"And in the desert, Ben Azreem, a horseman unrivalled, may be known by the snow-white horse which he rides, or if he is not so mounted, by his white camel, swifter than the glance of envy, more surefooted than the eager lover who climbs to his enslaver's window." "Indeed!" said Graham dryly. "Well, I hope I may have the pleasure of meeting this mysterious notability before I leave the country." "Unless you journey across the sands for many days, it is unlikely. For when he comes into Egypt he reveals himself to none but the supremely good,"--Graham stared--"and the supremely wicked!" added Mohammed. The poetic dragoman having departed, Graham leaned over to his wife, who had sat spellbound, her big blue eyes turned to the face of Mohammed throughout his romantic narrative. "These wild native legends appeal to you, don't they?" he said, smiling and patting her hand affectionately. "You superstitious little colleen!" Eileen Graham blushed, and the blush of a pretty Irish bride is a very beautiful thing. "Don't you believe it at all, then?" she asked softly. "I believe there may be such a person as Ben Azreem, and possibly he's a very imposing individual. He may even indulge in visits, incognito, to Cairo, in the manner of the late lamented Hárûn er-Rashîd of _Arabian Nights_ memory, but I can't say that I believe in _welees_ as a class!" His wife shrugged her pretty shoulders. "There is something that _I_ have to tell you, which I suppose you will also refuse to believe," she said, with mock indignation. "You remember the Arabs whom we saw at the exhibition in London?" Graham started. "The gentlemen who were advertised as 'chiefs from the Arabian Desert'? I remember _one_ in particular." "That is the one I mean," said Eileen. Her husband looked at her curiously. "Your explanation is delightfully lucid, dear!" he said jocularly. "My memories of the gentleman known as El-Suleym, I believe, are not pleasant; his memories of me must be equally unfavourable. He illustrated the fact that savages should never be introduced into civilised society, however fascinating they may be personally. Mrs. Marstham was silly enough to take the man up, and because of the way he looked at you, I was wise enough to knock him down! What then?" "Only this--I saw him, to-day!" "Eileen!" There was alarm in Graham's voice. "Where? Here, or in Cairo?" "As we were driving away from the mosque of the Whirling Dervishes. He was one of a group who stood by the bridge." "You are certain?" "Quite certain." "Did he see you?" "I couldn't say. He gave no sign to show that he had seen me." John Graham lighted a cigarette with much care. "It doesn't matter, anyway," he said, carelessly. "You are as safe here as at the _Ritz_." But there was unrest in the glance which he cast out across the prospect touched by moon-magic into supernatural beauty.