehended the sweet smile of Abû

Tabâh!

II

THE DEATH-RING OF SNEFERU

I

The orchestra had just ceased playing; and, taking advantage of the

lull in the music, my companion leaned confidentially forward,

shooting suspicious glances all around him, although there was nothing

about the well-dressed after-dinner throng filling Shepheard's that

night to have aroused misgiving in the mind of a cinema anarchist.

"I have a very big thing in view," he said, speaking in a husky

whisper. "I shall be one up on you, Kernaby, if I pull it off."

He glanced sideways, in the manner of a pantomime brigand, at a party

of New York tourists, our immediate neighbors, and from them to an

elderly peer with whom I was slightly acquainted and who, in addition

to his being stone deaf, had never noticed anything in his life, much

less attempted so fatiguing an operation as intrigue.

"Indeed," I commented; and rang the bell with the purpose in view of

ordering another cooling beverage.

True, I might be the Egyptian representative of a Birmingham

commercial enterprise, but I did not gladly suffer the society of

this individual, whose only claim to my acquaintance lay in the fact

that he was in the employ of a rival house. My lack of interest

palpably disappointed him; but I thought little of the man's qualities

as a connoisseur and less of his company. His name was Theo Bishop and

I fancy that his family was associated with the tanning industry.

I have since thought more kindly of poor Bishop, but at the time of

which I write nothing could have pleased me better than his sudden

dissolution.

Perhaps unconsciously I had allowed my boredom to become rudely

apparent; for Bishop slightly turned his head aside, and--

"Right-o, Kernaby," he said; "I know you think I am an ass, so we

will say no more about it. Another cocktail?"

And now I became conscience-stricken; for mingled with the

disappointment in Bishop's tone and manner was another note. Vaguely

it occurred to me that the man was yearning for sympathy of some kind,

that he was bursting to unbosom himself, and that the vanity of a

successful rival was by no means wholly responsible. I have since

placed that ambiguous note and recognized it for a note of tragedy.

But at the time I was deaf to its pleading.

We chatted then for some while longer on indifferent topics, Bishop

being, as I have indicated, a man difficult to offend; when, having

correspondence to deal with, I retired to my own room. I suppose I

had been writing for about an hour, when a servant came to announce

a caller. Taking an ordinary visiting-card from the brass salver,

I read--

ABÛ TABÂH.

No title preceded the name, no address followed, but I became aware of

something very like a nervous thrill as I stared at the name of my

visitor. Personality is one of the profoundest mysteries of our being.

Of the person whose card I held in my hand I knew little, practically

nothing; his actions, if at times irregular, had never been wantonly

violent; his manner was gentle as that of a mother to a baby and his

singular reputation among the natives I thought I could afford to

ignore; for the Egyptian, like the Celt, with all his natural

endowments, is yet a child at heart. Therefore I cannot explain why,

sitting there in my room in Shepheard's Hotel, I knew and recognized,

at the name of Abû Tabâh, the touch of fear.

"I will see him downstairs," I said.

Then, as the servant was about to depart, recognizing that I had made

a concession to that strange sentiment which the Imám Abû Tabâh had

somehow inspired in me--

"No," I added; "show him up here to my room."

A few moments later the man returned again, carrying the brass salver,

upon which lay a sealed envelope. I took it up in surprise, noting

that it was one belonging to the hotel, and, ere opening it--

"Where is my visitor?" I said in Arabic.

"He regrets that he cannot stay," replied the man; "but he sends you

this letter."

Greatly mystified, I dismissed the servant and tore open the envelope.

Inside, upon a sheet of hotel notepaper I found this remarkable

message--

KERNABY PASHA--

There are reasons why I cannot stay to see you personally, but I

would have you believe that this warning is dictated by nothing

but friendship. Grave peril threatens. It is associated with the

hieroglyphic--

[Illustration]

If you would avert it, and if you value your life, avoid all contact

with anything bearing this figure.

ABÛ TABÂH.

The mystery deepened. There had been something incongruous about the

modern European visiting-card used by this representative of Islam,

this living illustration of the _Arabian Nights_; now, his

incomprehensible "warning" plunged me back again into the mediæval

Orient to which he properly belonged. Yet I knew Abû Tabâh, for all

his romantic aspect, to be eminently practical, and I could not credit

him with descending to the methods of melodrama.

As I studied the precise wording of the note, I seemed to see the slim

figure of its author before me, black-robed, white-turbaned, and

urbane, his delicate ivory hands crossed and resting upon the head of

the ebony cane without which I had never seen him. Almost, I succumbed

to a sort of subjective hallucination; Abû Tabâh became a veritable

presence, and the poetic beauty of his face struck me anew, as, fixing

upon me his eyes, which were like the eyes of a gazelle, he spoke the

strange words cited above, in the pure and polished English which he

held at command, and described in the air, with a long nervous

forefinger, the queer device which symbolized the Ancient Egyptian

god, Set, the Destroyer.

Of course, it was the aura of a powerful personality, clinging even to

the written message; but there was something about the impression made

upon me which argued for the writer's sincerity.

That Abû Tabâh was some kind of agent, recognized--at any rate

unofficially--by the authorities, I knew or shrewdly surmised; but the

exact nature of his activities, and how he reconciled them with his

religious duties, remained profoundly mysterious. The episode had

rendered further work impossible, and I descended to the terrace, with

no more definite object in view than that of finding a quiet corner

where I might meditate in the congenial society of my briar, and at

the same time seek inspiration from the ever-changing throng in the

Shâria Kâmel Pasha.

I had scarcely set my foot upon the terrace, however, ere a hand was

laid upon my arm. Turning quickly I recognized, in the dusk, Hassan

es-Sugra, for many years a trusted employee of the British

Archæological Society.

His demeanor was at once excited and furtive, and I recognized with

something akin to amazement that he, also, had a story to unfold. I

mentally catalogued this eventful evening "the night of strange

confidences."

Seated at a little table on the deserted balcony (for the evening was

very chilly) and directly facing the shop of Philip, the dealer in

Arab woodwork, Hassan es-Sugra told his wonder tale; and as he told it

I knew that Fate had cast me, willy-nilly, for a part in some comedy

upon which the curtain had already risen here in Cairo, and whereof

the second act should be played in perhaps the most ancient setting

which the hand of man has builded. As the narrative unrolled itself

before me, I perceived wheels within wheels; I was wholly absorbed,

yet half incredulous.

"... When the professor abandoned work on the pyramid, Kernaby Pasha,"

he said, bending eagerly forward and laying his muscular brown hand

upon my sleeve, "it was not because there was no more to learn

there."

"I am aware of this, O Hassan," I interrupted, "it was in order that

they might carry on the work at the Pyramid of Illahûn, which resulted

in a find of jewelery almost unique in the annals of Egyptology."

"Do I not know all this!" exclaimed Hassan impatiently; "and was not

mine the hand that uncovered the golden uræus? But the work projected

at the Pyramid of Méydûm was never completed, and I can tell you why."

I stared at him through the gloom; for I had already some idea

respecting the truth of this matter.

"It was that the men, over two hundred of them, refused to enter the

passage again," he whispered dramatically, "it was because misfortune

and disaster visited more than one who had penetrated to a certain

place therein." He bent further forward. "The Pyramid of Méydûm is the

home of a powerful _Efreet_, Kernaby Pasha! But I who was the last to

leave it, know what is concealed there. In a certain place, low down

in the corner of the King's Chamber, is a ring of gold, bearing a

cartouche. It is the royal ring of the Pharaoh who built the pyramid."

He ceased, watching me intently. I did not doubt Hassan's word, for I

had always counted him a man of integrity; but there was much that was

obscure and much that was mysterious in his story.

"Why did you not bring it away?" I asked.

"I feared to touch it, Kernaby Pasha; it is an evil talisman. Until

to-day I have feared to speak of it."

"And to-day!"

Hassan extended his hands, palms upward.

"I am threatened with the loss of my house," he said simply, "if I do

not find a certain sum of money within a period of twelve days."

