the Sikh patrol is
after them they will be caught here, and I shall be accused of
helping them. May the fires of their lying Prophet's Eblis
burn Anazeh and his men forever and ever, Amen! May God curse
their religion!"

That was a nice state of affairs. I did not want to be caught
there by a lot of truculent Sikhs under one of those jocularly
incredulous young British subalterns that Sikhs adore. In the
first place, I had nothing whatever in writing to prove my
innocence. The least that was likely to happen would be an
ignominious return to Jerusalem, after a night in a guard-house,
should there be a guard-house; failing that, a night in the open
within easy reach of Sikh's bayonets. In Jerusalem, no doubt,
Sir Louis would order me released immediately. But it began to
look as if the whole mystery after all was nothing but a well-
staged decoy, using me for bait. Not even tadpoles enjoy being
used for live-bait without being consulted first. I began to
spear about for remedies.

"If you're an honest man," I said, "you'd better simply deny all
connection with the raid."

"Hah?"

He shrugged his shoulders. He did not look like an honest man.
He wasn't one. He knew it. He retorted gloomily:

"Anazeh's scoundrels will have raided sheep, and perhaps cattle.
If any one has resisted them, there will be wailing widows crying
out for vengeance. They will put the sheep and cattle in their
boats in which they came over the sea this afternoon. The boats
will be found by the Sikhs, hauled up on the sand-pit just below
my house, with my motor-boat beside them. I am ruined!"

Well, my own predicament was better than that. Nobody was likely
to accuse me of having stolen sheep. But I could not feel sorry
for my host, because he was so sorry for himself. He was one of
those unfortunates who carry the conviction of their own guilt in
their faces. I gave up all idea of relying on him in case the
Sikhs should come.

My next idea was to ask for the loan of one of the donkeys, and
to start back toward Jerusalem. But I had not more than thought
of it when men's footsteps pattered on the yard dung, and an
indubitable rifle-butt beat on the wooden door.

"For God's sake!" hissed the owner of the place. He ran to the
door to open it as the thumping grew louder. As he drew the bolt
somebody kicked the door open, sending him reeling backwards.
For a second I thought the Sikhs had come.

But he was nothing lik