Tales of Secret Egypt
by Sax Rohmer · English · Gutenberg #40108 · 451,749 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: Tales of Secret Egypt
Author: Sax Rohmer
Release date: June 29, 2012 [eBook #40108]
Most recently updated: August 20, 2024
Language: English
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Transcriber's Note:
Obvious mis-spellings and printing errors have been
corrected; a list is included at the end of this e-book.
Missing periods at paragraph-end have silently been
supplied. Inconsistencies in hyphenation and accentuation
have been retained.
The romanization of Arabic is the author's.
[Illustration: "She stood there ... her slim body swaying
in a perfect rapture of admiration for her own beauty."]
TALES OF
SECRET EGYPT
BY SAX ROHMER
McKINLAY, STONE & MACKENZIE
NEW YORK
_Printed in the United States of America_
_Second Printing
November, 1920_
Published February, 1919
CONTENTS
PART I
TALES OF ABÛ TABÂH
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE YASHMAK OF PEARLS 1
II. THE DEATH-RING OF SNEFERU 31
III. THE LADY OF THE LATTICE 58
IV. OMAR OF ISPAHÂN 87
V. BREATH OF ALLAH 114
VI. THE WHISPERING MUMMY 144
PART II
OTHER TALES
CHAPTER PAGE
I. LORD OF THE JACKALS 169
II. LURE OF SOULS 194
III. THE SECRET OF ISMAIL 216
IV. HARÛN PASHA 239
V. IN THE VALLEY OF THE SORCERESS 267
VI. POMEGRANATE FLOWER 290
TALES OF SECRET EGYPT
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?"
"The man, Joseph Malaglou," he replied, "learning of the hue-and-cry
after a certain missing damsel----"
I remember I was about to light a cigar as he uttered those words, but
a dawning perception of the iniquitous truth crept poisonously into my
mind, and I threw both cigar and matches over the rail into the Shâra
Kâmel and clutched fiercely at the little table between us.
"And of the reward offered for her recovery," pursued the _imám_,
"denounced to us, one Yûssuf of Rosetta, a man owning a small house at
Shubra. Yûssuf had fled, and the only occupant of the place was the
missing damsel Mizmûna. Alas that fortune should so favor the sinful.
The abductor, the despoiler, escapes retribution; and the traitor, the
informer, the dealer in _hashish_ is rewarded."
The Turk has signally failed to rule Egypt; but there are certain
Ottoman institutions which are not without claims, as I realized at
that moment in regard to Joseph Malaglou: I was thinking,
particularly, of the bow-string.
"Already," said Abû Tabâh, with his sweet but melancholy smile, "the
heart of the Sheikh Ismail inclined toward the damsel, for whom his
soul yearned; and has not it been written that he who heals the breach
betwixt man and wife shall himself be blessed? Behold the reward of
the peace-maker--which I design as a gift to my sister."
I was unable to speak, but I became aware of a bitter taste upon my
palate as, from beneath his robe, the smiling _imám_ took out the
armlet of gold and lapis-lazuli!
IV
OMAR OF ISPAHAN
I
"I hear that the Harêm Suite is occupied," said Sir Bertram Collis,
bustling up to me as I sat smoking in the gardens of a certain Cairo
hotel, which I shall not name because of the matters that befell
there. "Daphne is full of curiosity respecting the romantic occupant."
"Don't let Lady Collis be too sure," put in Chundermeyer, "that there
is anything romantic about the occupant."
"Your definition of romance, Chundermeyer," I interrupted, "would
probably be 'a diamond the size of a Spanish onion.'"
Chundermeyer smiled, but it was a smile in which his dark eyes,
twinkling through the pebbles of horn-rimmed spectacles, played no
part. I must confess that the society of this unctuous partner in the
well-known Madras firm of Isaacs and Chundermeyer palled somewhat at
times. He, on the other hand, was eternally dropping into a chair
beside me, and proffering huge and costly cigars from a huge and
costly case. This sort of parvenu persecution is one of the penalties
of being recognized by Debrett.
"As a matter of fact," I continued, "the occupant of the Harêm Suite
is no less romantic a personage than the daughter of the Mudîr
(Governor) of the Fayûm."
"Really!" said Chundermeyer, with that sudden interest which mention
of a title always aroused in him. "Surely it is most unusual for so
highly placed a Moslem lady to reside at an hotel?"
"Most unusual," I replied. "Of course such a thing would be
inconceivable in India; but the management of this establishment, who
cater almost exclusively to tourists, find, I am told, that a 'harêm
suite' is quite a good advertisement. The reason of the presence of
this lady in the hotel is a diplomatic one. She is visiting Cairo in
order to witness the procession of Ashûra, peculiarly sacred to
Egyptian women, and it appears that, having no blood relations here,
she could not accept the hospitality of any one of the big families
without alienating the others."
"By Jove!" said Sir Bertram, "I must tell Daphne this yarn. She'll be
delighted! Come along, Kernaby; if we're to have tea at Mena House, it
is high time we were off."
I left Chundermeyer to his opulent cigar without regret. That he was
an astute man of affairs and an expert lapidary I did not doubt, for
he had offered to buy my Hatshepsu scarab ring at a price exactly ten
per cent below its trade value; but to my mind there is something
almost as unnatural about a Hindu-Hebrew as about a Græco-Welshman or
a griffin.
Of course, Daphne Collis was not ready; and, Sir Bertram going up to
their apartments to induce her to hurry, I strolled out again into the
gardens for a quiet cigarette and a cocktail. As I approached a
suitable seat in a sort of charming little arbor festooned with purple
blossom, a man who had been waiting there rose to greet me.
With a certain quickening of the pulse, I recognized Abû Tabâh,
arrayed, as was his custom, in black, only relieved by a small snowy
turban, which served to enhance the ascetic beauty of his face and the
mystery of the wonderful, liquid eyes.
He inclined his head in that gesture of gentle dignity which I knew;
and:
"I have been awaiting an opportunity of speech with you, Kernaby
Pasha," he said, in his flawless, musical English, "upon a matter in
which I hope you will consent to aid me."
Since this mysterious man, variously known as "the _imám_" and "the
Magician," but whom I knew to be some kind of secret agent of the
Egyptian Government, had recently saved me from assassination, to
decline to aid him was out of the question. We seated ourselves in the
arbor.
"I should welcome an opportunity of serving you, my friend," I assured
him, "since your services to me can never be repaid."
His lips moved slightly in the curiously tender smile which a poor
physiognomist might have mistaken for evidence of effeminacy, bending
towards me with a cautious glance about.
"You are staying at this hotel throughout the Christmas festivities?"
he asked.
"Yes; I have temporarily deserted Shepheard's in order to accept the
hospitality of Sir Bertram Collis, a very old friend. I shall probably
return on the Tuesday following Christmas Day."
"There is to be a carnival and masquerade ball here to-morrow. You
shall be present?"
"I hope so," I replied in surprise. "To what does all this tend?"
Abû Tabâh bent yet closer.
"Many of your friends and acquaintances possess valuable jewels?"
"They do."
"Then warn them--individually, in order to occasion no general
alarm--to guard these with the utmost care."
My surprise increased. "You alarm me," I said. "Are there rogues in
our midst?"
"No," answered the _imám_, fixing his melancholy gaze upon my face;
"so far as my knowledge bears me, there is but one, yet that one is
worse than a host of others."
"Do you mean that he is here--in the hotel?"
Abû Tabâh shrugged his slim shoulders.
"If I knew his exact whereabouts," he replied, "there would be no
occasion to fear him. All that I know is that he is in Cairo; and
since many richly attired women of Europe and America will be here
to-morrow night, of a surety Omar Ali Khân will be here also!"
I shook my head in perplexity.
"Omar Ali Khân?"----I began.
"Ah," continued Abû Tabâh, "to you that name conveys nothing, but to
me it signifies Omar of Ispahân, 'the Father of Thieves.' Do you
remember," fixing his strange eyes hypnotically upon me, "the theft
of the sacred _burko_ of Nefîseh?"
"Quite well," I replied hastily; since the incident represented an
unpleasant memory.
"It was Omar of Ispahân who stole it from the shrine. It was Omar of
Ispahân who stole the blue diamond of the Rajah of Bagore from the
treasure-room at Jullapore, and Omar of Ispahân"--lowering his voice
almost to a whisper--"who stole the Holy Carpet ere it reached Mecca!"
"What!" I cried. "When did that happen? I never heard of such an
episode!"
Abû Tabâh raised his long, slim hand warningly.
"Be cautious!" he whispered; "the flowers of the garden, the palms in
the grove, the very sands of the desert have ears! The lightest word
spoken in the _harêm_ of the Khedive, or breathed from a minaret of
the Citadel, is heard by Omar of Ispahân! The holy covering for the
Kaaba was restored, on payment of a ruinous ransom by the Sherîf of
Mecca, and none save the few ever knew of its loss."
For a time I was silent; words failed me; for the veil of the Kaaba,
miscalled "the Carpet," is about the size of a bowling-green; then--
"In what manner does this affair concern you, Abû Tabâh?" I asked.
"In this way: the daughter of the Mudîr el-Fáyûm is here, in order
that she may be present on the Night of Ashûra in the Mûski. For a
Moslem lady to stay in such a place as this"--there was a faint note
of contempt in the speaker's voice--"is without precedent, but the
circumstances are peculiar. The _khân_ near the Mosque of Hosein is
full, and it is not seemly that the Mudîr's daughter should live at
any lesser establishment. Therefore, as she brings her two servants,
it has been possible for her to remain here. But"--his voice sank
again--"her ornaments are famed throughout Islâm."
