he
unconscious that of many baroque scenes at which he had assisted, this
was not the least baroque.

When the fourth chest had gingerly been lowered into place, Magin
vanished again. Presently he reappeared, followed by his majordomo, to
whom he gave instructions in a low voice. Then he stepped into the stern
of the boat. The majordomo, taking two portmanteaux and a rug from the
Lurs behind him, handed them down to Gaston. Having disposed of them,
Gaston stood up, his eyes on the Lurs who crowded the rail.

"Well, my friend," said Magin gaily, "for whom are you waiting? We shall
yet have opportunities to admire the romantic scenery of the Karun!"

"Ah! Monsieur takes no--other object of virtue with him?"

"Have you so much room?" laughed Magin. "It is a good thing there is no
wind to-night. Go ahead."

Gaston cast off, backed a few feet, reversed, and described a wide
circle around the stern of the barge. It made a strange picture in the
moonlight, with its black-curved beak and its spectral crew. They
shifted to the other rail as the motor-boat came about, watching
silently.

"To your oars!" shouted Magin at them. "Row, sons of burnt fathers! Will
you have me wait a month for you at Mohamera?"

They scattered to their places, and Gaston caught the renewed flash of
the sweeps as he turned to steer for the bend. It was a good thing, he
told himself, that there was no wind to-night. The gunwale was nearer
the water than he or the boat cared for. She made nothing like her usual
speed. However, he said nothing. Neither did Magin--until the dark
shadow of Umm-un-Nakhl divided the glitter in front of them.

"Take the narrower channel," he ordered then. And when they were in it
he added: "Stop, will you, and steer in there, under the shadow of the
shore? I think we would better fortify ourselves for the work of the
night. I at least did not forget the cognac, among my other objects of
virtue."

They fortified themselves accordingly, the Brazilian producing cigars as
well. He certainly was an original, thought Gaston, now hopeful of
experiencing actual cheer. That originality proved itself anew when,
after a much longer period of refreshment than would suit most gentlemen
in a hurry, the familiar flash became visible in the river behind them.

"Now be quiet," commanded the extraordinary uncle of America. "Whatever
happens we mustn't let them hear us. If they take this channel, we will
slip down, and run part way u