ons of lamps, some hung so
as to form huge Arabic letters, some merely bound together in great
ropes of light; back towards the water and through the Atmaidam, the
ancient Hippodrome, down to the Serai point, then up to the Seraskierat,
where the glorious tower shot upwards like the pillar of flame that went
before the Israelites of old; on to the mosque of Suleiman, over whose
tomb the great dome burned like a fiery mountain, round once more to the
Atmaidam, past the tall trees amidst which blazed the six minarets of
Sultan Achmet; then, trying a new route, down by the bazaar gates to
Sultan Valide and the head of Galata bridge, and at last back again to
the Seraskierat, and, leaving the Dove Mosque of Bajazet on the right,
once more to the Vinegar Sellers' Landing, in the vain hope that
Alexander might have found his way down to the quay where the steam
launch was moored.

In vain did the terrified kavass bid the coachman turn and turn again;
in vain did Paul, in agonized excitement, try to pierce the darkness
with his eyes, and to distinguish the well-known face in the throngs
that crowded the brightly lighted squares. At the end of two hours he
began to realize the hopelessness of the search. Suddenly it struck him
that Alexander might have found the bridge, and, recognizing it, might
have crossed to Pera rather than run the risk of losing himself in
Stamboul again.

"Tell the launch to be at Beschik Tasch to-morrow morning at ten
o'clock," said Paul. "Take me to Galata bridge. I will cross on foot to
Pera. Then go back and wait behind Agia Sophia, in case he comes that
way again to look for the carriage. If I find him in Pera, I will send a
messenger to tell you. If he does not come, meet me at Missiri's early
to-morrow morning."

"Pek eyi--very good," answered the kavass, who understood the wisdom of
the plan. Again the carriage turned, and in five minutes Paul was
crossing Galata bridge, alone, on his way to Pera.

He was terribly agitated. Stories of the disappearance of foreigners in
the labyrinths of Stamboul rose to his mind, and though he had never
known of such a case in his own experience, he did not believe the thing
impossible. His brother was the rashest and most foolhardy of men,
capable of risking his life for a mere caprice, and perhaps the more
inclined to do so on that night because he had had a violent quarrel
with Paul that very afternoon, about his own foolish conduct. Of all
nights in the