I nodded comprehendingly.
"To me," Abû Tabâh whispered, "has been entrusted the task of guarding
them; to you, I entrust that of guarding the possessions of the other
guests!"
I started.
"But, my friend," I said, "this is a dreadful responsibility which you
impose upon me."
"Other precautions are being taken," he replied calmly; "but you,
observing great circumspection, can speak to the guests, and, being
forewarned of his presence, can even watch for the coming of Omar of
Ispahân."
II
The effect of my news upon Lady Collis was truly dramatic.
"Oh," she cried, "my rope of pearls. Mr. Chundermeyer only told me
last week that it was worth at least two hundred pound more than I
gave for it."
Mr. Chundermeyer had made himself popular with many of the ladies in
the hotel by similar diplomatic means, but I think that if he had been
compelled to purchase at his own flattering valuations Messrs. Isaacs
and Chundermeyer would have been ruined.
"You need not wear it, my dear," said her husband tactlessly.
"Don't be so ridiculous!" she retorted. "You know I have brought my
Queen of Sheba costume for to-morrow night."
That, of course, settled the matter, so that beyond making one pretty
woman extremely nervous, my campaign against the dreaded Omar of
Ispahân had opened--blankly. Later in the day I circulated my warning
right and left, and everywhere sowed consternation without reaping any
appreciable result.
"One naturally expects thieves on these occasions," said a little
Chicago millionairess, "and if I only wore my diamonds when no rogues
were about, I might as well have none. There are crooks in America I'd
back against your Persian thief any day."
On the whole, I think, the best audience for my dramatic recitation
was provided by Mr. Chundermeyer, whom I found in the American bar,
just before the dinner hour. His yellow skin perceptibly blanched at
my first mention of Omar Ali Khân, and one hand clutched at a bulging
breast pocket of the dinner-jacket he wore.
"Good heavens, Mr. Kernaby," he said, "you alarm me--you alarm me,
sir!"
"The reputation of Omar is not unknown to you?"
"By no means unknown to me," he responded in the thick, unctuous voice
which betrayed the Semitic strain in his pedigree. "It was this man
who stole the pair of blue diamonds from the Rajah of Bagore."
"So I am told."
"But have you been told that it was my firm who bought those diamonds
for the Rajah?"
"No; that is news to me."
"It was my firm, Mr. Kernaby, who negotiated the sale of the blue
diamonds to the Rajah; therefore the particulars of their loss, under
most extraordinary circumstances, are well known to me. You have made
me very nervous. Who is your informant?"
"A member of the native police with whom I am acquainted."
Mr. Chundermeyer shook his head lugubriously.
"I am conveying a parcel of rough stones to Amsterdam," he confessed,
glancing warily about him over the rims of his spectacles, "and I feel
very much disposed to ask for more reliable protection than is offered
by your Egyptian friend."
"Why not lodge the stones in a bank, or in the manager's safe?"
He shook his head again, and proffered an enormous cigar.
"I distrust all safes but my own," he replied. "I prefer to carry such
valuables upon my person, foolish though the plan may seem to you. But
do you observe that squarely built, military looking person standing
at the bar, in conversation with M. Balabas, the manager?"
"Yes; an officer, I should judge."
"Precisely; a _police_ officer. That is Chief Inspector Carlisle of
New Scotland Yard."
"But he is a guest here."
"Certainly. The management sustained a severe loss last Christmas
during the progress of a ball at which all Cairo was present, and as
the inspector chanced to be on his way home from India, where official
business had taken him, M. Balabas induced him to break his journey
and remain until after the carnival."
"Wait a moment," I said; "I will bring him over."
Crossing to the bar, I greeted Balabas, with whom I was acquainted,
and--
"Mr. Chundermeyer and I have been discussing the notorious Omar of
Ispahân, who is said to be in Cairo," I remarked.
Inspector Carlisle, being introduced, smiled broadly.
"Mr. Balabas is very nervous about this Omar man," he replied, with
a slight Scottish accent; "but, considering that everybody has been
warned, I don't see myself that he can do much damage."
"Perhaps you would be good enough to reassure Mr. Chundermeyer,"
I suggested, "who is carrying valuables."
Chief Inspector Carlisle walked over to the table at which
Chundermeyer was seated.
"I have met your partner, sir," he said, "and I gathered that you
were on your way to Amsterdam with a parcel of rough stones; in fact,
I supposed that you had arrived there by now."
"I am fond of Cairo during the Christmas season," explained the other,
"and I broke my journey. But now I sincerely wish I were elsewhere."
"Oh, I shouldn't worry!" said the detective cheerily. "There are
enough of us on the look-out."
But Mr. Chundermeyer remained palpably uneasy.
III
The gardens of the hotel on the following night presented a fairy-like
spectacle. Lights concealed among the flower-beds, the bloom-covered
arbors, and the feathery leafage of the acacias, suffused a sort of
weird glow, suggesting the presence of a million fire-flies. Up
beneath the crowns of the lofty palms little colored electric lamps
were set, producing an illusion of supernatural fruit, whilst the
fountain had been magically converted into a cascade of fire.
In the ball-room, where the orchestra played, and a hundred mosque
lamps bathed the apartment in soft illumination, a cosmopolitan throng
danced around a giant Christmas tree, their costumes a clash of color
to have filled a theatrical producer with horror, outraging history
and linking the ages in startling fashion. Thus, St. Antony of the
Thebäid danced with Salome, the luresome daughter of Herodias; Nero's
arm was about the waist of Good Queen Bess; Charles II cantered
through a two-step with a red-haired Vestal Virgin; and the Queen of
Sheba (Daphne Collis) had no less appropriate a partner than Sherlock
Holmes.
Doubtless it was all very amusing, but, personally, I stand by my
commonplace dress-suit, having, perhaps, rather a ridiculous sense
of dignity. Inspector Carlisle also was soberly arrayed, and we had
several chats during the evening; he struck me as being a man of
considerable culture and great shrewdness.
For Abû Tabâh I looked in vain. Following our conversation on the
previous afternoon, he had vanished like a figment of a dream. I
several times saw Chundermeyer, who had elected to disguise himself
as Al-Mokanna, the Veiled Prophet of Khorassan. He seemed to be an
enthusiastic dancer, and there was no lack of partners.
But of these mandarins, pierrots, Dutch girls, monks, and court ladies
I speedily tired, and sought refuge in the gardens, whose enchanted
aspect was completed by that wondrous inverted bowl, jewel-studded,
which is the nightly glory of Egypt. In the floral, dim-lighted arbors
many romantic couples shrank from the peeping moon; but quiet and a
hushful sense of peace ruled there beneath the stars more in harmony
with my mood.
One corner of the gardens, in particular, seemed to be quite deserted,
and it was the most picturesque spot of all. For here a graceful palm
upstood before an outjutting _mushrabîyeh_ window, dimly lighted, over
which trailed a wealth of bougainvillea blossom, whilst beneath it lay
a floral carpet, sharply bisected by the shadow of the palm trunk. It
was like some gorgeous illustration to a poem by Hafiz, only lacking
the figure at the window.
And as I stood, enchanted, before the picture, the central panels of
the window were thrown open, and, as if conjured up by my imagination,
a woman appeared, looking out into the gardens--an Oriental woman,
robed in shimmering, moon-kissed white, and wearing a white _yashmak_.
Her arms and fingers were laden with glittering jewels.
I almost held my breath, drawing back into the sheltering shadow, for
I had not hitherto suspected myself of being a sorcerer. For perhaps
a minute, or less, she stood looking out, then the window closed, and
the white phantom disappeared. I recovered myself, recognizing that I
stood before the isolated wing of the hotel known as the Harêm Suite,
and that Fate had granted me a glimpse of the daughter of the Mudîr of
the Fáyûm.
Recollecting, in the nick of time, an engagement to dance with Lady
Collis, I hurried back to the ball-room. On its very threshold I
encountered Chundermeyer. I could see his spectacles glittering
through the veil of his ridiculous costume, and even before he spoke
I detected about him an aura of tragedy.
"Mr. Kernaby," he gasped, "for Heaven's sake help me to find Inspector
Carlisle! I have been robbed!"
"What?"
"My diamonds!"
"You don't mean----"
"Find the inspector, and come to my rooms. I am nearly mad!"
Daphne Collis, who had seen me enter, joined us at this moment, and,
overhearing the latter part of Chundermeyer's speech:
"Oh, whatever is the matter?" she whispered.
As for Chundermeyer the effect upon him of her sudden appearance was
positively magical. He stared through his veil as though her charming
figure had been that of some hideous phantom. Then slowly, as if he
dreaded to find her intangible, he extended one hand and touched her
rope of pearls.
"Ah, heavens!" he gasped. "I am really going mad, or is there a
magician amongst us?"
Daphne Collis's blue eyes opened very widely, and the color slowly
faded from her cheeks.
"Mr. Chundermeyer," she began. But--
"Let us go into this little recess, where there is a good light,"
mumbled Chundermeyer shakily, "and I will make sure."
The three of us entered the palm-screened alcove, Chundermeyer
leading. He stood immediately under a lamp suspended by brass chains
from the roof.
"Permit me to examine your pearls for one moment," he said.
Her hands trembling, Daphne Collis took off the costly ornament and
placed it in the hands of the greatly perturbed expert. Chundermeyer
ran the pearls through his fingers, then lifted the largest of the set
towards the light and scrutinized it closely. Suddenly he dropped his
arms, and extended the necklace upon one open palm.
