Matthews was to sharpen
the sense of strangeness, of remoteness, which this bizarre galley, come
from unknown waters, had brought into the familiar muddy Karun.

"As a matter of fact," went on the Brazilian, "it's an anklet. But can
you make it out? Those spindles are Persian, while the filigree is more
Byzantine than anything else. You find funny things up there, in
caves--"

He tossed a vague hand, into which Matthews put the anklet, saying:

"Take it before I steal it!"

"Keep it, won't you?" proposed the astonishing Brazilian.

"Oh, thanks. But I could hardly do that," Matthews replied.

"Why not?" protested Magin. "As a souvenir of a pleasant meeting! I have
a ton of them." He waved his hand at the chests.

"No, really, thanks," persisted the young man. "And I'm afraid we must
be getting on. I don't know the river, you see, and I'd like to reach
Dizful before dark."

The Brazilian studied him a moment.

"As you say," he finally conceded. "But you will at least have another
drink before you go?"

"No, not even that, thanks," said Matthews. "We really must be off. But
it's been very decent of you."

He felt both awkward and amused as he backed out to the deck, followed
by his imposing host. At sight of the two the crew scattered to their
oars. They had been leaning over the side, absorbed in admiration of the
white jinn-boat. Matthews' Persian servant handed up to Magin's butler a
tray of tea glasses--on which Matthews also noted a bottle. In honor of
that bottle Gaston himself stood up and took off his greasy cap.

"A thousand thanks, Monsieur," he said. "I have tasted nothing so good
since I left France."

"In that case, my friend," rejoined Magin in French as good as his
English, "it is time you returned!" And he abounded in amiable speeches
and ceremonious bows until the last _au revoir_.

"_Au plaisir!_" called back Gaston, having invoked his jinni. Then,
after a last look at the barge, he asked over his shoulder in a low
voice: "Who is this extraordinary type, M'sieu Guy? A species of an
Arab, who speaks French and English and who voyages in a galley from a
museum!"

"A Brazilian, he says," imparted M'sieu Guy--whose surname was beyond
Gaston's gallic tongue.

"Ah! The uncle of America! That understands itself! He sent me out a
cognac, too! And did he present you to his _dame de compagnie_? She put
her head out of a porthole to look at our boat. A Lur, like the others,
but with a pair of bl