The evening world. Newspaper, May 1, 1914, Page 27

| ‘ ee, BE, wy Bate OL) © oiEiben curves, Guam, 0 te Tube out we o-— ot eg (atone ty Fucgeeit’y ta mate, eo the bet os Gara, bo Gant, © ott wo “oho 0 Denetited bes Girerosd. - ~~ wedding oe on, e ——29 die Gt cremey, Tom ie ost (Girerce bes, as che hate Asad, tates Ber OF oe “he oe ali exits guarded, Jock mosis Fitagenald, (dle hie ctery, ant permsdes the Englishmen to eamy Petms out of tho city and to 0 pisee of Meantime, Jech has lost the Little book wes to win him the 060,000 bet, It has oem cotsed by 6 fanatic coddler named edi: Geemten's biter onemy. CHAPTER XVIII. t (Comtinaed,) _ An Old Acquaintance. é <6 IF course,” he repeated, this time more absent- @) ly. He was striving not to be too inordinately be cognizant of those won- derful eyes and sweet, enticing lips Never had the former seemed so won- Gerful or the latter s0 sweet as now. They seemed to sing not of El Gen- neh, but El Genseh, lost, the garden unattained. He felt a sudden heart hunger, something sharper and keener, even, than that other appetite @ healthy young pilgrim may develop in the barren waste places, and looked away. + “Mighty lucky!" he murmured in what were intended to be accents of blithe satisfaction. She was regarding him in a troubled way. “Are there any others in Da- mascus who know what I do now?” * Indifferently. He was not thinking of them now, “And that you have been to Mecca?” She stood very straight and still as if thinking. “You should have told me how necessary it was for you to leave the city,” she eceoneeentee ntly with him at lengt! iNet worth bothering about!” he murmured rather weakly. ‘The dark brows drew nearer to- gether slightly. “You should have told me—you should,” she repeated, with @ touch of her old imperiousness. “I 414 not, of course, realize all It meant te you when I asked you that—what 1 41d at my house,” she went om rather huriedly. “I see now all—all that ft 414 mean.” ‘ He tried to think of an answer. Just the adequate one wasn't forthcoming. “Don't think of it!” he compromised by saying. “You—you even once lat me say you might be a coward,” she challenged him. “Did 1? Maybe, under certain cir- cumstances, I might"—— “It was brave!—and—and chival- rous!” the flashing red lips sald. And the wonderful eyes seemed to repeat the words. It quite took his breath away, He shifted. Also, he flushed painfully. ‘And yet she spoke as if not to him, hut to herself, He might have, at that moment, been very distant from her. She was not bombarding him with open flattery or crude praise. At least she was not intending to. In- deed, she seemed scarcely to see him. “Though why?’— ‘The dark eyes atill looked at bim and yet beyond, Her brow was perplexed. “Why should you, afterward?’— She paused. Bhe did look at him now. Disconcert- 8 depths of questioning eyes! “Why?” He understood whet she meant. Why sbould he bave lingered in Damascus afterward? He might have got out before the uprising. At least he might bave made the at- tempt. Instead, he had lingered, inexplic- fooliahly—according to the “Why? The bright turban danced before his eyes. Anomalous Httle turban! Framing not a boy's but a girl's Iips—a girl's eyes! That lad’s cloak, too!—it weemed to mock him; futilely to at- tempt to deceive him—him! He “\\ emiled acoffingly. Again he heard the nightingale’s song—he etepped toward her. “Why?" The word reiterated like @ thunderous echo from @ great mountainside, Almost had he an- ewered her, not discreetly, circum~- epectly, but madly, passionately; al- most he s0i6 her—eveoping her im close!—close!—when-——— Ye onk! honk! resounded outside, ‘The horrible squawk froze the words on his lips. What sixty or seventy- horse-power crow had alighted in his radise? His arms fell to his side, Fie smiled rather feebly. ‘Then he side-stepped. The archaic wild der- viah vanished; the irresponsible no- mad receded. ‘The gentieman—an artificial production, perhaps, but usefux on occasionv—looked out of his eyes. "Time to go.” he said quictiy, on! Banton. wi “Why the deuce deosn't Fitzgerald one of those Gabriel trumpete?” fo esuttarea, CHAPTER XIX. The Brasier. ELL, ehe was gone, The car had whirled away. And only at the last moment had abe eudéenly realised 2 / : ? | 4 i ett i i under his none too akiiful mantp- Glation, bad iterally leaped forward She looked around; an instant his etrained gase received the impression novel one to a man who had slept nights and nights on the sands. But even the solitude of the desert was not like unto this solitude. How- ever, nothing gained by thinking of {t! He squared bis shoulders and marched on. Then he stopped ence mere, overwhelmed by something he hadn't thought of before, He must be sure—know—know to a certainty, she bad actually been able to leave the city, that she was out there, at this moment, in the Gar- den of Eden, epeeding away with another, There was a possibility that the motor might have broken down once more, or—or—that some other unforeseen misfortune had arisen, He accelerated his pace to the near- est exit, the one the nobleman had sald he would leave by. There, his half fears were at once alleviated. The car had gone out, some ten or fifteen minutes ago. She was safe!