"Look for yourself," he said slowly. "It does not require the eyes of
an expert."
Daphne Collis snatched the pearls and stared at them dazedly. Her
pretty face was now quite colorless.
"This is not my rope of pearls," she said, in a monotonous voice; "it
is a very poor imitation!"
Ere I could frame any kind of speech--
"Look at this," groaned Chundermeyer, "as you talk of a poor
imitation!"
He was holding out a leather-covered box, plush-lined, and bearing
within the words, "Isaacs and Chundermeyer, Madras." Nestling
grotesquely amid the blue velvet were six small pieces of coal!
Chundermeyer sank upon the cushions of the settee, tossing the casket
upon a little coffee table.
"I am afraid I feel unwell," he said feebly. "Mr. Kernaby, I wonder if
you would be so kind as to find Inspector Carlisle, and ask a waiter
to bring me some cognac."
"Oh, what shall I do, what shall I do?" whispered poor Daphne Collis.
"Just remain here," I said soothingly, "with Mr. Chundermeyer." And I
induced her to sit in a big cane rest-chair. "I will return in a
moment with Bertram and the inspector."
Desiring to avoid a panic, I walked quietly into the ball-room and
took stock of the dancers, for a waltz was in progress. The inspector
I could not see, but Sir Bertram I observed at the further end of the
floor, dancing with Mrs. Van Heysten, the Chicago lady whom I had
warned to keep a close watch upon her diamonds.
I managed to attract Collis's attention, and the pair, quitting the
floor, joined me where I stood. A few words sufficed in which to
inform them of the catastrophe, and, pointing out the alcove wherein
I had left Chundermeyer and Lady Collis, I set off in search of
Inspector Carlisle.
Ten minutes later, having visited every likely spot, I came to the
conclusion that he was not in the hotel, and with M. Balabas I
returned to the alcove adjoining the ball-room. Dancing was in full
swing, and I thought as we passed along the edge of the floor how
easily I could have checked the festivities by announcing that Omar
of Ispahân was present.
The first sight to greet me upon entering the little palm-shaded
alcove was that of Mrs. Van Heysten in tears. She had discovered
herself to be wearing a very indifferent duplicate of her famous
diamond tiara.
I think it was my action of soothingly patting her upon the shoulder
that drew Chundermeyer's attention to my Hatshepsu scarab.
"Mr. Kernaby!" he cried--"Mr. Kernaby!" And pointed to my finger.
I had had the scarab set in a revolving bezel, and habitually wore it
with its beetle uppermost and the cartouche concealed. As I glanced
down at the ring, Chundermeyer stretched out his hand and detached it
from my finger. Approaching the light, he turned the bezel.
The flat part of the scarab was quite blank, bearing no inscription
whatever. Like Lady Collis's rope of pearls, Mrs. Van Heysten's tiara,
and Chundermeyer's diamonds, it was a worthless and very indifferent
duplicate!
IV
Never can I forget the scene in that crowded little room--poor M.
Balabas all anxiety respecting the reputation of his establishment,
and vainly endeavoring to reason with the victims of the amazing Omar
Khân. Finally--
"I will search for Inspector Carlisle myself," said Mr. Chundermeyer;
"and if I cannot find him, I shall be compelled to communicate with
the local police authorities."
M. Balabas still volubly protesting, the unfortunate Veiled Prophet
made his way from the alcove. I cannot say if the inspiration came as
the result of a sort of auto-hypnosis induced by staring at the worthless
ring in my hand--the stone was not even real lapis-lazuli--but a theory
regarding the manner in which these ingenious substitutions had been
effected suddenly entered my mind.
Three minutes later I was knocking at the door of Chundermeyer's room.
I received no invitation to enter, and the door was locked. I sought
M. Balabas; and, without confiding to him the theory upon which I was
acting, I urged the desirability of gaining access to the apartment.
As a result, a master key was procured, and we entered.
At the first glance the room seemed to be empty, though it showed
evidence of having recently been occupied, for it was in the utmost
disorder. Perhaps we should have quitted it unenlightened, if I had
not detected the sound of a faint groan proceeding from the closed
wardrobe. Stepping across the room, I opened the double doors, and
out into my arms fell a limp figure, bound hand and foot, and having
a bath-towel secured tightly around the head to act as a gag. It was
Mr. Chundermeyer!
I think, as I helped to unfasten him, I was the most surprised man in
the land of Egypt. He was arrayed only in a bath-robe and slippers,
and his bare wrists and ankles were cruelly galled by the cords which
had bound him. For some minutes he was unable to utter a word, and
when at last he achieved speech, his first utterance constituted a
verbal thunderbolt.
"I have been robbed!" he cried huskily. "I was sand-bagged as I came
from my bath, and look--everyone of my cases is gone!"
It was M. Balabas who answered him.
"As you returned from your _bath_, Mr. Chundermeyer?" he said. "At
what time was that?"
"About a quarter-past seven," was the amazing reply.
"But, good Heaven!" cried M. Balabas, "I was speaking to you less than
ten minutes ago!"
"You are mad!" groaned Chundermeyer, rubbing his bruised wrists. "Have
I not been locked in the wardrobe all night!"
"Ah, merciful saints," cried M. Balabas, dramatically raising his
clenched fists to heaven, "I see it all! You understand, Mr. Kernaby.
It is _not_ Mr. Chundermeyer with whom we have been conversing, in
whose hands you have been placing your valuables, it is that devil
incarnate who three years ago impersonated the Emîr al-Hadj, in order
to steal the Holy Carpet; who can impersonate anyone; who, it is said,
can transform himself at will into an old woman, a camel, or a fig
tree; it is the conjuror, the wizard--Omar of Ispahân!"
My own ideas were almost equally chaotic; for although, as I now
recalled, I had never throughout the evening obtained a thoroughly
good view of the features of the Veiled Prophet, I could have sworn
to the voice, to the carriage, to the manner of Mr. Chundermeyer.
The puzzling absence of Chief Inspector Carlisle now engaged
everybody's attention; and, acting upon the precedent afforded by the
finding of Mr. Chundermeyer, we paid a visit to the detective's room.
Inspector Carlisle, fully dressed, and still wearing a soft felt hat,
as though he had but just come in, lay on the floor, unconscious, with
the greater part of a cigar, which examination showed to be drugged,
close beside him.
* * * * *
As I entered my room that night and switched on the light, in through
the open window from the balcony stepped Abû Tabâh.
His frequent and mysterious appearances in my private apartments did
not surprise me in the least, and I had even ceased to wonder how he
accomplished them; but--
"You are too late, my friend," I said. "Omar of Ispahân has outwitted
you."
"Omar of Ispahân has outwitted men wiser than I," he replied gravely;
"but covetousness is a treacherous master, and I am not without hope
that we may yet circumvent the father of thieves."
"You are surely jesting," I replied. "In all probability he is now far
from Cairo."
"I, on the contrary, have reason to believe," replied Abû Tabâh
calmly, "that he is neither far from Cairo, far from the hotel,
nor far from this very apartment."
His manner was strange and I discovered excitement to be growing
within me.
"Accompany me on the balcony," he said; "but first extinguish the
light."
A moment later I stood looking down upon the moon-bathed gardens,
and Abû Tabâh, beside me, stretched out his hand.
"You see the projecting portion of the building yonder?"
"Yes," I replied; "the Harêm Suite."
"Immediately before the window there is a palm tree."
"I have observed it."
"And upon the opposite side of the path there is an acacia."
"Yes; I see it."
"The moon is high, and whilst all the side of the hotel is in shadow
the acacia is in the moonlight. Its branches would afford concealment,
however; and one watching there could see what would be hidden from
one on this balcony. I request you, Kernaby Pasha, to approach that
_lebbekh_ tree from the further side of the fountain, in order to
remain invisible from the hotel. Climb to one of the lower branches,
and closely watch four windows."
I stared at him in the darkness.
"Which are the four windows that I am to watch?"
"They are--one, that immediately below your own; two, that to the
right of it; three, the window above the Harêm Suite; and, four,
the extreme east window of this wing, on the first floor."
Now, my state of mystification grew even denser. For the windows
specified were, in the order of mention, that of Inspector Carlisle,
who had not yet recovered consciousness; of Mr. Chundermeyer; of
Major Redpath, a retired Anglo-Indian who had been confined to his
room for some time with an attack of malaria; and of M. Balabas,
the manager.
"For what," I inquired, "am I to watch?"
"For a man to descend."
"And then?"
"You will hold your open watch case where it is clearly visible from
this spot. Instant upon the man's appearance you will cover it up,
and then uncover it, either once, twice, thrice, or four times."
"After which?"
"Remain scrupulously concealed. Have the collar of your dinner jacket
turned up in order to betray as little whiteness as possible. Do not
interfere with the man who descends; but if he enters the Harêm Suite,
see that he does not come out again! There is no time for further
explanation, Kernaby Pasha; it is Omar of Ispahân with whom we have
to deal!"
V
Perched up amid the foliage of the acacia, I commenced that singular
guard imposed upon me by Abû Tabâh. Did he suspect one of these four
persons of being the notorious Omar? Or had his mysterious
instructions some other significance? The problem defied me; and,
recognizing that I was hopelessly at sea, I abandoned useless
conjecture and merely watched.
Nor was my vigil a long one. I doubt if I had been at my post for ten
minutes ere a vague figure appeared upon the shadow-veiled balcony of
one of the suspected windows--that of Major Redpath, above the Harêm
Suite!
