hey were men from
the hospital, out of breath with running, and the phrases they exchanged
gave Renwick comforting notion that they were already wearily impressed
with the hopelessness of their task. A while they waited, and then he
saw them go out on the further side of the copse as though glad to be
well away from so melancholy a spot. Indeed the gray turban-carved
tombstones were eloquent to Renwick and a newly made grave not far away
was unpleasantly suggestive of the fate that had so nearly been his. It
was starlight now, but dark, and the owls were already hooting
mournfully as though the souls of those who lay in the sod beneath had
come again to visit by night their last resting places. It was not the
most cheerful spot for a man who had just come out of a bout with death,
and Renwick had no mind to stay there. So when the men who had been
searching for him had gone their ways, he clambered stiffly down. He
lingered by the newly made grave, obsessed by the rather morbid notion
of digging up the estimable Moslem who reposed there and exchanging his
own hospital wrapper for the much to be desired native costume, but
desperate as was his need the idea was too unpleasant. He would rob, if
necessary, but not the dead.

As he wandered among the trees in the direction of the nearest lights,
he felt a pair of scissors in the pocket of his wrapper--Fraeulein
Roth's. His fingers closed upon them now. A weapon? Better than that. A
plan had come to him which he proceeded immediately to put into
practice. Taking off his wrapper he seated himself upon a tombstone and
began cutting it into pieces, shaping a short sleeveless jacket. He cut
the sleeves of the wrapper lengthwise and made a turban.

Its skirt made him a belt with something left over. He puzzled for
awhile over the remnant of cloth left to him, thinking of his legs, but
at last discarded it as useless, and hid it among the bushes. Then,
laboriously, he trimmed his mustache and beard. It was low work without
light or mirror, but he persevered until to the touch of his fingers the
merest bristle remained, a stubble such as a man would have who had gone
a few days without shaving. Then, satisfied that under cover of the
darkness he might pass in a crowd of people unnoticed, he slipped the
scissors into the coat of his sleeping suit and sallied forth.

At least he was rid of the flowing robe which would have made of him a
marked man. Fortunately the night was hot and