Adventure Magazine Cover — page 36: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

30° but one fairly heavy valise was in the rack over Yussuf Dakmar’s head. Jeremy got up to examine it when the pistol had ceased to amuse him, and taking advantage of a jerk as the train slowed down, contrived to drop it into the Syrian’s lap, who rather naturally swore; whereat Jeremy took offense, and accused him of being a de- scendant of Hanna, son of Manna, who lived for a thousand and one years and never enjoyed himself. It was our turn to eat sandwiches after that, while Yussuf Dakmar recovered from his disgruntlement. But just before the meal was finished Jeremy revived the game by asking suddenly in an awe-struck whis- per where “‘it” was. He slapped himself all over in a hurry, feeling for hidden pockets, and then came over and pretended to search me. There wasn’t anything to do but fall in with his mood, so I resisted, searched my own pockets reluctantly, and said that we might as well take the next train back, since we had lost the important document. 7 Before we started we had put into a wal- let the fake envelope that Grim had carried in his hand the previous night, and had entrusted the wallet to Jeremy in order to have an alibi ready for Mabel in case of need. Grim took up the cudgels now and reminded me respectfully, as a servant should when speaking to his master, that I had taken all proper precautions and could not be blamed in any event. “But I think it will be found,” he said hopefully. ‘‘Inshallah, it is not lost, but in the wallet in the pocket of that hare-brained friend of yours.’ So Jeremy went back to his corner, searched for the wallet, found it after pretty nearly standing on his head to shake his clothes, examined it excitedly, and produced the fake envelope, flourishing it so violently that nobody, even with eyes like a hawk’s, could have identified it with certainty. Then he dropped it in among the baggage on the flaor, and went down on his knees to pick it up again. There is no more finished expert at sleight of hand than he, so it van- ished, and he swore he couldn’t find it. In a well-simulated agony of nervousness he called on Yussuf Dakmar to get down and help him search, and the Syrian hadn’t enough self-commiand left to pretend to hesi- tate; his cold eyes were nearly popping from his head as he knelt and groped: The chief subject of interest to me just then was how Adventure he proposed to retain the letter in the un- eel event of his finding it first. Tt was a ridiculous search, because there wasn’t really anywhere to look. After three bags had been lifted and their bottoms scrutinized the whole floor of the compart- ment lay naked to the eye, except where my feet rested. Jeremy insisted on my raising them, to the accompaniment of what he con- sidered suitable comment on their size, turn- ing his ‘“behimé end” meanwhile toward Yussuf Dakmar. Grim chuckled and caught my eye. Yussuf Dakmar had walked straight into temptation, and was trying to search Jere- my’s pockets from the rear—no easy matter, for he had to discover them first in the loose folds of the -Arab costume. Suddenly Jeremy’s mood changed. He became suspicious—stood up, resumed his seat—and glared at Yussuf Dakmar, who retired into his corner and tried to seem un- conscious of the gaze. “TI helieve you are a thief—one of those aes -fingered devils from El-Kalil!’”’ said Jeremy suddenly, after about three min- utes’ silence. “I believe you have stolen my letter! Like the saint’s ass, you are a clever devil, aren’t you! Nevertheless, you are like a man without finger-nails, whose scratching does him no good! Your labor was in vain. Give me back the letter, or by Allah I will turn you upside down!” - Yussuf Dakmar denied the accusation with all the fervor that a blackguard generally does use when, for once, he is con- sciously innocent. “By the Beard of the Prophet and on my honor I swear to you that I haven’t touched your letter! I don’t know where it is.” “Show me the Prophet’s beard!’’ com- manded Jeremy. “Show me your honor?’ “You talk like a madman! How can I show either?” “Then how can you swear by them? Father of easy words and evil deeds, give me the letter back!” Yussuf Dakmar appealed to me as pre- sumably responsible for Jeremy. “You saw, Effendi, didn’t you? I tried to help him. But he who plays with the cat must suffer her claws, so now he accuses me of stealing. I call you to witness that I took nothing.” “You must excuse him,” I answered. “That is a highly important letter. If it isn’t found the consequences may be disastrous.” COnniclboooks (C@