neat black moustache
with a plump forefinger. A diamond ring which he wore glittered
brilliantly in the coloured rays of the lanterns. With his right hand,
which rested in his trouser pocket, he rattled keys. His glance roved
about the room appraisingly. Walking to a beautifully carved Arab
cabinet he rearranged three pieces of Persian copperware which stood
upon it. He moved several cushions, and taking up a leopard skin which
lay upon the floor he draped it over an ebony chair which was inlaid
intricately with ivory.

The drooping eyelids of M. Agapoulos drooped lower, as returning to the
centre of the room he critically surveyed the effect of these master
touches. At the moment he resembled a window-dresser, or, rather, one
of those high-salaried artists who beautify the great establishments of
Regent Street, the Rue de la Paix, and Ruination Avenue, New York.

Hassan lighted the sixth lamp, muttering smilingly all the time. He was
about to depart when Agapoulos addressed him in Arabic.

"There will be a party down from the Savoy tonight, Hassan. No one else
is to come unless I am told. That accursed red policeman, Kerry, has
been about here of late. Be very careful."

Hassan saluted him gravely and retired through one of the draped
openings. In his hand he held the taper with which he had lighted the
lamps. In order that the draperies should not be singed he had to hold
them widely apart. For it had not occurred to Hassan to extinguish the
taper. The Egyptian mind is complex in its simplicity.

M. Agapoulos from a gold case extracted a cigarette, and lighting it,
inhaled the smoke contentedly, looking about him. The window-dresser was
lost again in the bank manager who has arranged a profitable overdraft.
Somewhere a bell rang. Hassan, treading silently, reappeared, crossed
the room, and opening a finely carved door walked along a corridor which
it had concealed. He still carried the lighted taper.

Presently there entered a man whose well-cut serge suit revealed the
figure of a soldier. He wore a soft gray felt hat and carried light
gloves and a cane. His dark face, bronzed by recent exposure to the
Egyptian sun, was handsome in a saturnine fashion, and a touch of gray
at the temples tended to enhance his good looks. He carried himself
in that kind of nonchalant manner which is not only insular but almost
insolent.

M. Agapoulos bowed extravagantly. As he laid his plump hand upon his
breast the diamond ring