— gate! No dcubt of it. The words rang through his brain. Amad could never again reach her, to persecute nh She was beyond his power and machinations. Allah be praised! “Ten or fifteen minutes ago!” That meam they were miles from the city wall now, and going fast! Right through, or across, the mythical place of primeval bliss, the original seat of this sometime joyous world. And on & comparatively virgin road for mo- no glass strewn on the way. Para- dise in this respect is atill paradise— an up-to-date one! He looked out over the bitssful Prospect. Not much to see, Too dark! But he got a whiff of the country—those nice smells that are the lineal descendants of the am- brosial odors of the poets. He could —and did—take a good sniff of them. It was the next best thing to being in paradise himself. It was probably as near as he would get to it for some time. He had business, for the Present, in the “other place,” or back there in the city which in some re- @pecta might remind one of the other place. So he turned away, after murmur- ing something—for the benefit of the soldiers he had qaastioned—about cgnines of Englishmen who went way and forgot to reimburse poor romance reciters they ha¢ employed for the entertainment .: guests. He voiced this pretext with an attempt at woful accents. “Gone!” He strove to wail, but it was not easy, with his heart athrill, He retreated quickly from the neigh- borhood now, plunging straight into the heart of the city, Overhead the clouds were darker; that sickly glow was gone. Had the fanatics wearted of their work? The city, too, seemed Quieter, for the moment, though it might be but the quiet before another storm. At any rate, he felt safe enough. His now was the assurance of the faithful (tightrope walkers into heaven) who, by faith, are supposed to be able to cross Es Strat, that bridge finer than @ hair and sharper than a sword, @panning Gehenna, the Arabian pit. He did not at the moment conceive of danger to himself, Why should he? AB & romance-reciter, no one would question him. Her, they might have recognized, but him, and alone, they would not know; he could carry out the role successfully unless?—— A sudden misgiving disturbed his aplomb, The strolling players might tell, under certain circumstances, how @ mad, reckless fellow had forced those costumes from them, For a mo- ment his figurative bridge wavered and wobbled, Then he came once more to a balance. He even shrugged fatalistically, Ho had to take that risk, No way of getting around It! Dismissing oon- sideration of unpleasant and disagree- able contingencies for pleasant and agreeable reveries, he went on. He let the future tale care of itself, it was the past now that claimed his thoughte—tf a period of forty-eight hours or eo may be dignified by the epochal word. But it was the past for him. All the rest did not seem to matter. It was irrelevant, trifing and could be dismissed with a snap of the A COMPLETE NOVEL E 2 like one of Mohammedan parentage. So Instinct had whispered when had heid her a few Ipitating s onds in his arins. She was too fin subtle, poetic, romantic—too every- thing that doesn't enter into the coarser fibre and make-up of the woman or girl of that country and faith. For the first time he found himself actually pondering thereon, though somewhat laboriously. The dyer, imbibing imptously and too well, bad let fall a few mysteri- ous words concerning her parentage that night Before the wedding, when he had treated the new found and half starved bridegroom-to-be in the Uttle cafe around the corner. The young man had scarcely listened, at the time; he was interested in the commestibles, and not in his future “wife!” She had meant nothing to him—then, Nothing! Fancy that! He tried now to bring back what the dyer had ambiguously sputtered, or spluttered, over potations, but he didn't succeed very well. Something about the girl's own mother?—the Greeks?—the Roumantans?