ot there, but I saw
him and followed from the street with my friends--my son, my
brother-in-law, my cousins. He is here. We have killed him."

Goritz glanced at Marishka, but she stared past the dreadful apparition
into the corridor, behind him, incapable of speech or thought.

"A Christian!" said Goritz. "Incredible!"

"You shall see," said the Effendi. And turning to those within he
uttered a phrase in Turkish, and presently Zubeydeh and a man came
forward dragging something behind them. Marishka hid her face in her
hands, and crouched nearer the corner where the armor was.

She saw Goritz suddenly start forward, his gaze upon the prostrate
figure in black, which its bearers had deposited none too gently in the
middle of the rug. Then he peered into the upturned face, starting
upright and glaring at the Effendi.

"_Vermalerdeiter Haellen_----" he cried. "_It's not the man!_"

"What do you mean, Excellency?" cried the Beg.

"What I say--Idiots!"

"A Christian--in my Harim!" wailed the old ruffian. "He has ruined my
furniture and killed my brother-in-law and my cousin."

"What do I care?" cried Goritz furiously. "You've got us all into
trouble with your bungling. Do you know who this man is?" he stormed.

"Who, Excellency?" cried the Effendi.

"Nicholas Szarvas--the most famous secret service agent in Hungary."

"What say you, Excellency?" the Effendi asked bewildered.

"You have heard."

"It is impossible. This was the man----"

"Bah! You are a sheep's head."

"Sheep's head I am not----"

"Then you are a fool!"

"By the beard of the Prophet--he was in my Harim," muttered the Effendi.
"I call you all to witness----"

"I wash my hands of the matter," said Goritz furiously.

"I am within my rights--the Harim----"

"Bah--You have killed a police officer of the Empire!"

"And you?" The Effendi's face was the color of that of the man upon the
floor, but his eyes glowed with fear and desperation.

"I know nothing of the matter," continued Goritz. "A Christian comes
into your Harim and you kill him. If he turns out to be an officer of
the law, what is it to me?"

"You will pay me that which you owe," shrieked the Effendi. "The man has
broken my furniture."

"It is a pity he didn't break your head. I pay you nothing."

And then to Marishka, "Come, Countess, we must be upon our way."

Marishka stood staring at Goritz, a new horror in her eyes. She now
understood. The Effendi thrust himself betwe