I sat resting my chin on my hand and staring into the face of Hassan

es-Sugra. Could it be that from superstitious motives such a treasure

had indeed been abandoned? Could it be that Fate had delivered into

my hands a relic so priceless as the signet-ring of Sneferu, one of

the earliest Memphite Pharaohs? Since I had recently incurred the

displeasure of my principals, Messrs. Moses, Murphy & Co., of

Birmingham, the mere anticipation of such a "find" was sufficient to

raise my professional enthusiasm to white heat, and in those few

moments of silence I had decided upon instant action.

"Meet me at Rikka Station, to-morrow morning at nine o'clock," I said,

"and arrange for donkeys to carry us to the pyramid."

II

On my arrival at Rikka, and therefore at the very outset of my

inquiry, I met with what one slightly prone to superstition might

have regarded as an unfortunate omen. A native funeral was passing

out of the town amid the wailing of women and the chanting by the

_Yemeneeyeh_, of the Profession of the Faith, with its queer

monotonous cadences, a performance which despite its familiarity in

the Near East never failed to affect me unpleasantly. By the token of

the _tarbûsh_ upon the bier, I knew that this was a man who was being

hurried to his lonely resting-place on the fringe of the desert.

As the procession wound its way out across the sands, I saw to the

removal of my baggage and joined Hassan es-Sugra, who awaited me by

the wooden barrier. I perceived immediately that something was wrong

with the man; he was palpably laboring under the influence of some

strong excitement, and his dark eyes regarded me almost fearfully.

He was muttering to himself like one suffering from an over-indulgence

in _Hashish_, and I detected the words "_Allahu akbar!_" (God is most

great) several times repeated.

"What ails you, Hassan, my friend?" I said; and noting how his gaze

persistently returned to the melancholy procession wending its way

towards the little Moslem cemetery:--"Was the dead man some relation

of yours?"

"No, no, Kernaby Pasha," he muttered gutturally, and moistened his

lips with his tongue; "I was but slightly acquainted with him."

"Yet you are much disturbed."

"Not at all, Kernaby Pasha," he assured me; "not in the slightest."

By which familiar formula I knew that Hassan es-Sugra would conceal

from me the cause of his distress, and therefore, since I had no

appetite for further mysteries, I determined to learn it from another

source.

"See to the loading of the donkey," I directed him--for three sleek

little animals were standing beside him, patiently awaiting the toil

of the day.

Hassan setting about the task with a cheerful alacrity obviously

artificial, I approached the native station master, with whom I was

acquainted, and put to him a number of questions respecting his

important functions--in which I was not even mildly interested. But to

the Oriental mind a direct inquiry is an affront, almost an insult;

and to have inquired bluntly the name of the deceased and the manner

of his death would have been the best way to have learned nothing

whatever about the matter. Therefore having discussed in detail the

slothful incompetence of Arab ticket collectors and the lazy condition

and innate viciousness of Egyptian porters as a class, I mentioned

incidentally that I had observed a funeral leaving Rikka.

The station master (who was bursting to talk about this very matter,

but who would have declined on principle to do so had I definitely

questioned him) now unfolded to me the strange particulars respecting

the death of one, Ahmed Abdulla, who had been a retired dragoman

though some time employed as an excavator.

"He rode out one night upon his white donkey," said my informant, "and

no man knows whither he went. But it is believed, Kernaby Pasha, that

it was to the Haram el-Kaddâb" (the False Pyramid)--extending his hand

to where, beyond the belt of fertility, the tomb of Sneferu up-reared

its three platforms from the fringe of the desert. "To enter the

pyramid even in day time is to court misfortune; to enter at night is

to fall into the hands of the powerful _Efreet_ who dwells there. His

donkey returned without him, and therefore search was made for Ahmed

Abdulla. He was found the next day"--again the long arm shot out

towards the desert--"dead upon the sands, near the foot of the

pyramid."

I looked into the face of the speaker; beyond doubt he was in deadly

earnest.

"Why should Ahmed Abdulla have wanted to visit such a place at night?"

I asked.

My acquaintance lowered his voice, muttered "_Sahâm Allah fee 'adoo

ed--dîn!_" (May God transfix the enemies of the religion) and touched

his forehead, his mouth, and his breast with the iron ring which he

wore.

"There is a great treasure concealed there, Kernaby Pasha," he

replied; "a treasure hidden from the world in the days of Suleyman

the Great, sealed with his seal, and guarded by the servants of Gánn

Ibn-Gánn."

"So you think the guardian _ginn_ killed Ahmed Abdulla?"

The station master muttered invocations, and--

"There are things which may not be spoken of," he said; "but those who

saw him dead say that he was terrible to look upon. A great _Welee_, a

man of wisdom famed throughout Egypt, has been summoned to avert the

evil; for if the anger of the _ginn_ is aroused they may visit the

most painful and unfortunate penalties upon all Rikka...."

Half an hour later I set out, having confidentially informed the

station master that I sought to obtain a fine turquoise necklet which

I knew to be in the possession of the Sheikh of Méydûm. Little did I

suspect how it was written that I should indeed visit the house of the

venerable Sheikh. Out through the fields of young green corn, the palm

groves and the sycamore orchards I rode, Hassan plodding silently

behind me and leading the donkey who bore the baggage. Curious eyes

watched our passage, from field, doorway, and _shadûf_; but nothing of

note marked our journey save the tremendous heat of the sun at noon,

beneath which I knew myself a fool to travel.

I camped on the western side of the pyramid, but well clear of the

marshes, which are the home of countless wild-fowl. I had no idea how

long it would take me to extract the coveted ring from its

hiding-place (which Hassan had closely described to me); and,

remembering the speculative glances of the villagers, I had no

intention of exposing myself against the face of the pyramid until

dusk should have come to cloak my operations.

Hassan es-Sugra, whose new taciturnity was remarkable and whose

behavior was distinguished by an odd disquiet, set out with his gun to

procure our dinner, and I mounted the sandy slope on the southwest of

the pyramid, where from my cover behind a mound of rubbish, I studied

through my field-glasses the belt of vegetation marking the course of

the Nile. I could detect no sign of surveillance, but in view of the

fact that the smuggling of relics out of Egypt is a punishable offence

my caution was dictated by wisdom.

We dined excellently, Hassan the Silent and I, upon quail, tinned

tomatoes, fresh dates, bread, and Vichy-water (to which in my own case

was added a stiff three fingers of whisky).

When the newly risen moon cast an ebon shadow of the Pyramid of

Sneferu upon the carpet of the sands, I made my way around the angle

of the ancient building towards the mound on the northern side whereby

one approaches the entrance. Three paces from the shadow's edge, I

paused, transfixed, because of that which confronted me.

Outlined against the moon-bright sky upon a ridge of the desert behind

and to the north of the great structure, stood the motionless figure

of a man!

For a moment I thought that my mind had conjured up this phantasmal

watcher, that he was a thing of moon-magic and not of flesh and blood.

But as I stood regarding him, he moved, seemed to raise his head, then

turned and disappeared beyond the crest.

How long I remained staring at the spot where he had been I know not;

but I was aroused from my useless contemplation by the jingling of

camel bells. The sound came from behind me, stealing sweetly through

the stillness from a great distance. I turned in a flash, whipped out

my glasses and searched the remote fringe of the Fáyûm. Stately

across the jeweled curtain of the night moved a caravan, blackly

marked against that wondrous background. Three walking figures I

counted, three laden donkeys, and two camels. Upon the first of the

camels a man was mounted, upon the second was a _shibreeyeh_, a sort

of covered litter, which I knew must conceal a woman. The caravan

passed out of sight into the palm grove which conceals the village of

Méydûm.

I returned my glasses to their case, and stood for some moments deep

in reflection; then I descended the slope, to the tiny encampment

where I had left Hassan es-Sugra. He was nowhere to be seen; and

having waited some ten minutes I grew impatient, and raising my voice:

"Hassan!" I cried; "Hassan es-Sugra!"

No answer greeted me, although in the desert stillness the call must

have been audible for miles. A second and a third time I called his

name ... and the only reply was the shrill note of a pyramid bat that

swooped low above my head; the vast solitude of the sands swallowed up

my voice and the walls of the Tomb of Sneferu mocked me with their

echo, crying eerily:

"Hassan! Hassan es-Sugra.... Hassan!..."

