ent
whatever weakness you seem to have for talking to men in the
street like Mahommed ben Hamza. It would even explain away any
politeness that I might show you in my capacity of Ichwan. For
safety's sake, and to create an impression, I take the line of
being rude to every one; but I might reasonably toss a few
crumbs of condescension to an altruist from foreign parts. At
any rate, I'll have to take that chance. D'you get me?"

"You mean, you'll use me as intermediary? Messages to and from
ben Hamza and that sort of thing?"

"That's the idea, but there's more to it. Did you bring that
Bible along? Are you superstitious? Any notions like Long John
Silver's about its being bad luck to spoil a Bible? All right.
Keep it in your pocket to make notes in. If you can't get the
whole book to me, tear a page out and send that, or give it to
me, with the message spelled in dots under the words. Make the
dots faint, I've good eyes."

"What sort of notes do you want from me?"

"You mustn't mistake me for the prophet Ezekiel," he answered,
grinning. "'Thus saith the Lord' is all right when you know what
you're talking about. All I know for certain is that I've got
to bag Abdul Ali. If you get information that looks important
to you, get it to me in the way I've told you, that's all.
Don't be caught talking to me. Don't look friendly. Don't
seem interested."

"What else?"

"If you can, keep old Anazeh sober."

"Oh!"

Grim nodded meaningly: "I've known easier jobs!"

"The old sport thinks no more of me than of an express package
he'd been hired to deliver," I answered. "Drunk or sober, he'd
brush me aside like a fly."

"Well--wits were given us to use. I guess you'll have to use
yours. Have you any?"

"How the hell should I know?" I retorted.

"If you find I haven't any, don't blame me."

"I won't," he answered, and I believed him.

"What else besides being dry-nurse to the king of the
Amalekites?" I asked.

"Don't trust Ahmed."

"He's a good interpreter."

"Yeh--and a poor peg. You'll have to use him--some. But don't
trust him."

"Does old Anazeh know you in that disguise?" I asked.

"No, and he mustn't. I'll tell you why. All these people are
religious fanatics. A horrible death is the only fate they would
consider for a man caught masquerading as a holy personage the
way I'm doing. But their fanaticism has a way of petering out
when the gang's not there to see. In his own vill