"I raised my pistol, but as I did so the words of the Sheikh Al-Abbas came flooding into my mind. 'I wish,' said I clearly and without hesitation, 'that I was in Peshawar.' "For a moment my eyes closed. When I opened them I was standing outside the house in Peshawar where I had lately lodged." At this point I laid down the manuscript and burst into a shout of laughter. Bruce leaned across and picked it up. "You think it's all nonsense?" he said. "I think," said I, "that as an explorer your uncle can give points to Louis de Rougemont and Dr. Cook. The picture of him suddenly appearing naked in the main street of Peshawar, with a pistol in one hand and the Nadir Bandar in the other, is about the richest touch of imagination I've ever struck." "You think it's all a lie?" persisted Bruce. I stared at him. "My dear chap," I said, "it's either a lie or else the old boy was as mad as a March hare. Considering he left his money to a publisher, I personally incline to the latter theory." Bruce sat silent for a minute, scratching his ear. Then he laughed in a rather apologetic sort of fashion. "You'll think I'm dotty, too," he said, "but do you know, upon my soul, I believe there's something in it." "Oh, get out!" I said; "and pass me the whisky." Bruce handed over the bottle. "I'm not joking," he went on obstinately. "I've got a funny sort of feeling that the old chap was speaking the truth." "You ought to take something for it," I said. "Mother Seigel or Dr. William's Pink Pills for Neurotic Nephews." Bruce got up, and, crossing to the mantelpiece, began to fill a pipe. For some moments we both remained silent. "Well, look here," he broke out at last rather awkwardly, "I'm going to have a wish and see what happens." I shook my head with a kind of mock disapproval. "You're sure to be sorry," I said. "These things always turn out badly. Think of 'Uncle Peter's Fairy Story.'" "What's that?" asked Bruce. "It's a book," I replied, "a book that delighted my early childhood. As far as I can recollect, everyone in it was allowed to have one wish, and the results were--well, not quite what they expected. I remember one kind-hearted lady wishing that the blacksmith's baby, who was dying of consumption, should be as well and strong as its father. In about three minutes the baby was decimating the village with a sledge-hammer." "I shall be very careful," remarked Bruce, a little uncomfortably. "I----" "By the way," I interrupted, "what happened to your uncle? You took away his manuscript before I'd finished it." "He never had any more wishes," said Bruce. "That first shot seems to have frightened him off it." I laughed. "I don't wonder," I said. "One experience like that would be enough to make me sign the pledge for ever." Bruce came to the table and picked up the Nadir Bandar. "What are you going to wish?" I asked mischievously. "For goodness' sake be careful."