III

This mysterious episode affected me unpleasantly, but did not divert

me from my purpose: I succeeded in casting out certain demons of

superstition who had sought to lay hold upon me; and a prolonged

scrutiny of the surrounding desert somewhat allayed my fears of human

surveillance. For my visit to the chamber in the heart of the ancient

building I had arrayed myself in rubber-soled shoes, an old pair of

drill trousers, and a pyjama jacket. A Colt repeater was in my hip

pocket, and, in addition to several instruments which I thought might

be useful in extracting the ring from its setting, I carried a

powerful electric torch.

Seated on the threshold of the entrance, fifty feet above the desert

level, I cast a final glance backward towards the Nile valley, then,

the lighted torch carried in my jacket pocket, I commenced the descent

of the narrow, sloping passage. Periodically, when some cranny between

the blocks offered a foothold, I checked my progress, and inspected

the steep path below for snake tracks.

Some two hundred and forty feet of labored, descent discovered me in

a sort of shallow cavern little more than a yard high and partly hewn

out of the living rock which formed the foundation of the pyramid.

In this place I found the heat to be almost insufferable, and the smell

of remote mortality which assailed my nostrils from the sand-strewn

floor threatened to choke me. For five minutes or more I lay there,

bathed in perspiration, my nerves at high tension, listening for the

slightest sound within or without. I cannot pretend that I was

entirely master of myself. The stuff that fear is made of seemed to

rise from the ancient dust; and I had little relish for the second

part of my journey, which lay through a long horizontal passage rarely

exceeding fourteen inches in height. The mere memory of that final

crawl of forty feet or so is sufficient to cause me to perspire

profusely; therefore let it suffice that I reached the end of the

second passage, and breathing with difficulty the deathful, poisonous

atmosphere of the place, found myself at the foot of the rugged shaft

which gives access to the King's Chamber. Resting my torch upon a

convenient ledge, I climbed up, and knew myself to be in one of the

oldest chambers fashioned by human handiwork.

The journey had been most exhausting, but, allowing myself only a few

moments' rest, I crossed to the eastern corner of the place and

directed a ray of light upon the crevice which, from Hassan's

description, I believed to conceal the ring. His account having been

detailed, I experienced little difficulty in finding the cavity; but

in the very moment of success the light of the torch grew dim ... and

I recognized with a mingling of chagrin and fear that it was burnt out

and that I had no means of recharging it.

Ere the light expired, I had time to realize two things: that the

cavity was empty ... and that someone or something was approaching the

foot of the shaft along the horizontal passage below!

Strictly though I have schooled my emotions, my heart was beating in

a most uncomfortable fashion, as, crouching near the edge of the shaft,

I watched the red glow fade from the delicate filament of the lamp.

Retreat was impossible; there is but one entrance to the pyramid; and

the darkness which now descended upon me was indescribable; it

possessed horrific qualities; it seemed palpably to enfold me like the

wings of some monstrous bat. The air of the King's Chamber I found to

be almost unbearable, and it was no steady hand with which I gripped

my pistol.

The sounds of approach continued. The suspense was becoming

intolerable--when, into the Memphian gloom below me, there suddenly

intruded a faint but ever-growing light. Between excitement and

insufficient air, I regarded suffocation as imminent. Then, out into

view beneath me, was thrust a slim ivory hand which held an electric

pocket lamp. Fascinatedly I watched it, saw it joined by its fellow,

then observed a white-turbaned head and a pair of black-robed

shoulders follow. In my surprise I almost dropped the weapon which

I held. The new arrival now standing upright and raising his head,

I found myself looking into the face of _Abû Tabâh_!

"To Allah, the Great, the Compassionate, be all praise that I have

found you alive," he said simply.

He exhibited little evidence of the journey which I had found so

fatiguing, but an expression strongly like that of real anxiety rested

upon his ascetic face.

"If life is dear to you," he continued, "answer me this, Kernaby

Pasha; have you found the ring?"

"I have not," I replied; "my lamp failed me; but I think the ring is

gone."

And now, as I spoke the words, the strangeness of his question came

home to me, bringing with it an acute suspicion.

"What do you know of this ring, O my friend?" I asked.

Abû Tabâh shrugged his shoulders.

"I know much that is evil," he replied; "and because you doubt the

purity of my motives, all that I have learned you shall learn also;

for Allah the Great, the Merciful, this night has protected you from

danger and spared you a frightful death. Follow me, Kernaby Pasha,

in order that these things may be made manifest to you."

IV

A pair of fleet camels were kneeling at the foot of the slope below

the entrance to the pyramid, and having recovered somewhat from the

effect of the fatiguing climb out from the King's Chamber--

"It might be desirable," I said, "that I adopt a more suitable raiment

for camel riding?"

Abû Tabâh slowly shook his head in that dignified manner which never

deserted him. He had again taken up his ebony walking-stick and was

now resting his crossed hands upon it and regarding me with his

strange, melancholy eyes.

"To delay would be unwise," he replied. "You have mercifully been

spared a painful and unfortunate end (all praise to Him who averted

the peril); but the ring, which bears an ancient curse, is gone: for

me there is no rest until I have found and destroyed it."

He spoke with a solemn conviction which bore the seal of verity.

"Your destructive theory may be perfectly sound," I said; "but as one

professionally interested in relics of the past, I feel called upon to

protest. Perhaps before we proceed any further you will enlighten me

respecting this most obscure matter. Can you inform me, for example,

what became of Hassan es-Sugra?"

"He observed my approach from a distance, and fled, being a man of

little virtue. Respecting the other matters you shall be fully

enlightened, to-night. The white camel is for you."

There was a gentle finality in his manner to which I succumbed. My

feelings towards this mysterious being had undergone a slight change;

and whilst I cannot truthfully say that I loved him as a brother,

a certain respect for Abû Tabâh was taking possession of my mind. I

began to understand his reputation with the natives; beyond doubt his

uncanny wisdom was impressive; his lofty dignity awed. And no man is

at his best arrayed in canvas shoes, very dirty drill trousers, and

a pyjama jacket.

As I had anticipated, the village of Méydûm proved to be our

destination, and the gait of the magnificent creatures upon which we

were mounted was exhausting. I shall always remember that moonlight

ride across the desert to the palm groves of Méydûm. I entered the

house of the Sheikh with misgivings; for my attire fell short of the

ideal to which every representative of protective Britain looks up,

but often fails to realize.

In a _mandarah_, part of it inlaid with fine mosaic and boasting a

pretty fountain, I was presented to the imposing old man who was

evidently the host of Abû Tabâh. Ere taking my seat upon the _dîwan_,

I shed my canvas shoes, in accordance with custom, accepted a pipe and

a cup of excellent coffee, and awaited with much curiosity the next

development. A brief colloquy between Abû Tabâh and the Sheikh, at the

further end of the apartment resulted in the disappearance of the

Sheikh and the approach of my mysterious friend.

"Because, although you are not a Moslem, you are a man of culture and

understanding," said Abû Tabâh, "I have ordered that my sister shall

be brought into your presence."

"That is exceedingly good of you," I said, but indeed I knew it to be

an honor which spoke volumes at once for Abû Tabâh's enlightenment and

good opinion of myself.

"She is a virgin of great beauty," he continued; "and the excellence

of her mind exceeds the perfection of her person."

"I congratulate you," I answered politely, "upon the possession of a

sister in every way so desirable."

Abû Tabâh inclined his head in a characteristic gesture of gentle

courtesy.

"Allah has indeed blessed my house," he admitted; "and because your

mind is filled with conjectures respecting the source of certain

information which you know me to possess, I desire that the matter

shall be made clear to you."

How I should have answered this singular man I know not; but as he

spoke the words, into the _mandarah_ came the Sheikh, followed by a

girl robed and veiled entirely in white. With gait slow and graceful

she approached the _dîwan_. She wore a white _yelek_ so closely

wrapped about her that it concealed the rest of her attire, and a

white _tarbar_, or head-veil, decorated with gold embroidery, almost

entirely concealed her hair, save for one jet-black plait in which

little gold ornaments were entwined and which hung down on the left of

her forehead. A white _yashmak_ reached nearly to her feet, which were

clad in little red leather slippers.