—or had it been the stalwart and romantic Mon- tenegrins? He gave it up. Hunger, instead of curiosity, had occupied him when he might have sounded the dyer further. Another—good old Sherlock, for ex- ample ~in his place, on that occasion, Would have scented something wrong in Denmark, or Damascus, and start- ed at once deducting or deducing, in- stead of introducing mere warak mahsle, khiyar and other outlandish species of viands into his system. He, Jack Stanton, alias the der- vish, should have divined Immediately @ romance and a mystery and pro- ceeded accordingly with Machiavel- Mam circumlocution and caution; In- stead he had only plunged into the game biintly, haphazardly, a vert- table football of fortune or misfor- tune, as the events of this night wowyld decide, And, considering what lay before him and the absence of those pecullar gifts of the popular investigator, the latter was not un- Ikely. For all the rather chaotic trend of his thoughts, he had been moving on, not almlesly, but as If bent upon some destination and going the shortest way to it. Passing through @ covered pcrtion of a bazaar, he came upon a number of fruit stalls; these he rapicly left behind him. The shadow of a great tree cast its black outlines momentarily before him, but he forgot to pause and murmur the customary pious words at the sight of the sylvan monarch, planted at the birth of the revered Mohammed. Instead he plunged at once into a small lane, at the end of which were well-known and historic bazaars, where all the artisans, plying a cer- tain trade, were congregated and huddled up together. On busy days they stitched and stitched and waxed their threads in a kind of wearisome unison, They looked more or less alike and were set in almoat identical backgrounds, So they had appeared a thousand years or more ago, and @o they would appear, if left to follow their own bent, @ thousand years or more hence, A funereal silence now pervaded the quarter; the bright backgrounds were blanks; the workers had, for the most part, receded long ago into the mys- terious abyeme at the backs of their shops or booths, Maybe a few of them were abroad with the other hoodlums and had not yet returned home, Passing selsciensiy back and festh ‘tocked, The tock, amid the limited confines of this ill- ighted neighborhood, Jack Stanton scrutinized and etudied, as beat he might, a number of shop fronts, par- tcularly the larger and more preten- tous ones, Half @ dozen of the lat- ter he had carefully gazed upon and apparently to no purpose, when finally he again stopped. A few Arabic char- acters over the entrance to this place he made out with difficulty, but they seemed to satisfy him to be what he was looking for. Casting burglarious glances up and down the narrow way, he tried now the door and found it, of course, though, was of wood, and the sliding bolt, with tiny pins set in it, of the same material, A modern expert tn opening doors— house, or safe—would have chortled with glee over that lock, It was antediluvian, palezoic, True, it would keep out our camels, or drom- edaries, Hut as . ~ people?—perhaps it was supposed ty crelse @ mere moral effect upon them, Stanton ap- plied a knife; he was not an expert, but he managed to slide the bolt back, The door yielded and he entered. In the interior of the shop, qui tude reigned. He listened. Not @ sound! Quietly he closed the door and elid back the bolt. Then he be- gan to make his way through a Iit- ter of dark objects, somo hanging and some on the floor, when the woodwork creaked loudly and again he paused, But still he heard noth- ing to alarm him and once more went forward toward a tiny streak of yel- low. In the rear of the shop he found a dim light, as he looked in between low hanging draperies be- fore entering. Drawing the curtains closely to- gether after him, eo the light should not be visible to any who might pasa in front of the shop, he ventured to turn up the wick of the small hang- ing lamp. It cast brighter reflections upon the cheap draperies and the thick ruge in the small room and metamorphosed dim, shapeless objects into pistol hold- ers, straps, stirrups and saddles, bigh- ly embroidered, heaped up, or hang- ing, an overflow of wares from with- out ‘The intruder did not lay a pillaging finger on this fair and goodly array of merchandise; indeed, he hardly glanced at it, or saw It only as a part of the whole, Yet his swift, anxious looks swept every part of that chamber. He looked on shelves and under rugs; he peered Into corners; he felt in out of the way places. I glanced in jugs and jars; he turned a mibkara (perfume vessel) unside down, He shook an