Dick and his wife passed a fortnight at Cairo on their voyage home. They chanced to admire some old praying carpets in a shop in the bazaar, and asked the price. They offered half the sum named, and the attendant, a slim youth, said he would consult his father. A tall, stoutly-built Arab came from a dark inner apartment. His regular, somewhat grave, features at once expanded into a delighted smile. "By the Prophet!" he exclaimed in excellent French, "I am overjoyed at seeing you, Monsieur et Madame. You will drink coffee with me, is it not? And, as for the rugs, take them. They are yours, I set up a shop with the money Monsieur Fenshawe gave me, and I am prosperous! _Que diable!_ That was a lucky journey for me when we all went south together. I have left the desert now. Behold! I am a good citizen, and pay taxes." Irene laughed. She had never pictured Abdullah the Spear-thrower as a shop-keeper, and waxing fat withal. "You, at any rate, found treasure at the Well of Moses," she cried. Abdullah glanced at her happy, smiling face. He turned to Royson, and bowed, with something of his former grace. "Let me congratulate you, Monsieur, on your far greater fortune," he said.