What Spaghetti was wishing for Verbeena was wondering concerning. Whereabouts now was this bold devil, Amut? And when would he be home? To be sure, Spaghetti had said, she sort of remembered, that the Sheik would be home for dinner and that he ate at eight. But he might come in any old time and surprise her. For, cogently considered, wouldn't that be just like him? That he was a nasty feller, how could she doubt it? Of the Machiavellian character of the black-whiskered, tow-headed mazib hadn't she right then sufficient evidence to swing any jury? "Boo-hoo, Boo-hoo!" sobbed Verbeena entirely in the feminine gender. But six or seven cigarettes, the knowledge of the hatpin stick beneath the left breast of her Norfolk jacket with the right hand fully informed about it and something else that she had up her sleeve (I can't tell you yet--no, really, honest, I can't, for it wouldn't be fair to Verbeena--might give her away in a critical moment) something else that she had up her sleeve reassured her mightily. And if I could only tell you what she was thinking about doing just then! "Durn it!" your heart would surely go out to the cute bantam! Gaw, bless her! Remembering as well that Britains never shall be slaves! And that, moreover, if you are not that kind of a girl and are truly indignant why then, my dear, your ship of Fate gathers no moral barnacles. Although, of course, in the matter of just what kind of a girl Verbeena was, if any, a palpable ambiguousness veers to the verge of anguish. But while this juncture is pending in which passion is scheduled to bridle and burst into tongues of flame high as a gas tank in eruption, gave Verbeena a chance. That is to look around Sheik Amut Ben Butler's wicked desert diggin's. Huh--not that they were so much! Some Oriental hangings showed up as if they were embroiderd by blacksmiths and colored by accident and chewed by rats. There were two silver inlaid Moorish stools that would hold you if you were careful. There was a fine-looking, hand-carved chest, big and impressive, that Verbeena peeked into thinking it would reveal perhaps, wondrous stores of Bagdad lace curtains or--heaven alone could tell!--perhaps the corpse of his former victim! She opened it and then shut it in a hurry. A person may fairly be curious. But not about somebody else's old shoes. However, a splendid collection of ivory and silver and ivory and gold and ivory and brass and ivory and tin and ivory and goodness-knew-what cigarette cases, hit Verbeena right in the eye. She selected about sixteen she thought she might like and put them aside in one of her trunks to be called for later. Should Amut miss 'em. Although according to her designs, even if he did--even if he did---- Excuse me, for holding off a bit longer. No fault of the author truly. He's coming is Amut. But you see he is doing a Sheridan on a flashing steed and is as yet several miles away. Two at least.