over their expenses from Elias, with others
quite unknown, bore witness to the suspicious manner of the young man's
flight, and the dance he had led each and all of them. Abdullah gnawed
his heavy grey moustache, with eyes downcast, when Elias turned towards
him with expressive hands.

From the scene of this inquiry, which was the tavern in the ruined
cloister, looking through shadowed arches on the purple sea, a
professional errand led Abdullah to the hotel of Musa el Barudi. The
sons of Musa sat on stools before the door, as did also the priest
Mitri, taking coffee with them. "What news?" they asked. Abdullah hid
his face. Could it be that they had not yet heard those wicked lies
about Iskender? He enlightened them forthwith with fervent crossings
of himself and prayers to Allah; and confessed that he was at his wits'
end, since all the evidence obtainable tended strongly to confirm the
insane story. The laughter of his hearers did him good. They
ridiculed the very notion of Iskender's guile; and they were men of
position, respectable men, whose opinion was worth having, while the
rest were riff-raff. Abdullah went home greatly comforted.

But the story spread and grew in all the land, with variations and most
wonderful additions. People came to Abdullah for the rights of it, and
were visibly disappointed and incredulous at receiving a flat denial.
They wanted the true story to replace the false, and Abdullah knew no
more than that Elias was a liar. He sat still in his house for hours
together, gnawing his thick moustache and staring at the ground. Then
he bethought him to call on the mother of Iskender, who might have
knowledge of her son's true purpose in this mad excursion. If he had
abstained from visiting her till now, it was in the hope to keep from
her a scandal which was sure to wound her. Now the time had come to
try her value as a witness. Though the weather was bad, he could not
wait for sunshine, but, taking his umbrella, walked out on to the
sandhills through the pelting rain. His boots were caked with mud when
he reached the little house; he would not enter therefore, but spoke
from the doorway, sheltered by his umbrella. It seemed she had nothing
to tell him. It was only from the voice of common rumour that she knew
that her precious son had left the town, and since then reports had
reached her which made her wash her hands of him for ever. When those
reports came to the ears of the