Scarcely daring to credit my eyes, I saw the figure throw down on to
the projecting top of the _mushrabîyeh_ window below a slender rope
ladder. I covered the gleaming gold of my watch-case with my hand, and
gave the signal--_three_.
The spirit of phantasy embraced me; and, unmoved to further surprise,
I watched the unknown swarm down the ladder with the agility of an
ape. He seemed to wear a robe, surely that of the _Veiled Prophet_!
He silently manipulated one of the side-panels of the window, opened
it, and vanished within the Harêm Suite.
Raising my eyes, I beheld a second figure--that of Abû
Tabâh--descending a similar ladder to the balcony of Inspector
Carlisle's room. He gained the balcony and entered the room. Four
seconds elapsed; he reappeared, unfurled a greater length of ladder,
and came down to the flower-beds. Lithely as a cat he came to the
projecting _mushrabîyeh_, swung himself aloft, and as I watched
breathlessly, expecting him to enter in pursuit of the intruder,
climbed to the top and began to mount the ladder descending from
Major Redpath's room!
He had just reached the major's balcony, and was stepping through
the open window, when a most alarming din arose in the Harêm Suite;
evidently a fierce struggle was proceeding in the apartments of the
Mudîr's daughter!
I scrambled down from the acacia and ran to the spot immediately below
the window, arriving at the very moment that the central lattice was
thrown open, and a white-veiled figure appeared there and prepared to
spring down! Perceiving my approach:
"Oh, help me, in the name of Allah!" cried the woman, in a voice
shrill with fear. "Quick--catch me!"
Ere I could frame any reply, she clutched at the palm tree and dropped
down right into my extended arms, as a crashing of overturned
furniture came from the room above.
"Help them!" she entreated. "You are armed, and my women are being
murdered."
"Help, Kernaby Pasha!" now reached my ears, in the unmistakable voice
of Abû Tabâh, from somewhere within. "See that he does not escape from
the window!"
"Coming!" I cried.
And, by means of the palm trunk, I began to mount towards the open
lattice.
Gaining my objective, I stumbled into a room which presented a scene
of the wildest disorder. It was a large apartment, well but sparsely
furnished in the Eastern manner, and lighted by three hanging lamps.
Directly under one of these, beside an overturned cabinet of richly
carven wood inlaid with mother-o'-pearl, lay a Nubian, insensible,
and arrayed only in shirt and trousers. There was no one else in the
room, and, not pausing to explore those which opened out of it, I ran
and unbolted the heavy door upon which Abû Tabâh was clamoring for
admittance.
The _imám_ leaped into the room, rebolted the door, and glanced to
the right and left; then he ran into the adjoining apartments, and
finally, observing the insensible Nubian upon the floor, he stared
into my face, and I read anger in the eyes that were wont to be so
gentle.
"Did I not enjoin you to prevent his escape from the window?" he
cried.
"No one escaped from the window, my friend," I retorted, "except
the lady who was occupying the suite."
Abû Tabâh fixed his weird eyes upon me in a hypnotic stare of such
uncanny power that I was angrily conscious of much difficulty in
sustaining it; but gradually the quelling look grew less harsh, and
finally his whole expression softened, and that sweet smile, which
could so transform his face, disturbed the severity of the set lips.
"No man is infallible," he said. "And wiser than you or I have shown
themselves the veriest fools in contest with Omar Ali Khân. But know,
O Kernaby Pasha, that the lady who occupied this suite secretly left
it at sunset to-night, bearing her jewels with her, and he"--pointing
to the insensible Nubian on the floor--"took her place and wore her
raiment----"
"Then the Mudîr's daughter----"
"Is my sister Ayesha!"
I looked at him reproachfully, but he met my gaze with calm pride.
"Subterfuge was permitted by the Prophet, (on whom be peace)," he
continued; "but not lying! My sister _is_ the daughter of the Mudîr
el-Fáyûm."
It was a rebuke, perhaps a merited one; and I accepted it in silence.
Although, from the moment that I had first set eyes on him, I had
never doubted Abû Tabâh to be a man of good family, this modest avowal
was something of a revelation.
"Her presence here, which was permitted by my father," he said, "was a
trap; for it is well known throughout the Moslem world that she is the
possessor of costly ornaments. The trap succeeded. Omar of Ispahân, at
great risk of discovery, remained to steal her jewels, although he had
already amassed a choice collection."
Someone had begun to bang upon the bolted door, and there was an
excited crowd beneath the window.
"You supposed, no doubt," the _imám_ resumed calmly, "that I suspected
Major Redpath and M. Balabas, as well as Mr. Chundermeyer and the
English detective? It was not so. But I regarded the room of M.
Balabas as excellently situated for Omar's purpose, and I knew that M.
Balabas rarely retired earlier than one o'clock. Even more suitable
was that of Major Redpath, whose illness I believe to have been due to
some secret art of Omar's."
"But he is down with chronic malaria!"
"It may even be so; yet I believe the attack to have been induced by
Omar of Ispahân."
"But why?"
"Because, as I learned to-night, Major Redpath is the only person in
Cairo who has ever met Mr. Chundermeyer! I will confess that until
less than an hour ago I did not know if Inspector Carlisle was
_really_ an inspector! Oh, it is a seeming absurdity; but Omar of
Ispahân is a wizard! Therefore I entered the inspector's room, and
found him to be still unconscious. Major Redpath was in deep slumber,
and Omar had entered and quitted his room without disturbing him. I
did likewise, and visited Mr. Chundermeyer's--the door was ajar--on
my way downstairs."
"But, my friend," I said amazedly, "with my own eyes I beheld Mr.
Chundermeyer gagged and bound in his wardrobe! I saw his bruised
wrists!"
"He gagged, bound, and bruised himself!" replied Abû Tabâh calmly.
"With my own eyes I once beheld a blind mendicant hanging by the neck
from a fig tree, a bloody froth upon his lips. I cut him down and left
him for dead. Yet was he neither dead nor a blind mendicant; he was
Omar Ali Khân! Oblige me by opening the door, Kernaby Pasha."
I obeyed, and an excited throng burst in, headed by M. Balabas and
Inspector Carlisle, the latter looking very pale and haggard!
"Where is the man posing as Chundermeyer?" began the detective
hoarsely. "By sheer sleight-of-hand, and under ye're very
noses"--excitement rendered him weirdly Caledonian--"he has robbed
ye! I cabled Madras to-day, and the real Chundermeyer arrived at
Amsterdam last Friday! As I returned with the reply cable in my pocket
to-night I became so dizzy I was only just able to get to my room.
He'd doctored every smoke in my case! Where is he?"
"I assisted him to escape, disguised as a woman, some ten minutes
ago," I replied feebly. "I should be sincerely indebted to you if
you would kick me."
"Escaped!" roared Inspector Carlisle. "Then what are ye doing here?
Pursue him, somebody! Are ye all mad?"
"We should be," said Abû Tabâh, "to attempt pursuit. As well pursue
the shadow of a cloud, the first spear of sunrise, or the phantom
heifer of Pepi-Ankh, as pursue Omar of Ispahân! He is gone--but
empty-handed. Behold what I recovered from 'Mr. Chundermeyer's' room."
From beneath his black _gibbeh_ he took out a leather bag, opened it,
and displayed to our startled eyes the tiara of Mrs. Van Heysten, the
rope of pearls, and--my Hatshepsu scarab!
Ere anyone could utter a word, Abû Tabâh inclined his head in
dignified salutation, turned, and walked stately from the room.
V
BREATH OF ALLAH
I
For close upon a week I had been haunting the purlieus of the Mûski,
attired as a respectable dragoman, my face and hands reduced to a
deeper shade of brown by means of a water-color paint (I had to use
something that could be washed off and grease-paint is useless for
purposes of actual disguise) and a neat black moustache fixed to my
lip with spirit-gum. In his story _Beyond the Pale_, Rudyard Kipling
has trounced the man who inquires too deeply into native life; but if
everybody thought with Kipling we should never have had a Lane or a
Burton and I should have continued in unbroken scepticism regarding
the reality of magic. Whereas, because of the matters which I am about
to set forth, for ten minutes of my life I found myself a trembling
slave of the unknown.
Let me explain at once that my undignified masquerade was not prompted
by mere curiosity or the quest of the pomegranate, it was undertaken
as the natural sequel to a letter received from Messrs. Moses, Murphy
and Co., the firm which I represented in Egypt, containing curious
matters affording much food for reflection. "We would ask you," ran
the communication, "to renew your inquiries into the particular
composition of the perfume 'Breath of Allah,' of which you obtained
us a sample at a cost which we regarded as excessive. It appears to
consist in the blending of certain obscure essential oils and
gum-resins; and the nature of some of these has defied analysis to
date. Over a hundred experiments have been made to discover
substitutes for the missing essences, but without success; and as
we are now in a position to arrange for the manufacture of Oriental
perfume on an extensive scale we should be prepared to make it _well
worth your while_ (the last four words characteristically underlined
in red ink) if you could obtain for us a correct copy of the original
prescription."
The letter went on to say that it was proposed to establish a separate
company for the exploitation of the new perfume, with a registered
address in Cairo and a "manufactory" in some suitably inaccessible
spot in the Near East.
I pondered deeply over these matters. The scheme was a good one and
could not fail to reap considerable profits; for, given extensive
advertising, there is always a large and monied public for a new
smell. The particular blend of liquid fragrance to which the letter
referred was assured of a good sale at a high price, not alone in
Egypt, but throughout the capitals of the world, provided it could
be put upon the market; but the proposition of manufacture was beset
with extraordinary difficulties.
