Adventure Magazine Cover — page 157: what you’re looking at

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

The Edge of the Simitar was in use as a piazza, with handsome rugs thrown upon it and cushioned divans placed against the front of the building. Attracted by the loud talking and bursts of laughter, Sevier turned away from the deserted street in front of the house and shuffled in sandal feet through the shadows of his own spacious quarters to the rear of the house. From here he could look over the roof of his godown and see all that was going on. Abu Khalil had guests. Some were standing arguing in low, earnest tones, gripping each other’s hands; but others were seated on rugs whose colors shone richly against a background of white cement. They were smoking hubble-bub- bles and playing chess and parchisi. Sevier had met some of them in the course of business—two sheiks from Osman with tanned, taut skin and wrinkled eyes, who had made the long journey across the Indian Ocean in an open dhow with a cargo of honey, dates and rugs; a deposed sultan from the Hadremaut, a full-figured, arro- gant man with a short, thick, black beard and a turban of white silk beaded with seed pearls; two recent hadjis who had made a pilgrimage to Mecca in spite of the diffi- culties of war-time, and were seated with their backs against the wall, eyes lowered reading the Koran with all the concen- tration of freshly inspired devotees; and the black-cloaked Abyssinians whom he had noticed at the show. The Abyssinians were tlkise to Abu Khalil. Abu Khalil was a large, affable man with a smooth-shaven chin. He wore a decorated jacket over a plain white shirt, a bright plaid footah hitched high to show his powerful hairy calves, sandals of mother-of-pearl inlay, and a jeweled jambeer whose hilt protruded from a sash wound round his waist. He wore a simple white turban twisted on a skull-cap. His good- natured, swaggering appearance was empha- sized by his small, pointed mustache; but somewhat belied by the uneasiness of his eyes, and his air of expecting some un- welcome person to appear suddenly from around the corner. With the Abyssinians he spoke volubly in a hoarse whisper, his head thrust for- ward, his hands flung outward with every emphasis; while they listened, solemnly nodding their heads, occasionally turning to look behind them. Sevier watched every 147 movement with curious intentness. In fact, so effectively did he project himself that he was entirely unaware that any one had entered his own house until he heard Cohusac’s voice behind him— “Hodil”’ On some strange impulse Sevier whirled about and flung himself deeper into the shadows; but too late for the movement to escape the trained vision of the man from Somaliland. “There’s some one!’ he whispered to Cehusac, guiding him into the dining- room. ‘I saw him through the arch there looking across at Abu Khalil’s!”’ “Hodi, Sevier!” called Cohusac again. “Hello!” said Sevier walking out of his bedroom, his touseled hair and sleepy manner indicating that: he had just turned in. ‘Come in. Have a drink. The boys have all gone for the night, but if you'll sit down I think I can rustle out a bottle. How in the world did you manage to crawl up here, Cohusac?”’ The Frenchman’s manner _ suddenly changed to one of whimsical lightness. He introduced Hickson with a flowery phrase. The American acknowledged the intro- duction without any great degree of warmth, because he seemed to feel that there was a sort of latent hostility toward him on the part of all Englishmen in uniform. Hickson felt equally reserved, but his natural im- pulsiveness could not be kept in restraint long. “I’m showing him the night life of great Aden—sentinel of the seas!’’ exclaimed Cohusac airily. “Hickson ‘can not remain long. He is a bird of passage—a night- bird—un papillon de nuit.” ‘“‘Njo! So help me bob! I draw the line at that!’’ said Hickson indignantly. ‘‘Cohusac’s inordinate sense of the romantic and his command of language—of languages, I may say!—carry him too far!”’ “T’ve had experience with both,” said the American dryly, walking about the room with a fresh bottle of whisky in his hand, looking for tumblers and a corkscrew. “There are the tumblers on the tabouret there,’ said Hickson. ‘‘And we don’t need a corkscrew. Here. I'll fix it.” He took the bottle from Sevier, turned it upside down and pounded it on the bot- tom with his palm. Having loosened the cork, he drew it with his teeth. “A handy thing to know!” said Sevier. Go NOOK 1 @)