empty, big- mouthed water-bottle; he examined all the cushions thoroughly; he un rolled a mattress and felt every part of It, He tossed the mattress aside, Then, having only his labor for his pains, he sat down and looked thoughtful, lis opportunity was now—he would Probably never have another chance and yet only failure had rewarded his efforts, Since mere visual activ- ity, supplemented by eager and niin- ble fingers, had not been productive of results, he tried to reason the thing out, to concentrate every men- tal faculty in the process, What he sought was really valuable only to him, It meant little to them; true, it might be deemed a link in the chain of evidence inat him, but, after all, tt was an unnecessary one now. It had eatisfied Sadi, had served to crystallize his suspicions, but tm iteelf—to them? ‘Why, there were prayer-boole and = y. May A New Yorker's In a “‘ Forbidden prayer-books galore; you could find them even in the Christian quarter in that conservative old city itself. ‘Their proof, par excellence, of hia “orime,” in their eyee—the one proof, tnoontrovertibie, of the eame—was the man himself. Let them catch him, produce him, tear off his cloak and the rest would be simple, His skin would proclaim the truth, for it waa unlikely the dye extended much be- yond face, shoulders and hands and arma, and if it did it could easily be washed off or removed. All this being #0, how would the eaddler now regard the little article Stanton had lost, and, what was more important, what would Sadi do with it? Would he keep it, would he hide it, would he give it to Amad, or another course of action, im this con- nection suggested itself. ‘That object, for all true believers, possessed, definitely and unqualifiediy, deleterious and injurious attributes. ‘The mere personal possession of it might bring all manner of ill-luck, or trouble, for thus strongly does super- stition reign in the minds of these people. Iblees, spirits, the evil eye, bad genii and what-not, are real men- aces to them. They murmur proprie- tary words on many oocasions—"‘Allah akbar!"—and work out a score of charms. When they do not work them out themselves they have others work them out for them and pay for this task. Now, it might be, Sadi would not continue to keep such an object on his person, to permit it to rub ita per- nictous pages against those of his precious Koran, But Amad for the same reason would not want it in hie house. A train of untoward events, once started, is not easy to stop, and an English prayer book that has re- posed, undetected for a long while, even in the holiest city itself, should be handled with tongs. ‘That such profanation had been possible proved it a veritable instru- ment of the devil, a malicious child of the sheytans, or black ones, them- selves. No, Sadi would not run the risk of carrying It long, if Stanton was any judge of Mohammedan character. Perhaps the saddier would put it in his tiny safe, in that outer office? And eo cause bis gold to turn into filthy plasters, or vanish alte- gether? Hardly! The eye of the young man, half- introspective, chanced to rest on a mankal or bragier. He hardly knew he was looking at it, but subcon- sciously, hia regard deepened, Then conscivusly, he became aware of the fact and suddenly he got up and walked over to the copper receptacle, A few flakes of dead ashes yet emelled of frankincense, ‘and he swept them aside, Whereupon an exclamation fell from his lips and he snatched at something, or part of aomething. Charred paper—that’s what It was! All that remained of the little vol- umef His brain leaped rapidly, ir- revocably, to the conclusion, The saddier had procured from a fakir the customary dyed salts, certain seeds, and a few chips of fragrant bark, and had had a little incanta- tion scene all to himself while con- signing the prayer book to the coal The young man atared blankly at the ashes that had once been paper, and the moment was a bitter one for him, He had lost, and he had an especial reason for wanting to win now. Intact, or reasonably so, the little volume would have meant ten thousand pounds to him. Nay, more! For now that this souvenir of his pilgrimage was practically destroyed, he would be out hia own ten thounand pounds, his all, He shook hia head sadly. One hundred thousand dol- lara! It seemed @ lot of money—enough to start housekeeping with, if one was lucky enough to find a wife-a real one—not a pretended one, With that hundred thousand, be might have bad more courage to hope; to woo and win, to have and to bold Incidentally, to provide! Of course, love laughs at poverty, and very