The tiny vial which I had despatched to Birmingham nearly twelve
months before had cost me close upon £100 to procure, for the reason
that "Breath of Allah" was the secret property of an old and
aristocratic Egyptian family whose great wealth and exclusiveness
rendered them unapproachable. By dint of diligent inquiry I had
discovered the _attár_ to whom was entrusted certain final processes
in the preparation of the perfume--only to learn that he was ignorant
of its exact composition. But although he had assured me (and I did
not doubt his word) that not one grain had hitherto passed out of
the possession of the family, I had succeeded in procuring a small
quantity of the precious fluid.
Messrs. Moses, Murphy and Co. had made all the necessary arrangements
for placing it upon the market, only to learn, as this eventful letter
advised me, that the most skilled chemists whose services were
obtainable had failed to analyse it.
One morning, then, in my assumed character, I was proceeding along
the Shâria el-Hamzâwi seeking for some scheme whereby I might win
the confidence of Mohammed er-Rahmân the _attár_, or perfumer. I had
quitted the house in the Darb el-Ahmar which was my base of operations
but a few minutes earlier, and as I approached the corner of the
street a voice called from a window directly above my head: "Saïd!
Saïd!"
Without supposing that the call referred to myself, I glanced up,
and met the gaze of an old Egyptian of respectable appearance who
was regarding me from above. Shading his eyes with a gnarled hand--
"Surely," he cried, "it is none other than Saïd the nephew of Yûssuf
Khalig! _Es-selâm 'aleykûm, Saïd!_"
"_Aleykûm, es-selâm_," I replied, and stood there looking up at him.
"Would you perform a little service for me, Saïd?" he continued.
"It will occupy you but an hour and you may earn five piastres."
"Willingly," I replied, not knowing to what the mistake of this
evidently half-blind old man might lead me.
I entered the door and mounted the stairs to the room in which he
was, to find that he lay upon a scantily covered _dîwan_ by the open
window.
"Praise be to Allah (whose name be exalted)!" he exclaimed, "that I am
thus fortunately enabled to fulfil my obligations. I sometimes suffer
from an old serpent bite, my son, and this morning it has obliged me
to abstain from all movement. I am called Abdûl the Porter, of whom you
will have heard your uncle speak; and although I have long retired from
active labor myself, I contract for the supply of porters and carriers
of all descriptions and for all purposes; conveying fair ladies to the
_hammám_, youth to the bridal, and death to the grave. Now, it was
written that you should arrive at this timely hour."
I considered it highly probable that it was also written how I should
shortly depart if this garrulous old man continued to inflict upon me
details of his absurd career. However--
"I have a contract with the merchant, Mohammed er-Rahmân of the Sûk
el-Attârin," he continued, "which it has always been my custom
personally to carry out."
The words almost caused me to catch my breath; and my opinion of Abdul
the Porter changed extraordinary. Truly my lucky star had guided my
footsteps that morning!
"Do not misunderstand me," he added. "I refer not to the transport of
his wares to Suez, to Zagazig, to Mecca, to Aleppo, to Baghdad,
Damascus, Kandahar, and Pekin; although the whole of these vast
enterprises is entrusted to none other than the only son of my father:
I speak, now, of the bearing of a small though heavy box from the
great magazine and manufactory of Mohammed er-Rahmân at Shubra, to his
shop in the Sûk el-Attârin, a matter which I have arranged for him on
the eve of the Molid en-Nebi (birthday of the Prophet) for the past
five-and-thirty years. Every one of my porters to whom I might entrust
this special charge is otherwise employed; hence my observation that
it was written how none other than yourself should pass beneath this
window at a certain fortunate hour."
Fortunate indeed had that hour been for me, and my pulse beat far from
normally as I put the question: "Why, O Father Abdul, do you attach so
much importance to this seemingly trivial matter?"
The face of Abdul the Porter, which resembled that of an intelligent
mule, assumed an expression of low cunning.
"The question is well conceived," he said, raising a long forefinger
and wagging it at me. "And who in all Cairo knows so much of the
secrets of the great as Abdul the Know-all, Abdul the Taciturn! Ask
me of the fabled wealth of Karafa Bey and I will name you every one
of his possessions and entertain you with a calculation of his income,
which I have worked out in _nûss-faddah_![B] Ask me of the amber mole
upon the shoulder of the Princess Azîza and I will describe it to you
in such a manner as to ravish your soul! Whisper, my son"--he bent
towards me confidentially--"once a year the merchant Mohammed
er-Rahmân prepares for the Lady Zuleyka a quantity of the perfume
which impious tradition has called 'Breath of Allah.' The father of
Mohammed er-Rahmân prepared it for the mother of the Lady Zuleyka and
his father before him for the lady of that day who held the
secret--the secret which has belonged to the women of this family
since the reign of the Khalîf el-Hakîm from whose favorite wife they
are descended. To her, the wife of the Khalîf, the first _dirhem_
(drachm) ever distilled of the perfume was presented in a gold vase,
together with the manner of its preparation, by the great wizard and
physician Ibn Sina of Bokhara" (Avicenna).
[B] A _nûss-faddah_ equals a quarter of a farthing.
"You are well called Abdul the Know-all!" I cried in admiration. "Then
the secret is held by Mohammed er-Rahmân?"
"Not so, my son," replied Abdul. "Certain of the essences employed are
brought, in sealed vessels, from the house of the Lady Zuleyka, as is
also the brass coffer containing the writing of Ibn Sina; and
throughout the measuring of the quantities, the secret writing never
leaves her hand."
"What, the Lady Zuelyka attends in person?"
Abdul the Porter inclined his head serenely.
"On the eve of the birthday of the Prophet, the Lady Zuelyka visits
the shop of Mohammed er-Rahmân, accompanied by an _imám_ from one of
the great mosques."
"Why by an _imám_, Father Abdul?"
"There is a magical ritual which must be observed in the distillation
of the perfume, and each essence is blessed in the name of one of the
four archangels; and the whole operation must commence at the hour of
midnight on the eve of the Molid en-Nebi."
He peered at me triumphantly.
"Surely," I protested, "an experienced _attár_ such as Mohammed
er-Rahmân would readily recognize these secret ingredients by their
smell?"
"A great pan of burning charcoal," whispered Abdul dramatically, "is
placed upon the floor of the room, and throughout the operation the
attendant _imám_ casts pungent spices upon it, whereby the nature of
the secret essences is rendered unrecognizable. It is time you depart,
my son, to the shop of Mohammed, and I will give you a writing making
you known to him. Your task will be to carry the materials necessary
for the secret operation (which takes place to-night) from the
magazine of Mohammed er-Rahmân at Shubra, to his shop in the Sûk
el-Attârin. My eyesight is far from good, Saïd. Do you write as I
direct and I will place my name to the letter."
II
The words "well worth your while" had kept time to my steps, or I
doubt if I should have survived the odious journey from Shubra. Never
can I forget the shape, color, and especially the weight, of the
locked chest which was my burden. Old Mohammed er-Rahmân had accepted
my service on the strength of the letter signed by Abdul, and of
course, had failed to recognize in "Saïd" that Hon. Neville Kernaby
who had certain confidential dealings with him a year before. But
exactly how I was to profit by the fortunate accident which had led
Abdul to mistake me for someone called "Saïd" became more and more
obscure as the box grew more and more heavy. So that by the time that
I actually arrived with my burden at the entrance to the Street of the
Perfumers, my heart had hardened towards Abdul the Know-all; and,
setting my box upon the ground, I seated myself upon it to rest and
to imprecate at leisure that silent cause of my present exhaustion.
After a time my troubled spirit grew calmer, as I sat there inhaling
the insidious breath of Tonquin musk, the fragrance of attár of roses,
the sweetness of Indian spikenard and the stinging pungency of myrrh,
opoponax, and ihlang-ylang. Faintly I could detect the perfume which
I have always counted the most exquisite of all save one--that
delightful preparation of Jasmine peculiarly Egyptian. But the mystic
breath of frankincense and erotic fumes of ambergris alike left me
unmoved; for amid these odors, through which it has always seemed to
me that that of cedar runs thematically, I sought in vain for any hint
of "Breath of Allah."
Fashionable Europe and America were well represented as usual in the
Sûk el-Attârin, but the little shop of Mohammed er-Rahmân was quite
deserted, although he dealt in the most rare essences of all.
Mohammed, however, did not seek Western patronage, nor was there in
the heart of the little white-bearded merchant any envy of his
seemingly more prosperous neighbors in whose shops New York, London,
and Paris smoked amber-scented cigarettes, and whose wares were
carried to the uttermost corners of the earth. There is nothing more
illusory than the outward seeming of the Eastern merchant. The
wealthiest man with whom I was acquainted in the Muski had the aspect
of a mendicant; and whilst Mohammed's neighbors sold phials of essence
and tiny boxes of pastilles to the patrons of Messrs. Cook, were not
the silent caravans following the ancient desert routes laden with
great crates of sweet merchandise from the manufactory at Shubra? To
the city of Mecca alone Mohammed sent annually perfumes to the value
of two thousand pounds sterling; he manufactured three kinds of
incense exclusively for the royal house of Persia; and his wares were
known from Alexandria to Kashmîr, and prized alike in Stambûl and
Tartary. Well might he watch with tolerant smile the more showy
activities of his less fortunate competitors.
