zling to trouble to speak
distinctly for my benefit, I had to depend on my ayes for
information and naturally used them to the utmost. I noticed
that Abdul All of Damascus, Jimgrim Suliman ben Saoud and myself
were the only men in the room, servants included, who ate and
drank within the bounds of decency and reason. One of the
servants, walking up and down the table-cloth with brandy and
relays of vegetables, was drunk very early in the game and had to
be thrown out.

Abdul Ali kept conversation going on the subject of the raid.
The more the brandy bottles circulated the easier he found it to
keep enthusiasm burning. He talked about me, too, several times,
and every time that subject cropped up all eyes turned in my
direction. I think he was making the most of the school idea,
mixing up the raid with education and serving the mixture hot, as
it were, with brandy sauce.

But over the way, about half-way down the table, the Ichwan
Suliman ben Saoud, dead-cold-sober and abstemious, as befitted a
fanatic, was talking, too. He was quite evidently talking
against Abdul Ali, so that the Damascene kept looking at him with
a troubled expression. He glanced frequently at the door, too,
as if he expected some one who could put an end to Suliman ben
Saoud's intrigue.

But it was a long time before the door opened and the second of
his old-rose parasites came in. I had not noticed until then
that the man was missing. He thrust a packet of some sort into
Abdul Ali's hands. He whispered. The Damascene's face darkened
instantly, and he swore like a pirate. Then, I suppose because
he had to vent his wrath on somebody, he shouted to me in German
all down the length of the table:

"Your cursed interpreter has nearly killed my secretary! He
struck him in the mouth and knocked all his teeth out. What
courteous servants you employ!"

"What was your secretary trying to do to him?" I retorted, but he
saw fit not to answer that. He poured some more brandy instead
for Ali Shah al Khassib.

So that was what Anazeh had been laughing at! The old humourist
had either seen the fracas, or had come on the injured old-rose
messenger of death nursing a damaged face. I began to share
Grim's good opinion of ben Hamza. But though I watched Grim's
face, and knew that he knew German, I could not detect a trace of
interest. He kept on talking against Abdul Ali until after ten
o'clock. By that time most of the notables were about