properly. But it would not be easy to tell her what a confounded ass he had been—how he had lost his little all—to say: “Behold! I have reduced myself to nothing. Share it.” That would be magnanimous, generous! A tine courtship! He had wedded her be- fore as @ tramp. He didn't have to play at the role now. It fitted bim to a nicety, was the heritage of his own efforts Well, she was in good hands, at he could tell himself, Fitzger that she was t justice an would to see to least, ald would look to It woll taken care of and would be done. The nob like nothing better than that. He might even hope to dig out of the situation some kind of political leverage, Englishmen have a genius for doing that, Allah be praised, this Influential peer would be Interested, Stanton repeated to himself again, but at the same time sighed. He felt as never before his own tnsufMiciency. He even—so bumble bad he becoine before the catastrophe of the prayer book!—@aw himself elimina! off, eut then and there, forever, as far she was concerned, What right nad such a bally bungler as he to hope? None in the world! Re was about to turn e Exploits tran Fit the Orient World’ — meee 1, 1914 ACH WEEK IN THE EVENING ALADDIN FROM BROADWAY By Frederic S. Isham ORL away from the braster and leave the But still the ether did not vanish from place, when the impulse was abruptly hie fireside, or the side of his brazi arrested. From oitteide he caught That, at least, was reassuring. e- suddenly the sound of footsteps— sides, @ spirit wouldn't have to bor- Sadie? Stanton drew himesif up and row clothes from poor strollers; he stood listening. slide back, He heard the bolt could just will himself to look any @nd peering between the part he pleased, from beggar to heart- curtaing he saw the saddier enter. breaker, The fact aid not greatly disturb him. Abruptly he realized that Sadi, come how, didn’t interest him so much as formerly, Sadi's eudden entrance ought to have given him @ great thrill, an enormous ahock. Instead, he experienced almost a mild ennu!. Damasous, the saddier—all the rent of them, the whole pack, rather bored him now. The breathiess excitement she had gone? that it? He waited for Hadi to him and speak. He anticipated action. Of course, he would start back. Was 00 his He @i4. He, Sadi, was not bored. He felt no ennul at the moment. ‘The ettuation had for him no yawns. ‘There was nothing soporific about it; his eyes seemed to bulge. He paled; that ts, his complexion receded to a sickly yellow. Alarm, bewilderment, enlightenment succeeded one another on his eloquent visage. “The masquerading Christian who went to Mecca!” he stammered. Stanton amiled, almost ingratiat- ingly. So Fadi knew him. In spite of the costume of the romance re- citer! He had not probably jumped to @ conclusion who he was, merely because he had discovered him in his humble mandarah, The players must have told; they had, perhaps, found It to their advantage to do so. “Come in," sald Stanton, with the manners of @ host. At that moment he felt no special enmity against the other. The mischief had been done. No use kicking against the pricks. A man who bas lost sometimes ex- Deriences @ gentle magnanimity to- ward the world, even for his enemies therein. Perhaps the emotion bears some relation to “that tired feeling.” CHAPTER XX. One Way. ADI would have obeyed the other's invitation, but not in the manner it was ex- tended. He showed a dis- Position to behave lke unto the proverbial bull in the china whop. He looked as tf he wanted to toes things around, Stanton included. Indeed, he started forward to do ao, then suddenly stopped. atified a yawn, “Good!” he said. “Too emall a place to mums around in! Might de- stroy gome of the bric-a-brac,” The saddler looked at him; or rath- er, at @ emall glittering object Stan- ton had, at the last moment, inslated upon the players giving him for good measure—a mere trifie from one of the magico bundles that had contained &@ emall armament of cheap weapons. ‘That little plaything Stanton now handled carelessly; it had ocourred to him it might serve for moral effect in certain exigencies, One euch exi- gency waa now. For how was Sait to know !t was a stage property, that It wasn't loaded, and maybe wouldn't have gone off if it had been, or if it had been and had gone off, it would probably have blown up the shooter? The saddier paused with an ugly grimace that did not improve the appearance of his somewhat battered countenance, Stanton waved the weapon, “Go away,” he said nonchalantly, “Or if you must remain, don't get botsterous” Sadi glowered. When a man waits for