The shop of Mohammed er-Rahmân was at the end of the street remote
from the Hamzâwi (Cloth Bazaar), and as I stood up to resume my labors
my mood of gloomy abstraction was changed as much by a certain
atmosphere of expectancy--I cannot otherwise describe it--as by the
familiar smells of the place. I had taken no more than three paces
onward into the Sûk ere it seemed to me that all business had suddenly
become suspended; only the Western element of the throng remained
outside whatever influence had claimed the Orientals. Then presently
the visitors, also becoming aware of this expectant hush as I had
become aware of it, turned almost with one accord, and following the
direction of the merchants' glances, gazed up the narrow street
towards the Mosque of el-Ashraf.
And here I must chronicle a curious circumstance. Of the Imám Abû
Tabâh I had seen nothing for several weeks, but at this moment I
suddenly found myself thinking of that remarkable man. Whilst any
mention of his name, or nickname--for I could not believe "Tabâh" to
be patronymic--amongst the natives led only to pious ejaculations
indicative of respectful fear, by the official world he was tacitly
disowned. Yet I had indisputable evidence to show that few doors in
Cairo, or indeed in all Egypt, were closed to him; he came and went
like a phantom. I should never have been surprised, on entering my
private apartments at Shepheard's, to have found him seated therein,
nor did I question the veracity of a native acquaintance who assured
me that he had met the mysterious _imám_ in Aleppo on the same morning
that a letter from his partner in Cairo had arrived mentioning a visit
by Abû Tabâh to el-Azhar. But throughout the native city he was known
as the Magician and was very generally regarded as a master of the
_ginn_. Once more depositing my burden upon the ground, then, I gazed
with the rest in the direction of the mosque.
It was curious, that moment of perfumed silence, and my imagination,
doubtless inspired by the memory of Abû Tabâh, was carried back to the
days of the great _khalîfs_, which never seem far removed from one in
those mediæval streets. I was transported to the Cairo of Harûn al
Raschîd, and I thought that the Grand Wazîr on some mission from
Baghdad was visiting the Sûk el-Attârin.
Then, stately through the silent group, came a black-robed,
white-turbaned figure outwardly similar to many others in the bazaar,
but followed by two tall muffled negroes. So still was the place that
I could hear the tap of his ebony stick as he strode along the centre
of the street.
At the shop of Mohammed er-Rahmân he paused, exchanging a few words
with the merchant, then resumed his way, coming down the Sûk towards
me. His glance met mine, as I stood there beside the box; and, to my
amazement, he saluted me with smiling dignity and passed on. Had he,
too, mistaken me for Saïd--or had his all-seeing gaze detected beneath
my disguise the features of Neville Kernaby?
As he turned out of the narrow street into the Hamzâwi, the commercial
uproar was resumed instantly, so that save for this horrible doubt
which had set my heart beating with uncomfortable rapidity, by all the
evidences now about me his coming might have been a dream.
III
Filled with misgivings, I carried the box along to the shop; but
Mohammed er-Rahmân's greeting held no hint of suspicion.
"By fleetness of foot thou shalt never win Paradise," he said.
"Nor by unseemly haste shall I thrust others from the path,"
I retorted.
"It is idle to bandy words with any acquaintance of Abdul the
Porter's," sighed Mohammed; "well do I know it. Take up the box
and follow me."
With a key which he carried attached to a chain about his waist,
he unlocked the ancient door which alone divided his shop from the
outjutting wall marking a bend in the street. A native shop is usually
nothing more than a double cell; but descending three stone steps,
I found myself in one of those cellar-like apartments which are not
uncommon in this part of Cairo. Windows there were none, if I except
a small square opening, high up in one of the walls, which evidently
communicated with the narrow courtyard separating Mohammed's
establishment from that of his neighbor, but which admitted scanty
light and less ventilation. Through this opening I could see what
looked like the uplifted shafts of a cart. From one of the rough
beams of the rather lofty ceiling a brass lamp hung by chains, and
a quantity of primitive chemical paraphernalia littered the place;
old-fashioned alembics, mysterious looking jars, and a sort of
portable furnace, together with several tripods and a number of large,
flat brass pans gave the place the appearance of some old alchemist's
den. A rather handsome ebony table, intricately carved and inlaid with
mother-o'-pearl and ivory, stood before a cushioned _dîwan_ which
occupied that side of the room in which was the square window.
"Set the box upon the floor," directed Mohammed, "but not with such
undue dispatch as to cause thyself to sustain an injury."
That he had been eagerly awaiting the arrival of the box and was now
burningly anxious to witness my departure, grew more and more apparent
with every word. Therefore--
"There are asses who are fleet of foot," I said, leisurely depositing
my load at his feet; "but the wise man regulateth his pace in
accordance with three things: the heat of the sun; the welfare of
others; and the nature of his burden."
"That thou hast frequently paused on the way from Shubra to reflect
upon these three things," replied Mohammed, "I cannot doubt; depart,
therefore, and ponder them at leisure, for I perceive that thou art
a great philosopher."
"Philosophy," I continued, seating myself upon the box, "sustaineth
the mind, but the activity of the mind being dependent upon the
welfare of the stomach, even the philosopher cannot afford to labor
without hire."
At that, Mohammed er-Rahmân unloosed upon me a long pent-up torrent of
invective--and furnished me with the information which I was seeking.
"O son of a wall-eyed mule!" he cried, shaking his fists over me, "no
longer will I suffer thy idiotic chatter! Return to Abdul the Porter,
who employed thee, for not one _faddah_ will I give thee, calamitous
mongrel that thou art! Depart! for I was but this moment informed that
a lady of high station is about to visit me. Depart! lest she mistake
my shop for a pigsty."
But even as he spoke the words, I became aware of a vague disturbance
in the street, and--
"Ah!" cried Mohammed, running to the foot of the steps and gazing
upwards, "now am I utterly undone! Shame of thy parents that thou
art, it is now unavoidable that the Lady Zuleyka shall find thee
in my shop. Listen, offensive insect--thou art Saïd, my assistant.
Utter not one word; or with this"--to my great alarm he produced
a dangerous-looking pistol from beneath his robe--"will I blow a
hole through thy vacuous skull!"
Hastily concealing the pistol, he went hurrying up the steps, in time
to perform a low salutation before a veiled woman who was accompanied
by a Sûdanese servant-girl and a negro. Exchanging some words with her
which I was unable to detect, Mohammed er-Rahmân led the way down into
the apartment wherein I stood, followed by the lady, who in turn was
followed by her servant. The negro remained above. Perceiving me as
she entered, the lady, who was attired with extraordinary elegance,
paused, glancing at Mohammed.
"My lady," he began immediately, bowing before her, "it is Saïd my
assistant, the slothfulness of whose habits is only exceeded by the
impudence of his conversation."
She hesitated, bestowing upon me a glance of her beautiful eyes.
Despite the gloom of the place and the _yashmak_ which she wore, it
was manifest that she was good to look upon. A faint but exquisite
perfume stole to my nostrils, whereby I knew that Mohammed's charming
visitor was none other than, the Lady Zuleyka.
"Yet," she said softly, "he hath the look of an active young man."
"His activity," replied the scent merchant, "resideth entirely in
his tongue."
The Lady Zuleyka seated herself upon the _dîwan_, looking all about
the apartment.
"Everything is in readiness, Mohammed?" she asked.
"Everything, my lady."
Again the beautiful eyes were turned in my direction, and, as their
inscrutable gaze rested upon me, a scheme--which, since it was never
carried out, need not be described--presented itself to my mind.
Following a brief but eloquent silence--for my answering glances were
laden with significance:--
"O Mohammed," said the Lady Zuleyka indolently, "in what manner doth
a merchant, such as thyself, chastise his servants when their conduct
displeaseth him?"
Mohammed er-Rahmân seemed somewhat at a loss for a reply, and stood
there staring foolishly.
"I have whips for mine," murmured the soft voice. "It is an old custom
of my family."
Slowly she cast her eyes in my direction once more.
"It seemed to me, O Saïd," she continued, gracefully resting one
jeweled hand upon the ebony table, "that thou hadst presumed to cast
love-glances upon me. There is one waiting above whose duty it is to
protect me from such insults. Miska!"--to the servant girl--"summon
El-Kimri (The Dove)."
Whilst I stood there dumbfounded and abashed the girl called up the
steps:
"El-Kimri! Come hither!"
Instantly there burst into the room the form of that hideous negro
whom I had glimpsed above; and--
"O Kimri," directed the Lady Zuleyka, and languidly extended her hand
in my direction, "throw this presumptuous clown into the street!"
My discomfiture had proceeded far enough, and I recognized that, at
whatever risk of discovery, I must act instantly. Therefore, at the
moment that El-Kimri reached the foot of the steps, I dashed my left
fist into his grinning face, putting all my weight behind the blow,
which I followed up with a short right, utterly outraging the
pugilistic proprieties, since it was well below the belt. El-Kimri bit
the dust to the accompaniment of a human discord composed of three
notes--and I leaped up the steps, turned to the left, and ran off
around the Mosque of el-Ashraf, where I speedily lost myself in the
crowded Ghurîya.
Beneath their factitious duskiness my cheeks were burning hotly: I was
ashamed of my execrable artistry. For a druggist's assistant does not
lightly make love to a duchess!
IV
I spent the remainder of the forenoon at my house in the Darb el-Ahmar
heaping curses upon my own fatuity and upon the venerable head of
Abdul the Know-all. At one moment it seemed to me that I had wantonly
destroyed a golden opportunity, at the next that the seeming
opportunity had been a mere mirage. With the passing of noon and the
approach of evening I sought desperately for a plan, knowing that if
I failed to conceive one by midnight, another chance of seeing the
famous prescription would probably not present itself for twelve
months.
