"Do you know, Mr. Hankey," said one suddenly, "we really don’t believe a word you’re saying. For one thing I’m sure you was never the favourite of the Sultan or we should have read about it in the New York Sunday papers. And I’m certain you never married the Sultan’s daughter, Fatima, because you’d just be ashamed to confess it to a lot of nice American girls. You’re just a new-comer like the American we met on the Fez Road who asked our guide where the nearest Beer Hall was." A shriek of laughter greeted this innocent jest. Hank sat up, his lazy voice became immediately incisive. "On the Fez Road—an American?" "He was a man with white eyes," said a voice. "Oh, Mamie, how unkind! still his eyes _did_ look white." Hank shot a swift glance at the Duke, and the latter nodded. "I suppose," drawled Hank, "it would be a mighty improper question to ask where this freeborn citizen of God’s country is stayin’ in Tangier." But nobody knew. They had met the man by accident, they had seen him once in the Great Sok, more than this they could not say. Hank had picked up a servant, none other than Rabbit. Rabbit is a well-known figure in Tangier society. A waif of the streets, a bravo, an adventurer, a most amusing child of nature was this Rabbit—so-called because of a certain facial resemblance to bunny. It may be said of Rabbit that he disobeyed most commands of the Prophet. He drank, gambled, and was on friendly terms with the _giaour_. None the less he rose at inconvenient hours of the night, tucked a praying carpet under his arm and hied him to his orisons. Rabbit had curious likes and dislikes; he was not everybody’s man. His world had two names. The world that treated him well, and to whom he attached himself, was "Mr. Goodman"; the world repugnant had a name which has no exact equivalent in the English language, but which in German would be "Mr. Shameless-dog-burnt-in-pitch-and-consigned-to-the underworld." Hank was the time being his "Mr. Goodman," and to Rabbit Hank delegated the task of discovering Bill. Rabbit discharged his task in three minutes. His procedure was simple. He strolled into the market place and found a small boy in tattered jelab and very industriously kicking another small boy. Having impartially smacked the heads of both, he sent them on their errand of discovery. Then he went off to sleep. In an hour’s time Rabbit presented himself before Hank in a picturesque condition of exhaustion and reported that Mr. Bill Slewer was staying at a little hotel near the _Kasbah_. It was not exactly an hotel, said Rabbit frankly, but a House of Experience, where strangers threw a Main with Fate. "The difficulty with Bill will be his unexpectedness," said the Duke, "there is no place in the world more suitably situated for the springing of a surprise than Tangier." "Where’s Tuppy?" he asked.