As she approached me I was impressed, not so much with the details of

her white attire, nor with the fine lines of a graceful figure which

the gossamer robe quite failed to conceal, but with her wonderful

gazelle-like eyes, which wore uncannily like those of her brother,

save that their bordering of _kohl_ lent them an appearance of being

larger and more luminous.

No form of introduction was observed; with modestly lowered eyes the

girl saluted me and took her seat upon a heap of cushions before a

small coffee table set at one end of the _dîwan_. The Sheikh, seated

himself beside me, and Abû Tabâh, with a reed pen, wrote something

rapidly on a narrow strip of paper. The Sheikh clapped his hands, a

man entered bearing a brazier containing live charcoal, and, having

placed it upon the floor, immediately withdrew. The _dîwan_ was

lighted by a lantern swung from the ceiling, and its light, pouring

fully down upon the white figure of the girl, and leaving the other

persons and objects in comparative shadow, produced a picture which

I am unlikely to forget.

Amid a tense silence, Abû Tabâh took from a box upon the table some

resinous substance. This he sprinkled upon the fire in the brazier;

and the girl extending a small hand and round soft arm across the

table, he again dipped his pen in the ink and drew upon the upturned

palm a rough square which he divided into nine parts, writing in each

an Arabic figure. Finally, in the centre he poured a small drop of

ink, upon which, in response to words rapidly spoken, the girl fixed

an intent gaze.

Into the brazier Abû Tabâh dropped one by one fragments of the paper

upon which he had written what I presumed to be a form of invocation.

Immediately, standing between the smoking brazier and the girl, he

commenced a subdued muttering. I recognized that I was about to be

treated to an exhibition of _darb el-mendel_, Abû Tabâh being

evidently a _sahhar_, or adept in the art called _er-roohânee_. Save

for this indistinct muttering, no other sound disturbed the silence of

the apartment, until suddenly the girl began to speak Arabic and in a

sweet but monotonous voice.

"Again I see the ring," she said, "a hand is holding it before me.

The ring bears a green scarab, upon which is written the name of a

king of Egypt.... The ring is gone. I can see it no more."

"Seek it," directed Abû Tabâh in a low voice, and threw more incense

upon the fire. "Are you seeking it?"

"Yes," replied the girl, who now began to tremble violently, "I am in

a low passage which slopes downwards so steeply that I am afraid."

"Fear nothing," said Abû Tabâh; "follow the passage."

With marvelous fidelity the girl described the passage and the shaft

leading to the King's Chamber in the Pyramid of Méydûm. She described

the cavity in the wall where once (if Hassan es-Sugra was worthy of

credence) the ring had been concealed.

"There is a freshly made hole in the stonework," she said. "The

picture has gone; I am standing in some dark place and the same hand

again holds the ring before me."

"Is it the hand of an Oriental," asked Abû Tabâh, "or of a European?"

"It is the hand of a European. It has disappeared; I see a funeral

procession winding out from Rikka into the desert."

"Follow the ring," directed Abû Tabâh, a queer, compelling note in his

voice.

Again he sprinkled perfume upon the fire and--

"I see a Pharaoh upon his throne," continued the monotonous voice,

"upon the first finger of his left hand he wears the ring with the

green scarab. A prisoner stands before him in chains; a woman pleads

with the king, but he is deaf to her. He draws the ring from his

finger and hands it to one standing behind the throne--one who has a

very evil face. Ah!..."

The girl's voice died away in a low wail of fear or horror. But--

"What do you see?" demanded Abû Tabâh.

"The death-ring of Pharaoh!" whispered the soft voice tremulously; "it

is the death-ring!"

"Return from the past to the present," ordered Abû Tabâh. "Where is

the ring now?"

He continued his weird muttering, whilst the girl, who still shuddered

violently, peered again into the pool of ink. Suddenly--

"I see a long line of dead men," she whispered, speaking in a kind of

chant; "they are of all the races of the East, and some are swathed in

mummy wrappings; the wrappings are sealed with the death-ring of

Pharaoh. They are passing me slowly, on their way across the desert

from the Pyramid of Méydûm to a narrow ravine where a tent is erected.

They go to summon one who is about to join their company...."

I suppose the suffocating perfume of the burning incense was chiefly

responsible, but at this point I realized that I was becoming dizzy

and that immediate departure into a cooler atmosphere was imperative.

Quietly, in order to avoid disturbing the séance, I left the

_mandarah_. So absorbed were the three in their weird performance that

my departure was apparently unnoticed. Out in the coolness of the palm

grove I soon recovered. I doubt if I possess the temperament which

enables one to contemplate with equanimity a number of dead men

promenading in their shrouds.

V

"The truth is now wholly made manifest," said Abû Tabâh; "the

revelation is complete."

Once more I was mounted upon the white camel and the mysterious _imám_

rode beside me upon its fellow, which was of less remarkable color.

"I hear your words," I replied.

"The poor Ahmed Abdulla," he continued, "who was of little wisdom,

knew, as Hassan es-Sugra knew, of the hidden ring; for he was one of

those who fled from the pyramid refusing to enter it again. Greed

spoke to him, however, and he revealed the secret to a certain

Englishman, called Bishop, contracting to aid him in recovering the

ring."

At last enlightenment was mine ... and it brought in its train a

dreadful premonition.

"Something I knew of the peril," said Abû Tabâh, "but not, at first,

all. The Englishman I warned, but he neglected my warning. Already

Ahmed Abdulla was dead, having been despatched by his employer to the

pyramid; and the people of Rikka had sent for me. Now, by means known

to you, I learned that evil powers threatened your life also, in what

form I knew not at that time save that the sign of Set had been

revealed to me in conjunction with your death."

I shuddered.

"That the secret of the pyramid was a Pharaoh's ring I did not learn

until later; but now it is made manifest that the thing of power is

the death-ring of Sneferu...."

The huge bulk of the Pyramid of Méydûm loomed above us as he spoke the

words, for we were nearly come to our destination; and its proximity

occasioned within me a physical chill. I do not think an open check

for a thousand pounds would have tempted me to enter the place again.

The death-ring of Sneferu possessed uncomfortable and supernatural

properties. So far as I was aware, no example of such a ring (the

_lettre de cachet_ of the period) was included in any known collection.

One dating much after Sneferu, and bearing the cartouche of Apepi II

(one of the Hyksos, or Shepherd Kings) came to light late in the

nineteenth century; it was reported to be the ring which, traditionally,

Joseph wore as emblematical of the power vested in him by Pharaoh.

Sir Gaston Maspero and other authorities considered it to be a forgery

and it vanished from the ken of connoisseurs. I never learned by what

firm it was manufactured.

A mile to the west of the pyramid we found Theo Bishop's encampment.

I thought it to be deserted--until I entered the little tent....

An oil-lamp stood upon a wooden box; and its rays made yellow the face

of the man stretched upon the camp-bed. My premonition was realized;

Bishop must have entered the pyramid less than an hour ahead of me;

he it was who had stood upon the mound, silhouetted against the sky,

when I had first approached the slope. He had met with the fate of

Ahmed Abdulla.

He had been dead for at least two hours, and by the token of certain

hideous glandular swellings, I knew that he had met his end by the

bite of an Egyptian viper.

"Abû Tabâh!" I cried, my voice hoarsely unnatural--"the _recess_ in

the King's Chamber is a viper's nest!"

"You speak wisdom, Kernaby Pasha; the viper is the servant of the

_ginn_."

Upon the third finger of his swollen right hand Bishop wore the ring

of ghastly history; and the mysterious significance of the Sign of Set

became apparent. For added to the usual cartouche of the Pharaoh was

the symbol of the god of destruction, thus:

[Illustration]

We buried him deeply, piling stones upon the grave, that the jackals

of the desert might never disturb the last holder of the death-ring of

Sneferu.

III

THE LADY OF THE LATTICE

I

The interior of the room was very dark, but with the aid of the

electric torch which I carried I was enabled to form a fairly good

impression of its general character, and having now surveyed the

entire house I had concluded that it might possibly serve my purpose.