you in your own house, he does fo, of course, but for one purpose, And when the intruder told him to go away, he tnplied that he preferred to shoot him through the back. It would be safer, and waa the favorite mode of aasaasination, Sad! refused, though, to turn around; he preferred to be shot in front, Cowardice was not one of his weaknesses, Perhaps if the first bul- let didn’t strike home he might man- , age to slit the other's throat, He breathed @ plous request to Allah, the e that this gentle wish might come true, Stanton was con templating him in a faraway, non-anxious manner that implied dis concerting confldence in his weapon and his ability to cope with the situ. ation, hy did-you have to intrude?” he Compassion now asked reproachfully The tremendous effrontery of the question seemed tu stag Sadi, He looked around on his own house a xoods, his own wares, the result of his own foil, and doubts began to flitter in his brain, Wes the fellow @ madman, or an offshoot of the devil, one of those black spirits that dwell in the chain of mountains called Kat? > Certainly enough mischtef had fol- lowed in the wake of this mustahall to Justify the bellef he might be one of those denizens from the cavernous deptha who, according to tradition, visit cities and bomes, Just to create dissensions, and—yea, make love to other men's wivew ~ith @ follcity that 1s more human than seperhuman Inatinctively Sadi murmured tho “destoor," the two syllables that are always eMcacious with spirits and Dever fall to cause them to everorate. ‘The saddier did fear spirits; having established in his own mind that his Visitor waa not one, his courage re- vived rapidly. “What do you want?" he now de- manded savagely. Of course, he know what the other wanted—he wanted him. But he asked the question, any- how, “I don't want anything now,” an- ' @wered the visitor, gently. The saddier’s brain juggled with this reply. He couldn't make any- thing of ft. That annoyed him. “I did want something,” went on the other. “But there's no use crying for the moon!" More mystification! Sadi opened and closed his big fists aggressively. Stanton, behind that careless man- ner, Now watched bim narrowly. “Ten shots, half a second delivery!” he murmured, apostrophising his weapon. “The burglars antipathy! That's what it's called in the adver- tinementa.” His cheerful eyes yet held Sadi at a distance. Rut they wouldn't long; nor the weapon, either! The aaddier was hesitating; his face was dark as a thundercloud, The other felt it com- iag—Sadi would call his play. “What have*you done with her?” now burst forth from him aggree- sively. “Suppose we leave the lady out of the question! And now"—as well kot It over!—“what Is {t to be, peace or war? Up to you to decide. 1 wae going when you came.” “Oh, you were?" with brutal in- credulity. “You weren't waiting for me, then?’ my friend! though T might slay you as @ sheep at the sacrifice, I will spare you if you will be good!” “Perhaps you werent expecting met” Sadi'e eyes shone with low ounning. “I dia not expect the pleasure.” Stifing a yawn, real or affected. “I did not come to get you, but it. You aa an individual are nothing to me, It would not grieve me tf you lived to be as old as Methuselah. J don't want your money or your life, All I do want—or 4id"—gtancing ewiftly toward the brasier—“was my own Property. Something you deprived me of—ae little prayer-book”— Sadi suddenly raised a hand to his breast. “What!” Stanton's voice now rang out sharply, in accents of surprise. “So much for deduction! You've got it, You've actually got it. You haven't destroyed it"— The saddler did not anewer, “I'll trouble you for that book,” went on the young man in that same different tone “And at once!” He held the property weapon now pointed straight at Sadi's heart. His manner was brusk and determined, It might succeed; it might win out; it was a final attempt. It would, no doubt, have prevailed with many, but not with the saddier, Those changed accents, on the contrary, ted upon him an @ red flag on @ bull; the saddler made a rush, whip- ping aa he did so @ long blade from bis cloak Stanton saw him ooming and raised the arm with the futile weapon, He brought it down violently, not on Badl; the property pistol struck the lamp overhead. its of glass fell @round them, and in the darkness that ensued Sad! came up against a hard wall, That jarred him violently, but he recovered In an instant and rushed toward the front door; the fellow must not get out. He was not trying to. "A moment the saddler waited expectantly. Farther back w he heard the other, then nearer, as