At about four o'clock in the afternoon came the dawn of a hazy idea,
and since it necessitated a visit to my rooms at Shepheard's, I washed
the paint off my face and hands, changed, hurried to the hotel, ate a
hasty meal, and returned to the Darb el-Ahmar, where I resumed my
disguise.
There are some who have criticized me harshly in regard to my
commercial activities at this time, and none of my affairs has
provoked greater acerbitude than that of the perfume called "Breath
of Allah." Yet I am at a loss to perceive wherein my perfidy lay; for
my outlook is sufficiently socialistic to cause me to regard with
displeasure the conserving by an individual of something which,
without loss to himself, might reasonably be shared by the community.
For this reason I have always resented the way in which the Moslem
veils the faces of the pearls of his _harêm_. And whilst the success
of my present enterprise would not render the Lady Zuleyka the poorer,
it would enrich and beautify the world by delighting the senses of men
with a perfume more exquisite than any hitherto known.
Such were my reflections as I made my way through the dark and
deserted bazaar quarter, following the Shâria el-Akkadi to the Mosque
of el-Ashraf. There I turned to the left in the direction of the
Hamzâwi, until, coming to the narrow alley opening from it into the
Sûk el-Attârin, I plunged into its darkness, which was like that of
a tunnel, although the upper parts of the houses above were silvered
by the moon.
I was making for that cramped little courtyard adjoining the shop of
Mohammed er-Rahmân in which I had observed the presence of one of
those narrow high-wheeled carts peculiar to the district, and as the
entrance thereto from the Sûk was closed by a rough wooden fence I
anticipated little difficult in gaining access. Yet there was one
difficulty which I had not foreseen, and which I had not met with had
I arrived, as I might easily have arranged to do, a little earlier.
Coming to the corner of the Street of the Perfumers, I cautiously
protruded my head in order to survey the prospect.
Abû Tabâh was standing immediately outside the shop of Mohammed
er-Rahmân!
My heart gave a great leap as I drew back into the shadow, for I
counted his presence of evil omen to the success of my enterprise.
Then, a swift revelation, the truth burst in upon my mind. He was
there in the capacity of _imám_ and attendant magician at the mystical
"Blessing of the perfumes"! With cautious tread I retraced my steps,
circled round the Mosque and made for the narrow street which runs
parallel with that of the Perfumers and into which I knew the
courtyard beside Mohammed's shop must open. What I did not know was
how I was going to enter it from that end.
I experienced unexpected difficulty in locating the place, for the
height of the buildings about me rendered it impossible to pick up
any familiar landmark. Finally, having twice retraced my steps, I
determined that a door of old but strong workmanship set in a high,
thick wall must communicate with the courtyard; for I could see no
other opening to the right, or left through which it would have been
possible for a vehicle to pass.
Mechanically I tried the door, but, as I had anticipated, found it to
be securely locked. A profound silence reigned all about me and there
was no window in sight from which my operations could be observed.
Therefore, having planned out my route, I determined to scale the
wall. My first foothold was offered by the heavy wooden lock which
projected fully six inches from the door. Above it was a crossbeam and
then a gap of several inches between the top of the gate and the arch
into which it was built. Above the arch projected an iron rod from
which depended a hook; and if I could reach the bar it would be
possible to get astride the wall.
I reached the bar successfully, and although it proved to be none too
firmly fastened, I took the chance and without making very much noise
found myself perched aloft and looking down into the little court. A
sigh of relief escaped me; for the narrow cart with its
disproportionate wheels stood there as I had seen it in the morning,
its shafts pointing gauntly upward to where the moon of the Prophet's
nativity swam in a cloudless sky. A dim light shone out from the
square window of Mohammed er-Rahmân's cellar.
Having studied the situation very carefully, I presently perceived to
my great satisfaction that whilst the tail of the cart was wedged
under a crossbar, which retained it in its position, one of the
shafts was in reach of my hand. Thereupon I entrusted my weight to the
shaft, swinging out over the well of the courtyard. So successful was
I that only a faint creaking sound resulted; and I descended into the
vehicle almost silently.
Having assured myself that my presence was undiscovered by Abû Tabâh,
I stood up cautiously, my hands resting upon the wall, and peered
through the little window into the room. Its appearance had changed
somewhat. The lamp was lighted and shed a weird and subdued
illumination upon a rough table placed almost beneath it. Upon this
table were scales, measures, curiously shaped flasks, and odd-looking
chemical apparatus which might have been made in the days of Avicenna
himself. At one end of the table stood an alembic over a little pan in
which burnt a spirituous flame. Mohammed er-Rahmân was placing
cushions upon the _dîwan_ immediately beneath me, but there was no one
else in the room. Glancing upward, I noted that the height of the
neighboring building prevented the moonlight from penetrating into the
courtyard, so that my presence could not be detected by means of any
light from without; and, since the whole of the upper part of the room
was shadowed, I saw little cause for apprehension within.
At this moment came the sound of a car approaching along the Shâria
esh-Sharawâni. I heard it stop, near the Mosque of el-Ashraf, and in
the almost perfect stillness of those tortuous streets from which by
day arises a very babel of tongues I heard approaching footsteps. I
crouched down in the cart, as the footsteps came nearer, passed the
end of the courtyard abutting on the Street of the Perfumers, and
paused before the shop of Mohammed er-Rahmân. The musical voice of
Abû Tabâh spoke and that of the Lady Zuleyka answered. Came a loud
rapping, and the creak of an opening door: then--
"Descend the steps, place the coffer on the table, and then remain
immediately outside the door," continued the imperious voice of the
lady. "Make sure that there are no eavesdroppers."
Faintly through the little window there reached my ears a sound as of
some heavy object being placed upon a wooden surface, then a muffled
disturbance as of several persons entering the room; finally, the
muffled bang of a door closed and barred ... and soft footsteps in
the adjoining street!
Crouching down in the cart and almost holding my breath, I watched
through a hole in the side of the ramshackle vehicle that fence to
which I have already referred as closing the end of the courtyard
which adjoined the Sûk el-Attârin. A spear of moonlight, penetrating
through some gap in the surrounding buildings, silvered its extreme
edge. To an accompaniment of much kicking and heavy breathing, into
this natural limelight arose the black countenance of "The Dove."
To my unbounded joy I perceived that his nose was lavishly decorated
with sticking-plaster and that his right eye was temporarily off duty.
Eight fat fingers clutching at the top of the woodwork, the bloated
negro regarded the apparently empty yard for a space of some three
seconds, ere lowering his ungainly bulk to the level of the street
again. Followed a faint "pop" and a gurgling quite unmistakable. I
heard him walking back to the door, as I cautiously stood up and
again surveyed the interior of the room.
V
Egypt, as the earliest historical records show, has always been a land
of magic, and according to native belief it is to-day the theater of
many super-natural dramas. For my own part, prior to the episode which
I am about to relate, my personal experiences of the kind had been
limited and unconvincing. That Abû Tabâh possessed a sort of uncanny
power akin to second sight I knew, but I regarded it merely as a form
of telepathy. His presence at the preparation of the secret perfume
did not surprise me, for a belief in the efficacy of magical
operations prevailed, as I was aware, even among the more cultured
Moslems. My scepticism, however, was about to be rudely shaken.
As I raised my head above the ledge of the window and looked into the
room, I perceived the Lady Zuleyka seated on the cushioned _dîwan_,
her hands resting upon an open roll of parchment which lay upon the
table beside a massive brass chest of antique native workmanship. The
lid of the chest was raised, and the interior seemed to be empty, but
near it upon the table I observed a number of gold-stoppered vessels
of Venetian glass and each of which was of a different color.
Beside a brazier wherein glowed a charcoal fire, Abû Tabâh stood;
and into the fire he cast alternately strips of paper bearing writing
of some sort and little dark brown pastilles which he took from
a sandalwood box set upon a sort of tripod beside him. They were
composed of some kind of aromatic gum in which benzoin seemed to
predominate, and the fumes from the brazier filled the room with
a blue mist.
The _imám_, in his soft, musical voice, was reciting that chapter of
the Korân called "The Angel." The weird ceremony had begun. In order
to achieve my purpose I perceived that I should have to draw myself
right up to the narrow embrasure and rest my weight entirely upon the
ledge of the window. There was little danger in the maneuver, provided
I made no noise; for the hanging lamp, by reason of its form, cast no
light into the upper part of the room. As I achieved the desired
position I became painfully aware of the pungency of the perfume with
which the apartment was filled.
Lying there upon the ledge in a most painful attitude, I wriggled
forward inch by inch further into the room, until I was in a position
to use my right arm more or less freely. The preliminary prayer
concluded, the measuring of the perfumes had now actually commenced,
and I readily perceived that without recourse to the parchment, from
which the Lady Zuleyka never once removed her hands, it would indeed
be impossible to discover the secret. For, consulting the ancient
prescription, she would select one of the gold-stoppered bottles,
unscrew it, direct that so many grains should be taken from it, and
never removing her gaze from Mohammed er-Rahmân whilst he measured
out the correct quantity, would restopper the vessel and so proceed.
As each was placed in a wide-mouthed glass jar by the perfumer, Abû
Tabâh, extending his hands over the jar, pronounced the names:
"Gabraîl Mikaîl, Israfîl, Israîl."
Cautiously I raised to my eyes the small but powerful opera-glasses
to procure which I had gone to my rooms at Shepheard's. Focussing them
upon the ancient scroll lying on the table beneath me, I discovered,
to my joy, that I could read the lettering quite well. Whilst Abû
Tabâh began to recite some kind of incantation in the course of which
the names of the Companions of the Prophet frequently occurred, I
commenced to read the writing of Avicenna.