The real ownership of many native houses in Cairo is difficult to

establish, and the unveracious Egyptian from whom I had procured the

keys may or may not have been entitled to let the premises. However,

he had the keys; and that in the Near East is a sufficient evidence of

ownership. My viewing the place at night was dictated by motives of

prudence; for I did not propose unduly to impress my personality upon

the inhabitants of the Darb el-Ahmar.

Curiosity respecting the outlook at the rear now led me to enter the

deep recess at one end of the room, which boasted an imperfect but not

unpicturesque _mushrabîyeh_ window. Moonlight slanted down into the

narrow lane which the window overhung and cast a quaint fretwork

shadow upon the dusty floor at my feet. Idly I opened one of the

little square lattices and peered down into the shadowy gully beneath.

The lane was silent and empty, and I next directed my attention to a

similar window which protruded from the adjoining house.

A panel corresponding to mine stood open also in the neighboring

window; and by means of a soft light in the room I detected the head

and shoulders of a woman, who, her arm resting upon the ledge,

surveyed the vacant night.

By reason of her position, whilst her hand and arm lay fully in the

moonlight, her face and figure were indistinct. I, on the contrary,

was clearly visible to her, and although I knew that she must have

seen me she made no effort to withdraw. On the contrary, she leaned

artlessly forward as if to gaze upon the stars, permitting me a sight

of her unveiled face and of a portion of her shapely neck.

Her eyes, as is usual with Egyptian women, were large and fine, and

as is usual with all women, she was aware of the fact, casting glances

upward and to the right and left calculated to exhibit their beauty.

The coquetry of her movements was unmistakable; and when, lifting a

pretty arm, she brushed aside a lock of hair which overhung her brow

and uttered a tremulous sigh, I perceived that I had found favor in

her sight.

And indeed the graceful gesture had inclined my heart towards her;

for it had served to reveal not only the symmetry of her shape but the

presence upon her arm, immediately above the elbow, of a magnificent

bangle in gold and lapis-lazuli which, if I might trust my judgment,

was fashioned no later than the XIXth dynasty! Clearly the house next

door, and its occupant, were the property of some man of wealth and

taste.

There is a maxim in the East--"Avoid the veil"; and to this hitherto

I had paid the strictest attention. Soft glances from _harêm_ windows

usually leave me cold. But the presence of an armlet finer than

anything in the Treasure of Zagazig placed a new complexion upon this

affair, and the connoisseur within me took the matter out of my hands.

Across the intervening patch of darkness our glances met; the girl's

dark lashes were lowered demurely, then raised again, and the boldness

of my unfaltering gaze was rewarded by a smile. Thus encouraged:--

"O daughter of the moon," I whispered fancifully in Arabic,

"condescend to speak to one whom the sight of thy beauty hath

enslaved."

"I fear to be discovered, Inglîsi," came the soft reply; "or willingly

would I converse with thee, for I am lonely and wretched."

She sighed again and directed upon me a glance that was less wretched

than roguish. Evidently the adventure was much to her liking.

"Let me solace your loneliness," I replied; "for assuredly we can

conceive some plan of meeting."

She lowered her eyes at that, and seemed to hesitate; then--

"In the roof of your house," she whispered, often glancing over her

shoulder into the room beyond, "is a trap--which is bolted...."

Footsteps sounded in the lane beneath--whereat the vision at the

window vanished and the lattice was closed; but not before the girl

had intimated by a gesture that I was to remain.

Discreetly withdrawing into my dusty apartment, I endeavored to make

out the form of the intruder who now was passing underneath the

window; but the density of the shadows in the lane rendered it

impossible for me to do so. He seemed to pause for a time and I

imagined that I could see him staring upward; then he passed on and

silence again claimed that deserted quarter of Cairo.

For fully half an hour I waited, and was preparing to depart when a

part of the shadows overlying the projecting window seemed to grow

blacker, and I realized with joy that at last the lattice was

reopening, but that the room within was now in darkness. Whilst I

watched, remaining scrupulously invisible, a small parcel deftly

thrown dropped upon the floor at my feet--and my neighbor's window was

reclosed.

Closing my own, I picked up the parcel. It proved to be a small ivory

box, which at some time had evidently contained _kohl_, wrapped in a

piece of silk and containing a note. Returning to the lower floor I

directed the light of my electric torch upon this charmingly romantic

billet. It was conceived in English and characterized by the rather

alarming _naiveté_ of the Oriental woman. I give it in its entirety.

"To-morrow night, nine o'clock."

II

My cautious inquiries respecting the house in the Darb el-Ahmar led

only to the discovery that it belonged to a mysterious personage whose

real identity was unknown even to his servants; but this did not

particularly intrigue me; for in the East the maintenance of two

entirely self-contained establishments is not more uncommon than in

countries less generously provided in the matter of marriage laws.

After all the taking of a second wife does not so much depend on a

man's religious convictions as upon his first wife.

Reflecting upon the probable history of the armlet of lapis-lazuli,

I returned to Shepheard's in time to keep my appointment with Joseph

Malaglou--a professed Christian who claimed to be of Greek parentage.

I may explain here that it was necessary to provide for the safe

conduct through the customs and elsewhere of those cases of "Sheffield

cutlery" which actually contained the scarabs, necklaces, and other

"antiques," the sale of which formed a part of the business of my

firm. Joseph Malaglou had hitherto successfully conducted this matter

for me, receiving the goods and storing them at his own warehouse; but

for various reasons I had decided in future to lease an establishment

of my own for this purpose.

He was waiting in the lounge as I entered, and had he been less useful

to me I think I should have had him thrown out; for if ever a swarthy

villain stepped forth from the pages of an illustrated "penny

dreadful," that swarthy villain was Joseph Malaglou. He approached me

with outstretched hand; he was perniciously polite; his ingratiating

smile fired my soul with a lust of blood. Fortunately, our business

was brief.

"The latest consignment is in the hands of my agent at Alexandria,"

he said, "and if you are still determined that the ten cases shall

be despatched to you direct, I will instruct him; but you cannot

very well have them sent _here_."

He shrugged and smiled, glancing all about the lounge.

"I have no intention of converting Shepheard's Hotel into a cutlery

warehouse," I replied. "I will advise you in the morning of the

address to which the cases should be despatched."

Joseph Malaglou was palpably disturbed--a mysterious circumstance,

since, whilst I had made no mention of reducing his fees, under the

new arrangement he would be saved trouble and storage.

"As delay in these matters is unwise," he urged, "why not have the

goods despatched immediately, and consigned to you at my address?"

There was reason on the man's side, for I had not yet actually leased

the house in the Darb el-Ahmar; therefore--

"I will sleep on the problem," I said, "and communicate my decision in

the morning."

I stood on the steps watching him depart, a man palpably disturbed in

mind; indeed his behavior was altogether singular, and could only

portend one thing--knavery. I think it highly probable that the

Ottoman Empire had a certain claim upon Joseph Malaglou. He was one of

those nondescript brutes whose mere existence is a menace to our rule

in the Near East. He openly applauded British methods, and was the

worst possible advertisement for the cause he claimed to have

espoused. Altogether he left me in an uneasy mood; so that shortly

after the third, or daybreak, call to prayer had sounded from Cairo's

minarets on the morrow, I had arranged to lease the house in the Darb

el-Ahmar for a period of three months, in the name of one Ahmed Ben

Tawwab, a mythical friend, and had instructed Joseph Malaglou

accordingly.

Other affairs claimed my attention throughout the day; but dusk

discovered me at my newly acquired house in the quaint street

adjoining the Bâb ez-Zuwêla. I procured the keys from the venerable

old thief who had leased me the premises and learned from him that a

representative of Joseph Malaglou had been admitted to the house

earlier in the evening, in accordance with my instructions, and had

delivered a load of boxes there.

Thus, on opening the door, I was not surprised to find the ten cases

from Alexandria lying within, neatly labelled:

To Ahmed Ben Tawwab,

Darb el-Ahmar,

Sukkarîya,

Cairo.

