vy
shower. Mr. Middleton hastened his steps. It was possible that if the
dress-suit he wore, hired for the occasion of the wedding of his
friend, Mr. Chauncey Stackelberg, should become imbued with moisture
in the shower that now seemed imminent, Mr. Cohen, of whom he had
hired the suit, would not add to the modicum agreed upon, a charge for
pressing it. But if his own suit for everyday wear, which he was
carrying under his arm with the purpose of putting it on at good Mr.
Cohen's establishment, should become wet, that would be a serious
matter. It was, in fact, his only suit and that will explain the
anxiety with which he scanned the heavens. Suddenly, Pluvius unloosed
all the fountains of the sky, and with scarcely a thought whither he
was going, Mr. Middleton darted into the first haven of refuge, a
little shop he happened to be just passing. As the door closed behind
him with the tinkle of a bell in some remote recess, for the first
time he realized that the place he had entered was utterly dark. His
ears, straining to their uttermost to make compensation for the
inability of his eyes to be of service to him in this juncture, could
no more than inform him that the place was utterly silent. But to his
nose came the powerful fragrance of strange foreign aromas such as he
had never had experience of before,--which, heavy and oppressive in
their cloying perfume, seemed the very breath of mystery. All traffic
had ceased without, as the night was well advanced and the rain beat
so heavily that the few whom business or pleasure had called abroad at
that hour, had sought shelter. But though the rain now fell with a
steady roar, Mr. Middleton, perturbed by a nameless disquiet, was
about to rush forth into the tempest and seek other shelter, when a
door burst open and, outlined against a glare of light, stood a
gigantic man who said in a deep, low voice that seemed to pervade
every corner of the room and cause the air to shake in slow
vibrations, "Salaam aleikoom!" Which being repeated again, Mr.
Middleton replied:

"I do not understand the German language."

A low, musical laugh greeted this remark and the laugh resolving
itself into a low, musical voice that bade him enter, Mr. Middleton
found himself in a small boudoir of oriental magnificence, facing a
young man in the costume of the Moslem nations, who sat cross-legged
upon a divan smoking a narghileh. He was of perhaps twenty-six,
somewhat slight, but elegant of pers