of the uncleanness, and defied one even to think
of the term dear to tourists, "picturesque." I was in that kind
of mood. All the natives appeared to be pockmarked; all the
Europeans greasy with perspiration.

But what was the stir about?

I turned to the dark, bespectacled young man who leaned upon the
rail beside me. From the first I had taken to Mr. Ahmad Ahmadeen.

"There is some kind of undercurrent of excitement among the natives,"
I said, "a sort of subdued Greek chorus is audible. What's it all
about?"

Mr. Ahmadeen smiled. After a gaunt fashion, he was a handsome man
and had a pleasant smile.

"Probably," he replied, "some local celebrity is joining the ship."

I stared at him curiously.

"Any idea who he is?" (The soul of the copyhunter is a restless
soul.)

A group of men dressed in semi-European fashion--that is, in
European fashion save for their turbans, which were green--passed
close to us along the deck.

Ahmadeen appeared not to have heard the question.

The disturbance, which could only be defined as a subdued uproar,
but could be traced to no particular individual or group, grew
momentarily louder--and died away. It was only when it had
completely ceased that one realized how pronounced it had
been--how altogether peculiar, secret; like that incomprehensible
murmuring in a bazaar when, unknown to the insular visitor, a
reputed saint is present.

Then it happened; the inexplicable incident which, though I knew
it not, heralded the coming of strange things, and the dawn of a
new power; which should set up its secret standards in England,
which should flood Europe and the civilized world with wonder.

A shrill scream marked the overture--a scream of fear and of pain,
which dropped to a groan, and moaned out into the silence of which
it was the cause.

"My God! what's that?"

I started forward. There was a general crowding rush, and a darkly
tanned and bearded man came on board, carrying a brown leather case.
Behind him surged those who bore the victim.

"It's one of the lascars!"

"No--an Egyptian!"

"It was a porter--?"

"What is it--?"

"Someone been stabbed!"

"Where's the doctor?"

"Stand away there, if you please!"

That was a ship's officer; and the voice of authority served to
quell the disturbance. Through a lane walled with craning heads
they bore the insensible man. Ahmadeen was at my elbow.

"A Copt," he said softly. "Poor devil!" I turned to him.