Ascending to the top floor, I mounted the rickety ladder and unbolted

and opened the trap. A cautious glance to the right revealed the fact

that little difficulty existed in passing from roof to roof; for in

Egyptian houses these are flat and are used for various domestic

purposes. I consulted my watch: the hour of the tryst was come.

And even as I learned the fact, from my neighbor's roof sounded the

faint creaking of hinges ... and out into the moonlight stepped an odd

figure--that of the lady of the lattice, dressed in a "European" blue

serge costume which had obviously been purchased, ready made, in the

bazaars! She wore high-heeled French shoes upon her pretty feet and

her picturesque hair was concealed beneath a large Panama hat, from

the brim of which floated one of those voluminous green veils dear to

the heart of touring woman and so arranged as to hide her face. Only

the gleam of her eyes and teeth was visible through the gauze.

I assisted her to step across, wondering since she was thus attired,

to what crazy expedition I was committed.

"Please do not kiss me," she whispered, speaking in moderately good

English, "Fatimah is listening!"

Such ingenuousness was rather alarming.

"But," I replied, "you have left the trap open."

"It is all right. Fatimah has locked the door of my room and will

admit no one, because I have a headache and am sleeping!"

Resting her hand confidingly in mine, she descended the ladder into

the adjoining house, and, removing the veil from her face, looked up

at me.

"You will be kind to me, will you not?" she asked.

I suppose a lengthy essay upon the mentality of Oriental womanhood

would serve no purpose here, therefore I refrain from inserting it.

Seated upon the chests in the room below, Mizmûna--for this was her

name--confided her troubles with perturbing frankness. She had

conceived a characteristically Eastern and sudden infatuation for my

society; nor am I prepared to maintain that she would have remained

obdurate to anyone else who had been in a position to unbolt the door

which offered the only chance of escape from her prison. The house of

mystery, she informed me, belonged to a person styling himself Yûssuf

of Rosetta (a name that sounded factitious) and she hated him. For two

months, I gathered, she had been in Cairo, during which time she had

never passed beyond the walls of the neighboring courtyard. And the

object of her nocturnal adventure was innocent enough; she wanted to

see the European shops and the tourists passing in and out of the big

hotels in the Shâria Kâmel Pasha!

III

It was as we passed along the Shâria el-Maghribi, where I had pointed

out the St. James's Restaurant, better known as "Jimmy's," I remember,

that Mizmûna uttered a little, suppressed cry, and clutched my arm

sharply.

"Oh!" she whispered fearfully, "it is Hanna! and he has seen me!"

With frightened, fascinated eyes she was staring across the street,

apparently at a group of curiously muffled natives--and her whole body

was trembling.

"Quick!" she said, pulling me urgently, "take me back! if they find me

they will kill me!"

"But if they have already seen you----"

"Oh! take me back," she entreated piteously. "Hanna must not find out

where I live."

Here was mystery; but evidently my first dreadful theory that Hanna

was Mizmûna's husband had been incorrect. Apparently he was not even

acquainted with Yûssuf of Rosetta. But whoever or whatever he might

be, I silently cursed the lapis armlet which had led me to involve

myself in his affairs, as I hurried my companion across the Place de

l'Opera and homeward....

We were come indeed unmolested but breathless, as near our destination

as that nameless street beside the Mosque of Muayyâd, when Mizmûna

suddenly stopped, uttered a stifled shriek, and--

"Oh, save me!" she panted, winding her arms about my neck. "Look!

Look! in the shadow of the mosque door!"

Panic threatened me for one fleeting moment; for this part of Cairo is

utterly deserted at night and the mystery of the thing was taking toll

of my nerves; then firmly unclasping the trembling arms, I pushed

Mizmûna behind me and snatched out my Colt automatic ... as a group of

muffled figures became magically detached from the shadows that had

hidden them; and began silently to advance.

I raised the pistol.

"_Usbur!_" I cried "_âuz eh?_" (Stop! what do you want?)

They halted at once; but no answering voice broke the uncanny silence

in which they regarded me. Mizmûna plucked at my arm.

"Quick! Quick!" she whispered tremulously, "the keys! the keys!"

I was swift to grasp her meaning.

"My right pocket!" I whispered in answer.

The girl's shaking hand groped for the keys, found them; and, uttering

no parting word, Mizmûna darted off along the Sukkarîya, which here

bisects the Darb el-Ahmar. An angry muttering arose from the little

knot of oddly muffled figures, but not one of them had the courage to

attempt a pursuit of the fugitive. Keeping my back to the wall of the

mosque and feeling along it with one hand outstretched, I began to

back away from the attacking party; intending to take to my heels

along the first lane I came to.

This plan was sound enough; its weakness lay in the fact that I could

make no proper survey of that which lay immediately behind me. The

result was that I backed into someone who must have been stealthily

approaching from the rear.

I knew nothing of his presence until he suddenly threw himself upon

from behind, and I was down on my face in the dust! My pistol was

jerked out of my hand, and, still preserving that unbroken

disconcerting silence, the muffled group bore down upon me.

I gave myself up for lost. My unseen assailant, who seemingly

possessed wrists of steel, jerked my right hand up into the region of

my shoulder-blades and pinioned my left arm so as to render me

helpless as an infant. Then two of the muffled Nubians--for Nubians

the moonlight now showed them to be--raised me to my feet, and the

grip from behind was removed.

That I had unwittingly intruded upon the amours of some wealthy and

unscrupulous pasha I no longer doubted; and knowing somewhat of the

ways of outraged lovers of the East, the mental vision which arose

before me was unpleasing to contemplate. Yet even the extravagant

picture which my imagination had painted fell short of the ferocious

reality. For even as I was lifted upright, in the grasp of my huge

guards, a door in the side of the neighboring mosque burst open, and

there sprang into view an excessively tall, excessively lean and

hawk-faced old man carrying a naked scimitar in his hand.

He possessed eyes like the eyes of an eagle, and a thin, hooked nose

having dilated, quivering nostrils. In three huge strides he reached

me, towered over me like some evil _ginnee_ of Arabian lore, and

raised his gleaming scimitar with the unmistakable intention of

severing my head from my trunk at a single blow!

I think I have never experienced an identical sensation in my life;

my tongue clave to the roof of my mouth; my heart suspended its

functions; and I felt my eyes start forward in their sockets. I had

not thought my constitution capable of such profound and helpless

fear, nor had I hitherto paid proper respect to the memory of Charles

I. I would gladly have closed my eyes in order that I might not

witness the downward sweep of the fatal blade, but the lids seemed to

be paralysed. Never whilst memory serves me can I forget one detail of

the appearance of that frightful old devil; and never can I forget my

gratitude to that unseen captor, the man who had seized me from

behind, and who now, alone, averted the blade from my neck.

Over my head he lunged--with an ebony stick--and skilfully; so that

the pointed ferrule came well and truly into contact with the knuckles

of my would-be executioner. The weapon fell, jingling, at my feet ...

and a slim, black-robed figure was suddenly interposed between myself

and the furious old Arab.

It was Abû Tabâh!

Dignified, unruffled, his classically beautiful face composed and

resembling, in the moonlight, beneath the snowy turban, that of some

young prophet, he stood, one protective hand resting upon my shoulder,

and confronted my assailant. His eyes were aglow with the eerie light

of fanaticism.

"It is written that the wrath of fools is the joy of Iblees,"[A] he

declared.

[A] Satan.

Their glances met in conflict, the eagle eyes of my aged but

formidable enemy glaring insanely into the fine, dark eyes of Abû

Tabâh. The Arab was by no means quelled; yet presently his glance fell

before the hypnotic stare of the mysterious _imám_.

"The Prophet (may God be kind to him) spared not the despoiler!" he

said heavily. "With these, my two hands"--he extended the twitching,

sinewy members before Abû Tabâh--"will I choke the life from the

throat of the dog who wronged me."

Abû Tabâh raised his hand sternly.

"This matter has been entrusted to _me_," he said, staring down the

enraged old man. "If you would have me abandon it, say so; if you

would have me pursue it, be silent."

For five seconds the other sustained the strange gaze of those big,

mysterious eyes, then folded his arms upon his breast, audibly

gnashing his large and strong-looking teeth and averting his head from

my direction in order that spleen might not consume him. Abû Tabâh

turned and confronted me.