If circling toward him, Sadi followed the sound and sprang toward It, striking—striking, Now the other was in @ corner, Allah! What Joy! Tho suddier tasted in ad- Vance the pleasures of paradise, His turn had come at last. ‘The sharp Hada no longer fanned the atr, It came In contact with a palpable but yielding substance. It sank tn - stun! ‘The angels (or hourts) sang Was that a groan? Wor Sadi, It was ke the sweetest strain from the harp of the angel Israel ‘The saddler stood still to iaten, The groan waa repeated, Then ailence! The fellow was down. He did not en use his weapon; tt must be he was unable to, Not long ago the saddier had felt the t Now the boot was on t er leg. Injuries, old and new, would be atoned for, Sadi wa Then his taunting voico arose. He exhausted the vocabulary of a driving dialect. Still no answer sound—only that of hia own hoite breathing. Yet stay!—he did cateh & barely perceptible swishing, agee &@ body dragging itself along the floor, The fellow spoke now In a faint voice a plea of mercy? The saddler wopid show him that—oh, yes, Those tones again guided the other, but this time the dog of a Cheletian Seemed like water flowing ¢ the hand, It was impossible tone him, Nor could Sadi’a blade ages find him. But he, stepping » aside, had evidently located the dier, for the latter felt a rush d& Then suddenly music became It was as if the house hed fallen down, or the world had been eeunder. And in that general clyam subsequent: proceedings ested Sadi no more, o 8 © © «© «6 A man appeared at the door eaddiers shop a few moments and after peering in either: stepped out, closing the dees him. Stanton walked though quickly, being anxious leave the neighborhood behind Sm “8 soon as possible Before he Oi gone far, however, he felt stop, at @ dark angle of the bind up as well as he could, @oarf snatched trom the ahep, @ and nasty gash on his shoulder, Even as he did so he became a of @ certain faintness otealing him. Yet behind thie feeling tea other one of exhilaration predem nated. . He had it—hie proof that been to Mecoa—that tiny which was as valuable to him eg wonderful diamond. He dred-thousand-dollar vagabond ® veritable king of beggars. ‘The thought buoyed his footateps; he Sex got weakness, or fought it down. eeomed like one walking in @ dream. But it was not an “ag e al promenade, in a strang® way. He didn't know whether he bad killed Sadi oF He didn't much care: He git etruck him with the brass, the saddler's perfume j beating apparatus, He had ‘ae Sadi with his own “fresid 4n ironioal procedure, but a ni one, The eaddier’s skull was though and he might survive to himeelf a nuisance, perhaps, day, to eome other Christian, lay with Providence, An irresponsible feeling of momen- tary triumph on Stanton's part Bie came abruptly shadowed, A. thought or question, disconce; baffling, bad occurred to him. service would that book or ‘atthe @ouvenir be to him when he coumuge: wet out of the city? He paused loaned against the wall ot a nodtty he realized he felt more Giddy, a he lght-headed. What a mockery of fat if he yielded to growing weakness, now, with that key to success, under propitious circumstan right in hie hand. sa i! “Success!!* he repeated longingly, the while he gripped the tiny objest tighter, Then his mind seemed to. drift somewhat from pertinent coa- sideration; his brain seemed Of queer little lapses, He chi eardontoally, tncongruously, thing tickled his funnyxbome. To think that this little thing fist had been burted so long in» bey wall in the holy city! and yet it was eaid Englishmen had no sense of mor, An autobtography of pe 9 souvenir would be enough: Punch, a = An Engttah prayer-book, “ eburch, tn the sacred roesonryi Most at the foot of the tomb of the Prophet himeeif! Stanton would hag Iked to meet the son of the tight tle tle who had thought out ¢ Jokelet; all by himself. Had it bedi Rufianly Dick Burton, he of the ‘ame abridged?" Fitzgerald had told eae when they two had arranged details {n old Manhattan town, Stanton tried to think—but caught himself up with ® Jerk, i " Fal al The Idea of cudgeling his by clogging queria {t with tnconsequent minutiae at euch @ moment! ws thoughts now focused steadily on that element in the situation reve. by the coming of Sadi. Prior to second brief but spirited Interview with the saddier, Stanton had callow. Jated that, alone, he might tarry the city, in the event he was unable to leave, without too great danger, relying upon the garments of a aboo for pretection: (To Be Continued.) re ‘Next Week’ CAPT. VELVET'S WELCOME By Edgar Franklin WILL BEGIN IN Monday 4