make out
are a pair of bushy eyebrows, a prominent hooked beak, and a set of
crisp, curlin' black whiskers. Hardly the kind to go shinnin' up
waterspouts or squeezin' through upper windows. Still, I'd almost caught
him in the act.

"If that's a disguise you've got on," says I, "it's a bird. And if it
ain't--say, let's hear the tale. Who do you claim to be, anyway?"

"Many pardons again, Effendi," says he, "but it is my wish to
remain--what you call it?--incognito."

"Then you don't get your wish," says I. "No John Doe game goes with me.
Out with it! Who and what?"

"But I make protest," says he. "Rather would I depart on my way."

"Ah, ditch that!" says I. "I caught you actin' like a suspicious
character. Now, if you can account for yourself, I may turn you loose;
but if you don't, it's a case for the police."

"Ah, no, no!" he objects. "Not the constables! Allah forbid! I--I will
make explanation."

"Then let it come across quick," says I. "First off, what name are you
flaggin' under?"

"At my home," says he, "I am known as Pasha Dar Bunda."

"Well, that's some name, all right," says I. "Now the next item, Pasha,
is this, What set you to prowlin' around the home of one McCabe?"

"Ah, but you would not persist thus far!" says he, pleadin'. "That is a
personal thing, something between myself and Allah alone."

"You don't say," says I. "Sorry to butt in, but I've got to have it all.
Come, now!"

"But, Effendi----" he begins.

"No, not Fender," says I, "nor Footboard, or anything like that: just
plain McCabe."

"It is a word of respect," says he, "such as Sir Lord; thus, Effendi
McCabe."

"Well, cut out the frills and let's get down to brass tacks," says I.
"You're here because you're here, I expect. But what else?"

He sighs, and then proceeds to let go of a little information. "You have
under your roof," says he, "a Meesis Vogel, is it not?"

"Vogel?" says I, puzzled for a second. "You don't mean Lindy, do you?"

"She was called that, yes," says the Pasha, "Meelinda."

"But she's a Miss--old maid," says I.

"Ah?" says he, liftin' his bushy eyebrows. "A Mees, eh? It may be so.
They tell me at her place of living that she is to be found here.
_Voila!_ That is all."

"But what about her?" says I. "Where do you come in?"

"Once when I am in England," says he, "many years gone past, I know her.
I learn that she is in New York. Well, I find myself in America too. I
thought to see her. Why not? A g