Farrell scrutinized Nureddin for an instant. Whatever game Nureddin might be playing, it would certainly not be for small counters. Then Farrell, still feigning skepticism, drew from the pocket of his grimy, ill-fitting suit a small pouch, hefted it so that the gold it contained clinked softly. He tossed the money to Marcelle. "_Ya_ Nureddin, I will fight as eagerly for my naked hide as for a pouch of gold. Now if you still want me to meet your friends, I will entertain them royally, _inshallah_!" Nureddin smiled and stroked his chin. "By Allah, O Afghan, you are suspicious. Follow me." "Lead on," agreed Farrell. * * * * * He followed Nureddin to the street and thence to an alley so narrow that with his outstretched arms he could at the same time touch the buildings on both sides: and the narrowness was exceeded only by the stench. Nureddin halted at the end of the alley. A heavy, iron-bound door barred further progress. "From here you must go blindfolded," said Nureddin. "By your beard!" mocked Farrell as his hand flashed into view with a pistol whose cavernous muzzle gaped ominously. "Perhaps you would like to bind my hands also? Now, forward! Or I will blow thy teeth right and left ... if it so please Allah," he concluded piously. "Fire!" retorted Nureddin. "The Master would give me a less pleasant death for disobeying his orders." In the moonlight Farrell could see the perspiration that glittered on Nureddin's forehead; but he did not flinch. "_La, billahi!_" ejaculated Farrell after a moment. "Were there a blood feud between us, I would. But as it is----" He shrugged, holstered his pistol, and turned, to stalk down the narrow alley. Farrell was certain, now, that he was on the right trail. But since spies are notoriously eager to agree to anything and everything to gain admittance to forbidden doors, Farrell had to play the blustering, alternately suspicious and fool-hardy Afghan. He swaggered away in his lordly fashion, presenting his back as a fair target for hurled knife, or pistol fire. "_Ya_ Ibrahim!" protested Nureddin. "Be reasonable. _He_ ordered. It is on my head----" "_He_, whoever he is," retorted Farrell, "may then seek me himself and I will induce him to change his rules. _Wallah!_ And your head, that is no more than a ball to play with!" "Oh, well, have it your own way," agreed Nureddin resignedly as Farrell again turned. Then he clapped his hands sharply. Farrell sensed his danger; but before he could whirl and draw, something soft and clinging enveloped him. It was a net whose fine, stout silken cords bound his limbs and entangled him. "God, by the Very God, by the One True God!" he swore, struggling with the soft, relentless thing that enmeshed him like a monstrous spider-web, and seeking to draw a knife. "Pig and father of pigs!"