"Explain the cause of your presence here," he demanded, continuing to

speak in Arabic, "and unfold to me the whole truth respecting your

case."

"My friend," I replied, steadily regarding him, "I am eternally your

debtor; but I decline to utter one word for explanation until these

fellows unhand me and until I am offered some suitable excuse for the

outrageous attack upon my person."

Abû Tabâh performed his curiously Gallic shrug of the shoulders--and

pointed, with his ebony cane, to my pinioned arms. In a trice the

Nubians fell back, and I was free. The infuriated old man directed

upon me a glance that was bloodily ferocious, but--

"O persons of little piety," I said, "is it thus that a true Moslem

rewards the generous impulse and the meritorious deed? To-night a

damsel in distress, flying from a brutal captor, solicited my aid.

I was treacherously assaulted ere I could escort her to a place of

safety, and all but murdered by the man who would appear to be that

damsel's natural protector. Alas, I fear to contemplate what may have

befallen her as a result of such vile and foolish conduct."

Abû Tabâh slightly inclined his body resting his slim, ivory hands

upon his cane; his face remained perfectly tranquil as he listened to

this correct, though misleading statement; but--

"Ah!" cried the old man of the scimitar, adopting an unpleasant,

crouching attitude, "perjured liar that thou art! Did I not see with

mine own eyes how she embraced thee? O, son of a mange, that I should

have lived to have witnessed so obscene a spectacle. Not content with

despoiling me of this jewel of my _harêm_, thou dost parade her

abandonment and my shame in the public highways of Cairo!..."

In vain Abû Tabâh strove to check this tirade. Step by step the Sheikh

approached closer; syllable by syllable his voice rose higher.

"What!" he shrieked, "is it for this that I have offered five thousand

English pounds to whomsoever shall restore her to me! Faugh! I spit

upon her memory!--and though I pursue thee to the Mountains of the

Moon, across the Bridge Es-Sîrat, and through the valley of Gahennam,

lo! my hour will come to slay thee, noisome offal!"

He ceased from lack of breath, and stood quivering before me. But at

last I had grasped the clue to this imbroglio into which fate had

thrust me.

"O misguided man," I replied, "grief hath upset thine intelligence.

Again I tell thee that I sought to deliver the damsel from her

persecutor, and, perceiving an ambush, she clung to me as her only

protector. Thou are demented. Let another earn the paltry reward;

I will have none of it."

I turned to Abû Tabâh, addressing him in English.

"Relieve me of the society of this infatuated old ruffian," I said,

"and accompany me to some place where I can quietly explain what I

know of the matter."

"Assuredly I will accompany you to such a spot," he answered suavely;

"for whilst, knowing your character, I do not believe you to be the

abductor of the damsel Mizmûna, a warrant to search your house was

issued an hour ago, on a charge of _hashish_ smuggling!"

IV

There are certain shocks that numb the brain. This was one of them.

My recollection of the period immediately following those words of Abû

Tabâh is hazy and indistinct. My narrow escape from decapitation at

the hands of the ferocious Arab assassin and the tangled love-affairs

of that aged Othello became insignificant memories. (I seem to

recollect that we left him in tears.)

My next clear-cut memory is that of walking beside the mysterious

_imâm_ along the Darb el-Ahmar and of stopping before the closed door

of my newly acquired premises!

The street was quite deserted again. Those muffled Nubians who seemed

to constitute a bodyguard for my inscrutable companion had disappeared

in company with the bereaved Sheikh.

"This is your house?" said Abû Tabâh sweetly.

My habit of thinking before I speak or act asserted itself

automatically.

"I recently leased it on another's behalf," I replied.

"In that event," continued the _imâm_, "unless the information lodged

with me to-night prove to be inaccurate, that other must speedily

proclaim himself."

He tested the cumbersome lock, and, as I knew would be the case, since

Mizmûna had recently entered, found it to be unfastened, opened the

door and stepped in.

"Have you a pocket lamp?" he asked.

I pressed the button of my electric torch and directed its rays fully

upon the stack of boxes. It was the great sage, Apollonius of Tyana,

who said "loquacity has many pitfalls, but silence none"; therefore I

silently watched Abû Tabâh consulting the label on the topmost chest.

Presently--

"Ahmed Ben Tawwab," he read aloud; "is that the name of the friend on

whose behalf you secured a lease of this house?"

"It is," I answered.

"If you will rest the light upon this box and assist me to open one of

the others, I shall be obliged to you," said Abû Tabâh.

Knowing, as I did, that this strange man was in some way connected

with the native police and with the guardianship of Egyptian morals,

I recognized refusal to be impolitic if not impossible. But, as we set

to work to raise the lid of the chest, my mind was more feverishly

busy than my fingers.

Ere long our task was successful, and the contents of the chest lay

exposed. These were: two hundred Osiris statuettes, twelve one-pound

tins of mummy heads ... _and fifty packets of hashish_.

Silence was no effort to me now; I was dumbfounded. The musical voice

of my companion broke in upon my painful reverie.

"The information upon which I now am acting," he said, "reached me

to-night in the form of a letter, bearing no address and no

signature. The suppression of this vile _hashish_ traffic is so near

to my heart that I immediately secured the necessary powers to search

the premises named, and was on my way hither when I observed you

(although I did not at once recognize you) in the act of escaping from

a group of my servants who had been detailed, some weeks ago, to trace

a missing damsel known to be in Cairo. Concerning your share in that

affair I await a full statement from your own lips; concerning your

share in this I can only say that unless Ahmed Ben Tawwab comes

forward by to-morrow and admits his guilt, I must apply to the British

agent for a formal inquiry. Is there anything that you would wish to

say, or any action you desire that I should take?"

I turned to him in the dim light. Habitually I am undemonstrative,

especially with natives. But there was a nobility and an implacable

sense of justice about this singular _religieux_ which conquered me

completely.

"Abû Tabâh," I said, "I thank you for your friendship. I have

committed a grave folly; but I am neither an abductor nor a _hashish_

dealer. This is the work of an unknown enemy, and already I have a

theory respecting his identity."

"Can I aid you--or do you prefer that I leave you to pursue this clue

in your own way?" he asked tactfully.

"I prefer to work alone."

"The affair is truly mysterious," he admitted, "and I purpose to

spend the night in meditation respecting it. After the hour of morning

prayer, therefore, I will visit you. _Lîltâk sa'îda_, Kernaby Pasha."

"_Lîltâk sa'îda_, Abû Tabâh," I said, as he stepped out of the door.

Slowly and stately the _imám_ passed down the street; and the _ginnee_

of solitude reclaimed that deserted spot. A night watchman, _nebbut_

on shoulder, passed along the distant Sukkarîya. A dog howled.

I re-entered the doorway conscious of a sudden mental excitement; for

an explanation of the anonymous letter had just presented itself to

my mind. The owner of the neighboring house must have detected my

rendezvous with his lady-love, have investigated the contents of the

cases, and denounced me from motives of revenge! That the villainous

Joseph Malaglou had been in the habit of smuggling _hashish_ into

Egypt in my cases of "cutlery" was evident enough and accounted for

his reluctance to fall in with the new arrangement; but my bemused

brain utterly failed to grapple with the problem of why, knowing their

damning contents, he had permitted these ten cases to be delivered

at _my_ address. Moreover, how my worthy neighbor--who had evidently

abducted Mizmûna from the old man of the scimitar--had learned my

real name was another mystery which I found no leisure to examine.

For I had but just set foot again within the ill-omened place when

there came a patter of swift, light footsteps--and out from behind

the fatal stack of boxes ran Mizmûna, and threw herself into my arms!

"Oh, my friend, my protector!" she cried distractedly, "what shall I

do? Yûssuf has discovered our plot! Fatimah, that mother of

calamities, has betrayed me, and I dare not return! I am an outcast;

for although I was stolen from the Sheikh Ismail without my consent,

how can I hope for his forgiveness?"

Such a flood of sorrows and confidences overwhelmed me, and I placed a

silent but deathless curse upon the lapis armlet which had brought me

to this pass. Mizmûna sobbed upon my shoulder.

