Adventure Magazine Cover, November 10, 1924 — page 151: what you’re looking at

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

Chuckling Gold His voice trailed off in question. “Only this—’ answered the _ beggar, and explained his desires in a dozen words. Then, grinning, he brought a black wood- en begging-bow! from beneath his garment, extended it, and wailed— “Al’arbil All’arbi! All’arbi!””’ But, although he smiled, the basha’s eyes were speculative as he looked at his friend the beggar, son of Mulai Achmed. A fanfare of trumpets, near at hand, was echoed by other trumpets farther away, outside the walls. The dasha rose. ‘“‘HYe comes,” observed the beggar. “T go,” replied the basha. “Go with Allah, then,” said the beggar. “May He remain with you,’ offered Sid Es-Suani. The basha strode from his office, closing the door behind him; mounted a horse which stood ,ready for him at the portal, and followed by his subordinates and friends rode to the city gate, where he was to meet the procession of Sid Allal Warzazi. The offices and courtyard were thus de- serted, save for a dozen beggars squatting about in shady corners. A careful inspec- tion would have revealed the fact that upon the shoulder of each one’s dellaba was a tiny spot of red cloth. No sooner had the basha ridden away, than one of the beggars arose, strode to the | door of the office and entered. The son of Mulai Achmed greeted him briefly, crossed , the room, and sweeping aside a great velvet curtain, revealed a small alcove, in which were floor cushions and nothing else. In- asmuch as all the room was hung with the same sort of velvet haztis, or coverings, no one would have suspected that the alcove was there. “T had this made,” said the son of Mulai Achmed, ‘“‘and it served its purpose. It saved my life, when J was basha here. Now I think it will serve my purpose again. Enter. Ah! Warzazi has entered the city.” Came the sound of trumpets again, and the sound of guns firing. Soon the sounds drew nearer, and the cheering voices could be heard. “The lambs welcome the wolf,” whisp- ered the son of Mulai Achmed to the other beggar. ‘‘He will soon be here.” The sounds grew louder, nearer, then subsided. The listeners knew that the entrance to the palace courtyard had been reached, and that the populace would there 149 begin to disperse. The noise that reached them now began to break up into its com- ponent parts—horses’ hoofs on the cobble- stones, the brogans of the guard, voices, the rattling of metal parts of harness. In a moment more the door of the basha’s office was flung open and Sid Allal Warzazi, he who had been khalifa of Fez, strode in, slamming the door behind him. He flung himself upon a great silken-covered cushion and looked about him at the walls of the room, of which the only decorations were _the velvet hangings, at the great Rabati carpet which covered the whole floor, ex- cept for the space taken up by the yard-wide cushions that occupied three sides, and for one corner, in which was a small, iron- bound box. His black, negro face was tired and dusty, but his little black eyes glowed with the occasion, and with greed. Carefully had they. noted, as Sid Warzazi rode through the crowds, the apparent prosperity of the good people of Tetwan, the comfort of their streets and houses, the texture of their garments, the jewelry of the women. Food fora bashal Food for a bashal! HIS wandering eyes fell upon the SS strong-box in the corner, and for a s——I space he surveyed it with narrowed, speculative eyes. A key was in the lock. “Hm!” he murmured then, “‘we must get a larger one. My predecessor must have been a fool. However, for the present—— He took from his shakarah a small but exceedingly heavy cloth bag, and another. They chuckled, as only gold can chuckle Rising, Warzazi threw back the lid of the strong-box, tossed the bags of gold—the gold that had cost the life of the seconc scribe—into the box, turned the key, took 11 from the lock, and straightened up. Hi: body stiffened sharply, for something harc was prodding him in the back, a hand was gripping his shoulder and a voice was saying, commandingly— “The key!” ( Warzazi whirled swiftly as a snake strikes one hand ready to seize the pistol which he knew was behind him, the other hand reach- ing for the long curved kumiah at his belt. On his lips was the unuttered name of his khalifa. But as he whirled, the man be- hind him stepped backward a pace even more swiftly—and the basha found himseli looking into the muzzle of a pistol in the Comicbook (© 5}