Craig is sorely puzzled. Many things flash into his mind and confuse him. Perhaps, after all, he might have been mistaken. Why has not Wycherley made some comment upon the matter? So the Bachelor of the Midway, as the actor has, in a spirit of humor, dubbed his athletic companion, when learning how the Canadian has persistently haunted the region of world’s fakes and curiosities, turns now to that party. “That was something not down on the bills, I’m thinking, Claude,” he remarks. “I’m puzzling my head over the cause of it all. The pasha was in deadly earnest. Don’t imagine that it was a set-up game to clear the room. What did he expect to see?” “Probably he suspected that someone he knew was playing a joke on him,” says Aleck quietly. “Humph! he was a bear then,” grunts the other. “By the way, my dear boy, did she remind you of--well, anyone you had seen before?” “That’s what makes me mad. A chump in the seat in front got his beastly head between me and the stage, so that I couldn’t see her face. You saw me knock his hat down over his ears. Well, just then the lights went out and I missed the opportunity of solving the riddle of the mysterious veiled prophetess of Cairo Street.” It is Aleck’s turn to grunt now. “Was she very beautiful, Craig?” “Yes, strikingly so. I wish you had seen her. Never mind, did the pasha come out?” “Rather! he was ahead of us. Perhaps he feared the consequences of his bold act, for these people of the Orient are quick to use knife or yataghan. As he passed I heard him laugh, and, as it is seldom these Turks do that, I can guess he was well pleased over what he had done, and that he recognized the face from which he snatched the veil.” If ever a sorely puzzled man walked up or down that singular narrow street, our bachelor is the individual. He cudgels his brains for a solution to the enigma and finds it not. “I don’t see how I can wait until to-morrow night to solve the problem,” he mutters. “What’s that?” demands Wycherley quickly. “Is it so bad as to keep you from sleeping? Aleck, my poor fellow, I pity you.” “Nonsense! I’m bothering my head over quite another thing. In fact, I’ve a nut to crack that threatens to do me up. Pardon, old boy, but I’ve been thinking of the story you told me.” “You mean about old Samson; of course you are deeply interested now--that’s natural. To the best of my belief he’s a millionaire and better--lives in grand style on the lake shore. I walked past the house several times, because, you see, I wanted to understand how the land lay, if I was to be a prospective son-in-law--ha, ha. All dreams knocked in the head now, I assure you, dear boy. I shall feel at liberty to throw a kiss to the pretty girl in the cigar stand. My bonds are gone, the shackles loosened, and Claude Wycherley is again a free man.” An odd genius this, assuredly. Aleck can never edge a word in so long as his flow of breath lasts, so he usually holds his peace until the actor pauses.