It was of unusual form, having no forehead band, more nearly resembling a _yashmak_ than a true _burko_, and was heavily embroidered with pearls of varying sizes and purity, although none of them were large. Its intrinsic value was considerable, but in view of its history such a valuation must have fallen far below the true one. When its loss became known, I estimated that Messrs. Moses, Murphy & Co. could readily dispose of three duplicates through various channels to wealthy collectors whose enthusiasms were greater than their morality. The sale to a museum, or to the lawful owners, of the original (known technically as "the model") would crown a sound commercial transaction. Cock-crow that morning discovered me at the private residence, in the Boulevard Clot-Bey, of one Suleyman Levi, with whom I had had minor dealings in the past. V At nine o'clock on the following Monday night, an old Egyptian woman, enveloped from head to foot in a black _tôb_ and wearing a black crêpe face-veil boasting a hideous brass nose-piece, halted before a doorway set in the wall guarding the great gardens of the palace of Yûssuf Bey. I was the impersonator of this decrepit female. Abû Tabâh, who thus far had accompanied me, stepped into the dense shadow of the opposite wall and was thereby swallowed up. I rapped three times slowly upon the doorway, then twice rapidly. Almost at once a little wicket therein flew open, and a bloated negro face showed framed in the square aperture. "The messenger from Ali Mohammed of the Sûk en-Nahhasîn," I said, in a croaky voice. "Conduct me to the Lady Sháhmarâh." "Show her seal," answered the eunuch, extending through the opening a large, fat hand. I gave him the ring so fortunately discovered in the _tarbûsh_ of my friend the merchant and the hand was withdrawn. Within a colloquy took place in which a female voice took part. Then the door was partly opened for my admittance--and I found myself in the gardens of the Bey. In the moonlight it was a place of wonder, an enchanted demesne; but more like an Edmond Dulac water-color than a real garden. The palace with its magnificent _mushrabîyeh_ windows, so poetically symbolical of veiled women, guarded by several fine, straight-limbed palm trees, spoke of the Old Cairo which saw the birth of _The Arabian Nights_ and which so many of us imagine to have vanished with the _khalîfate_. A girl completely muffled up in many-hued shawls and scarves, so that her red-slippered feet and two bright eyes heavily darkened with _kohl_ were the only two portions of her person visible, stood before me, her figure seeming childish beside that of the gross negro--whom I hated at sight because he reminded me of the one whom I had encountered in Abû Tabâh's cellar. "Follow me, quickly, mother," said the girl. "You"--pointing imperiously at the black man--"remain here."