"Yûssuf has planned your ruin as well as mine," she said brokenly.

"For it was he who denounced you to the Magician." (As "the Magician"

Abû Tabâh was known and feared throughout Lower Egypt.) "Oh that I

might return to the house of Ismail where I lived in luxury in a

marble pavilion, guarded by Hanna and a hundred negroes, where I

possessed the robes of a princess and was laden with costly jewels!"

So very human and natural an ambition met with my hearty approval,

and, upon consideration of the word-picture of his domestic state, the

old man of the scimitar rose immensely in my esteem. How my malevolent

neighbor had succeeded in abducting Mizmûna from such a fortress I

failed to imagine. But I began to see my way more clearly and hope was

reborn in my bosom.

"Fear nothing, child," I said to the weeping girl. "You shall return

to your marble pavilion and to the care of that worthy, if somewhat

hasty man, from whose arms you were torn. And now inform me--where is

Yûssuf?"

Mizmûna raised her face and looked up at me, her long lashes wet with

tears, but the slow, childish smile of the Eastern woman already

curving her red lips.

"He is in his own room destroying papers," she said.

"Who told you this?"

"Ali, the _bowwab_, who is faithful to me--and who hates Fatimah."

"Is the trap rebolted?"

"I know not."

"Remain here until I return," I said, seating her upon one of the

boxes. "Where are my keys?"

"I hid them upon the ledge of the window, beside the door yonder."

Taking them from this simple "hiding-place," I locked the door to

give Mizmûna courage, and, taking the lamp with me, began to mount

the stairs, first assuring myself of the presence in my pocket of

my Colt automatic, which Abû Tabâh had restored to me.

The ray of my lamp shining out ahead, I came to the crazy ladder

giving access to the trap. I climbed up, raising the trap, and gazed

upon the jeweled dome of midnight Egypt. Dire necessity spurred me,

and I walked across to the adjoining trap, carefully inserted two

fingers in the iron ring and pulled.

It was not fastened below! Inch by inch I raised it, and, finding the

room beneath it to be in darkness, opened the trap fully and descended

the ladder.

I flashed the light quickly about the place; then stood staring at

what it revealed. My heart began to beat rapidly, for in that dirty

attic I had found salvation ... and a further clue to the mystery of

all my misfortunes.

It was a _hashish_ warehouse!

Taking off my shoes, I thrust one into either pocket of my jacket,

and, perceiving that the house was constructed on a plan identical

with that adjoining it, I crept downstairs to the apartment of the

_mushrabîyeh_ window. A heavy curtain was draped in the doorway, but

I could see that the room within was illuminated.

I drew the curtains slowly aside and peeped in. I saw an apartment

that had evidently been furnished very luxuriantly, but which now was

partially dismantled. In the recess formed by the window a low table

was placed, bearing a shaded lamp. The table was littered with papers,

account books and ledgers; and, seated thereat, his back towards the

door, was a man who figured feverishly. I stepped into the room.

"Good evening, Yûssuf of Rosetta," I said; "you do well to set your

affairs in order."

V

Swiftly as though a serpent had touched him, the man in the recess

leaped to his feet and twisted about to confront me.

I found myself looking into a hideous, swarthy face--blanched now to

the lips, so that the cunning black eyes glared out as from a

mask--into the hideous swarthy face of _Joseph Malaglou_!

The store of _hashish_ in the upper room had somewhat prepared me for

this discovery; yet, momentarily, the consummate villainy of the Greek

had me bereft of speech. As I stood there glaring at him, he began

furtively to grope with one hand along the edge of the _dîwan_ behind

him. Then, suddenly, he became aware of the pistol which I

carried--and abandoned the quest of whatever weapon he had sought,

swallowing audibly.

"So, my good Malaglou," I said, "you sought to make me responsible for

your sins, my friend? I perceive now how the Fates have played with

me. My very first conversation with your charming protégée----"

He bit savagely at his black moustache, advanced upon me; then, his

gaze set upon the Colt, he stood still again.

"... was reported to you by the traitorous Fatimah," I continued

evenly; "and, when, on the morrow, I advised you of my new address,

the identity of the hitherto unknown Romeo who had raised his eyes to

your Juliet became apparent. You doubtless had designed to unpack my

boxes for me as you have been in the habit of doing; but green-eyed

jealousy suggested how, by the sacrifice of only one consignment of

_hashish_, you might wreak my ruin. I disapprove of your morals,

Malaglou. My own code may be peculiar, but it does not embrace

_hashish_ dealing; therefore, Malaglou, you are about to take a sheet

of note-paper--bearing your office heading--and write from my

dictation...."

"And suppose I refuse? You dare not shoot me!"

"You little know my true character, Malaglou. But I should not shoot

you, as you say; I should introduce you to a gentleman who is very

anxious to make your acquaintance--the venerable Sheikh Ismail."

The effect of this remark greatly exceeded my most sanguine

expectations. I think I have never seen a man so pitiably frightened.

"The Sheikh ... Ismail!" gasped Joseph Malaglou. "He is in Cairo?"

"He has generously offered me five thousand pounds for your name and

address."

"Ah, my God!" whispered Malaglou. "Kernaby, you will not betray me

to that fiend? You are an Englishman and you will not soil your hands

with such a deed!"

To my dismay--for it was a disgusting sight--Malaglou fell trembling

upon his knees before me. The threat of shooting had had no such

effect as the mere name of the Sheikh Ismail. My respect for that

really remarkable old ruffian rose by leaps and bounds.

"Get up," I said harshly, "and, if you can, write."

He obeyed me; the man was almost hysterical. And, very shakily, this

is what he wrote:

"I, Joseph Malaglou, also known as _Ahmed Ben Tawwab_, confess

that I am a dealer in _hashish_ and spurious antiques, which I have

been in the habit of storing at my warehouse in Cairo, and also in

my private residence in the Darb el Ahmar. Finding it desirable to

enlarge the facilities of the latter, I induced the Hon. Neville

Kernaby, who is ignorant of my real business, to lease for me a

house which adjoins my own, as I did not desire it to be known that

I was the lessee. Subsequently, learning that the suspicions of the

authorities had been aroused, I anonymously denounced Kernaby, thus

hoping to avert suspicion from myself and cause his arrest as the

consignee of the cases which had been delivered at the new

premises."

"Very good," I said, when this precious document had been completed.

"You understand that you will now accompany me to the central police

station in the Place Bâb el-Khalk and sign this confession in the

presence of suitable witnesses? You will doubtless be detained;

therefore in the interests of your safety, we must arrange that

Mizmûna be hidden securely until the case is settled. Oh! set your

evil mind at rest! I shall not betray you to the Sheikh; unless--"

I looked him squarely in the eyes--"any whisper of my name appears

in this matter!"

"But where is she?" he said hoarsely.

"She is hiding in the adjoining house."

"I have a small place at Shubra where I can conceal her."

"Very well. I will bring her here and permit you to make suitable

arrangements, but let them be complete; for if Ismail should find the

girl and thus discover your identity, nothing could save you--and you

will be unable to leave Cairo (I shall see to that) until the case is

settled."

VI

It was on the following evening, as I sat smoking upon the terrace of

the hotel and reflecting upon the execrably bad luck which pursued me,

that I observed Abû Tabâh mounting the carpeted steps with slow and

stately carriage. He saluted me gravely and accepted the seat which I

offered him.

My plan had run smoothly; Malaglou had given himself up to the

authorities, but had been released upon payment of a substantial bail.

Mizmûna was concealed at Shubra, and I was flogging my brain in a vain

endeavor to conjure up a plan whereby, without betraying the

villainous Greek and thus causing him to betray _me_, I might secure

the Sheikh's reward--or, at least, the lapis armlet.

"Alas," said Abû Tabâh, "that the wicked should prosper."

"To whose prosperity," I inquired, "do you more especially refer?"

He regarded me with his fine melancholy eyes.

"You have an English adage," he continued, "which says, 'set a thief

to catch a thief.'"

"Quite so. But might I inquire what bearing this crystallized wisdom

has upon our present conversation?"