"In the name of God, the Compassionate, the Merciful, the High, the
Great...."
So far had I proceeded and no further when I became aware of a curious
change in the form of the Arabic letters. They seemed to be moving, to
be cunningly changing places one with another as if to trick me out of
grasping their meaning!
The illusion persisting, I determined that it was due to the unnatural
strain imposed upon my vision, and although I recognized that time
was precious I found myself compelled temporarily to desist, since
nothing was to be gained by watching these letters which danced from
side to side of the parchment, sometimes in groups and sometimes
singly, so that I found myself pursuing one slim Arab A (_'Alif_)
entirely up the page from the bottom to the top where it finally
disappeared under the thumb of the Lady Zuleyka!
Lowering the glasses I stared down in stupefaction at Abû Tabâh. He
had just cast fresh incense upon the flames, and it came home to me,
with a childish and unreasoning sense of terror, that the Egyptians
who called this man the Magician were wiser than I. For whilst I could
no longer hear his voice, I now could _see_ the words issuing from his
mouth! They formed slowly and gracefully in the blue clouds of vapour
some four feet above his head, revealed their meaning to me in letters
of gold, and then faded away towards the ceiling!
Old-established beliefs began to totter about me as I became aware of
a number of small murmuring voices within the room. They were the
voices of the perfumes burning in the brazier. Said one, in a guttural
tone:
"I am Myrrh. My voice is the voice of the Tomb."
And another softly: "I am Ambergris. I lure the hearts of men."
And a third huskily: "I am Patchouli. My promises are lies."
My sense of smell seemed to have deserted me and to have been
replaced by a sense of hearing. And now this room of magic began to
expand before my eyes. The walls receded and receded, until the
apartment grew larger than the interior of the Citadel Mosque; the
roof shot up so high that I knew there was no cathedral in the world
half so lofty. Abû Tabâh, his hands extended above the brazier, shrank
to minute dimensions, and the Lady Zuleyka, seated beneath me, became
almost invisible.
The project which had led me to thrust myself into the midst of this
feast of sorcery vanished from my mind. I desired but one thing: to
depart, ere reason utterly deserted me. But, to my horror, I
discovered that my muscles were become rigid bands of iron! The figure
of Abû Tabâh was drawing nearer; his slowly moving arms had grown
serpentine and his eyes had changed to pools of flame which seemed to
summon me. At the time when this new phenomenon added itself to the
other horrors, I seemed to be impelled by an irresistible force to
jerk my head downwards: I heard my neck muscles snap metallically: I
_saw_ a scream of agony spurt forth from my lips ... and I saw upon a
little ledge immediately below the square window a little _mibkharah_,
or incense burner, which hitherto I had not observed. A thick, oily
brown stream of vapor was issuing from its perforated lid and bathing
my face clammily. Sense of smell I had none; but a chuckling,
demoniacal voice spoke from the _mibkharah_, saying--
"I am _Hashish_! I drive men mad! Whilst thou hast lain up there like
a very fool, I have sent my vapors to thy brain and stolen thy senses
from thee. It was for this purpose that I was set here beneath the
window where thou couldst not fail to enjoy the full benefit of my
poisonous perfume...."
Slipping off the ledge, I fell ... and darkness closed about me.
VI
My awakening constitutes one of the most painful recollections of a
not uneventful career; for, with aching head and tortured limbs, I sat
upright upon the floor of a tiny, stuffy, and uncleanly cell! The only
light was that which entered by way of a little grating in the door.
I was a prisoner; and, in the same instant that I realized the fact
of my incarceration, I realized also that I had been duped. The weird
happenings in the apartment of Mohammed er-Rahmân had been
hallucinations due to my having inhaled the fumes of some preparation
of _hashish_, or Indian hemp. The characteristic sickly odor of the
drug had been concealed by the pungency of the other and more
odoriferous perfumes; and because of the position of the censer
containing the burning _hashish_, no one else in the room had been
affected by its vapor. Could it have been that Abû Tabâh had known
of my presence from the first?
I rose, unsteadily, and looked out through the grating into a narrow
passage. A native constable stood at one end of it, and beyond him I
obtained a glimpse of the entrance hall. Instantly I recognized that
I was under arrest at the Bâb el-Khalk police station!
A great rage consumed me. Raising my fists I banged furiously upon
the door, and the Egyptian policeman came running along the passage.
"What does this mean, _shawêsh_?" I demanded. "Why am I detained here?
I am an Englishman. Send the superintendent to me instantly."
The policeman's face expressed alternately anger, surprise, and
stupefaction.
"You were brought here last night, most disgustingly and speechlessly
drunk, in a cart!" he replied.
"I demand to see the superintendent."
"Certainly, certainly, _effendim_!" cried the man, now thoroughly
alarmed. "In an instant, _effendim_!"
Such is the magical power of the word "Inglîsi" (Englishman).
A painfully perturbed and apologetic native official appeared almost
immediately, to whom I explained that I had been to a fancy dress ball
at the Gezira Palace Hotel, and, injudiciously walking homeward at a
late hour, had been attacked and struck senseless. He was anxiously
courteous, sending a man to Shepheard's with my written instructions
to bring back a change of apparel and offering me every facility for
removing my disguise and making myself presentable. The fact that he
palpably disbelieved my story did not render his concern one whit the
less.
I discovered the hour to be close upon noon, and, once more my outward
self, I was about to depart from the Place Bâb el-Khalk, when, into
the superintendent's room came Abû Tabâh! His handsome ascetic face
exhibited grave concern as he saluted me.
"How can I express my sorrow, Kernaby Pasha," he said in his soft
faultless English, "that so unfortunate and unseemly an accident
should have befallen you? I learned of your presence here but a few
moments ago, and I hastened to convey to you an assurance of my
deepest regret and sympathy."
"More than good of you," I replied. "I am much indebted."
"It grieves me," he continued suavely, "to learn that there are
footpads infesting the Cairo streets, and that an English gentleman
may not walk home from a ball safely. I trust that you will provide
the police with a detailed account of any valuables which you may have
lost. I have here"--thrusting his hand into his robe--"the only item
of your property thus far recovered. No doubt you are somewhat
short-sighted, Kernaby Pasha, as I am, and experience a certain
difficulty in discerning the names of your partners upon your dance
programme."
And with one of those sweet smiles which could so transfigure his
face, Abû Tabâh handed me my opera-glasses!
VI
THE WHISPERING MUMMY
I
Felix Bréton and I were the only occupants of the raised platform
at the end of the hall; and the inartistic performance of the bulky
dancer who occupied the stage promised to be interminable. From
motives of sheer boredom I studied the details of her dress--a white
dress, fitting like a vest from shoulder to hip, and having short,
full sleeves under which was a sort of blue gauze. Her hair, wrists,
and ankles glittered with barbaric jewelery and strings of little
coins.
A deafening orchestra consisting of tambourines, shrieking Arab viols,
and the inevitable _daràbukeh_, surrounded the performer in a
half-circle; and three other large-sized _ghawâzi_ mingled their
shrill voices with the barbaric discords of the musicians. I yawned.
"As a quest of local color, Bréton," I said, "this evening's
expedition can only be voted a dismal failure."
Felix Bréton turned to me, with a smile, resting his elbows upon the
dirty little marble-topped table. He looked sufficiently like an
artist to have been merely a painter; yet his gruesome picture "Le
Roi S'Amuse" had proved the salvation of the previous Salon.
"Have patience," he said; "it is Shejeret ed-Durr (Tree of Pearls)
that we have come to see, and she has not yet appeared."
"Unless she appears shortly," I replied, stifling another yawn,
"I shall disappear."
But even as I spoke, there arose a hum of excitement throughout
the crowded room; the fat dancer, breathless from her unpleasing
exertions, resumed her seat; and all the performers turned their
heads towards a door at the side of the stage. A veiled figure
entered, with slow, lithe step; and her appearance was acclaimed
excitedly. Coming to the centre of the stage, she threw off her
veil with a swift movement, and confronted the audience, a slim,
barbaric figure. I glanced at Felix Bréton. His eyes were glittering
with excitement. Here at last was the _ghazîyeh_ of romance, the
_ghazîyeh_ of the Egyptian monuments; a true daughter of that
mysterious tribe who, in the remote past of the Nile-land, wove
spells of subtle moon-magic before the golden Pharaoh.
A monstrous crash from the musicians opened the music of the
dance--the famous Gazelle dance--which commenced to a measure of
long, monotonous cadences. Shejeret ed-Durr began slowly to move her
arms and body in that indescribable manner which, like the stirring
of palm fronds, speaks the veritable language of the voluptuous Orient.
The attendant dancers clashing their miniature cymbals, the measure
quickened, and swift passion informed the languorous body, which
magically became transformed into that of a leaping nymph, a
bacchante, a living illustration of Keats' wonder-words:
"Like to a moving vintage, down they came,
Crown'd with green leaves, and faces all aflame;
All madly dancing through the pleasant valley,
To scare thee, Melancholy!"
At the conclusion of her dance, Shejeret ed-Durr, resuming her veil,
descended to the floor of the hall and passed from table to table,
exchanging light badinage with those patrons known to her.
"Do you think you could induce her to come up here, Kernaby?" said
Bréton excitedly; "she is simply the ideal model for my 'Danse
Funébre.'"
"Any inducement other than our presence in this select part of the
establishment," I replied, offering him a cigarette, "is unnecessary.
She will present herself with all reasonable despatch."
Indeed, I had seen the dark eyes glance many times towards us, as we
sat there in disti
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