"There was hardly any blood, a little stream had trickled down the breast and dried. I told the old fellow that his son had been shot, but he only repeated, 'The drum of Timur,' and that was all he could be got to say. The _zaptiehs_ searched the khan the next day. They were stupid fellows, and shared the old man's conviction. The fact that the unfortunate youth's clothes were never found proved conclusively, in my mind, that robbery had been the motive. You mustn't believe a tenth of all you hear out here. Anyhow, Dean, when the moon's full, watch your boy if you really think there's anything in the tale. I don't. Why should John be attracted by the drum of Timur, even if there were such a thing?--he's English, born in England! This is a native spell and only works upon those of Moslem blood." The two men talked on for a short time and Price watched his companion closely; he was greatly relieved when he saw, on retiring, that Dean had dismissed his strange apprehension. CHAPTER II I On the verandah, under the shade thrown by the blossoming almond tree, sat a boy who at first sight would seem to be some fourteen years of age. It was a hot day without the suspicion of a breeze, and he stretched himself out in a wicker chair while he fanned himself with a broad, soft-brimmed white hat. He was dressed, although it was only early spring, as boys in England dress in the hottest days of summer, that is when they are holidaying and have escaped the vigilance of their mothers. A white cricket shirt, open at the neck, showed a chest and throat tanned to a rich brown by the suns of Asia Minor. His face had the deep healthy tone of one who had exposed himself to the fiercest heat of the sun, but the tan could not hide the pink and red which mantled the clear skin of the boy's face. His head was covered with a disordered mass of brown hair that had a tendency to curl. The impression of all who saw young John Dean, was that of a remarkably handsome English boy. The mouth was finely shaped, the nose straight, with a curious little curve in the nostrils which gave at times an expression of disdain to the face. But the eyes were the arresting feature, they looked out from beneath long lashes, with a light in them so luminous that they appeared to be always on the verge of laughter. John was now twelve years of age, and not thirteen or fourteen as his robust frame suggested. Dressed in a pair of short white knickers, with a long length of brown leg showing, his sleeves rolled up at the elbows, he gave promise of a wonderful manhood. For Charles Dean's whim was daily growing true. This straight tall boy had a classic mould that followed the grace of the "Narcissus" which had given him his name. And to this distinction was added a manner that attracted all. The boy's voice was clear, his laughter infectious; he had an air of command which probably was half innate and partly due to being a European among foreigners.