Adventure Magazine Cover, November 10, 1924 — page 152: what you’re looking at

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

T50 hand, not of his khalifa,but of a-big, band- aged beggar in a tattered djellaba. The sight, the discovery of his error, the failure of his plan to disarm his enemy, combined to shake his nerve. The key to the strong-box fell from fingers momentarily out of control. The beggar stooped to pick it up, but the vicious pistol did not waver from the target of Warzazi’s heart. “Unlock the box and give me, Sid Walid’s gold,” commanded the mendicant, holding out the key. At the name of Sid Walid, who had been Mohamed Ali’s second scribe, fear smote the heart of the black basha, and suspicion, knowledge, pressed upon his eyelids with a numbing hand. He looked keenly at the beggar, his eyes seemed to penetrate the bandage. “Mohamed Ali,” he groaned. “May Allah aid me now!” ‘“‘As He aided Sid Walid,’’ answered the beggar. ‘Open the box.” _ A queer bird-like cry was uttered by some one outside. Mohamed Ali heard it, and smiled faintly. Warzazi extended a trembling hand to take the key—hesitated. He saw the door behind Mohamed Ali opening, with so little noise that it seemed not to reach the covered ears of the beggar. He saw his khalifa step into the room, saw his eyes bulge with surprize, saw him draw a pistol and come forward swiftly as he did so. “The gold was not Sid Walid’s,” lied War- zazi, playing for time. ‘‘Nor did I— Hah!” The pistol of the khalifa was nuzzling the beggar’s spinal colum. And then, much to the surprize of Sid Warzazi: “Don’t move,” ordered the beggar quiet- ly, seemingly not at all startled by the man behind him. ‘“‘And, if he desires you to live, your friend will nct shoot. I would yet have time to pull the trigger.” Before he had finished speaking, the basha saw another thing. The curtain behind the khalifa was thrownaside, and from the alcove stepped a second beggar who without delay thrust a pistol into the back of the khalifa. The khalifa trembled but held his gun against the back in front of him. “Allah kerim!’’ exclaimed the basha, who was not without a sense of coarse humor. “It appears like standing domi- noes in a row. If one falls, all fall.” Adventure For three breaths the situation remained poised. Then the second beggar reached forward and took the gun from the khalifa’s hand, thrust him aside, and turning, sent home the bolt which locked the heavy door. After which, he set to work binding the khalifa with his own turban. And a cowed basha placed into the hands of Mohamed Ali two heavy bags of gold. The second beggar, having finished his job of tying, thrust a wad of turban-cloth into the mouth of the khalifa, seized him by the shoulders and dragged him into the cur- tained alcove. “Lie there,” he said. ‘You will probably be repaid for your present inconvenience by becoming basha.”’ “That,” he observed, going to Mohamed Ali’s side, ‘‘disposes of him. Now, as to this other ”? He slid out of his ragged djellaba, reveal- ing the fact that he had worn two. He unwrapped a length of dirty turban-cloth, and several lengths of stout came]’s-hair cord from about his waist. And then he proceeded to remove the rich garments of the basha, aided by Mohamed Ali. This done, and the fine clothing thrown into the alcove with the khalifa, the basha was arrayed in beggar’s rags, his face bandaged, and the koob of the dirty djellaba drepped low over his forehead. The bandages which covered his mouth also covered a gag which prevented outcry. And about his neck were two nooses of strong camel’s-hair cord, arranged with knots which would slip but one way, which could be tightened, but not Icosened. From the nooses the cords ran down beneath his sleeves and were fastened at his wrists. Warzazi was not a fool; he saw what was being arranged. Not only would he choke himself to death if he ventured to use his arms without great care, but anyone hold- ing his wrist could speedily cut off his earthly existence. And no one would know what ailed him, until they had stripped him. That, obviously, would be a tardy business. “Let us go, now,” said Mohamed Ali, at last. ‘‘You—understand?”’ He turned his scowling eyes upon the beg- gar-basha, who nodded, perforce in silence. “T walk on one side; Sid Hamed Mor- tadi——_”’ A frown came from the basha. He had not recognized the other beggar. COmicboolkxs.coOnm