"My lord the Shareef ordered it. Both the infidel and the lady Azizah left just a short while ago." "Left?" "Yes. With the darvish Zantut and his pious companions." "Father of seven hundred pigs!" stormed the beggar. "Son of calamity! Where is the Shareef?" "In his reception hall, _saidi_," replied the slave respectfully. "Alms, for the love of Allah!" whined the beggar for the benefit of a passer-by. And then to the slave, in an undertone: "Very well, Musa. I shall remember this." And with a surprizingly jaunty gait, the hunchback strode down the main street of Tekrit, and then, turning down a side alley, bore directly toward the great house of the Shareef. But instead of waiting to be announced, the beggar thrust the porter aside, stalked down the hall, across the courtyard, and into the Shareef's presence. "Old man," demanded the Shareef, "who admitted you?" "I admitted myself, _saidi_," replied the beggar. "And as soon as your men withdraw," he continued, indicating the porter and two slaves who were advancing to seize him, "I will say more." The Shareef gasped, turned the color of an old saddle; then, meeting for a moment the grimy wanderer's fierce eye, relented. The man was obviously mad, reflected the Shareef; some saint or holy man whose wits were in Allah's keeping. "I will see him, Kasim," he said, dismissing with a gesture the astonished porter and his companions. "Now, old man, what is it?" "Prayer, and the Peace, Cousin of the Prophet!" began the hunchback, "I have come to make a wager." "And what would you wager, holy man?" The Shareef was now quite convinced, from the intruder's wild manner, unkempt beard, and one glittering eye, that this was indeed a wandering saint. "My head against your two best horses, _saidi_. Have them saddled, _saidi_, and when we are well beyond the city walls, I will propose the wager." "By Allah," muttered the Shareef, "but he is mad!" "My lord," resumed the beggar, "I am unarmed, and an old man. I repeat my wager: my head against two good horses." "So be it," agreed the Shareef, as he clapped his hands. "Horses and arms at once, Kasim!" "Allah upon you, my lord, but you wish to win this very good head of mine?" "Holy stranger," replied the Shareef, "leave your prayer with this house; and if you lose your wager, you may keep your head." "Of what use are my prayers, _saidi_, seeing that the servant of Satan the Damned this very day beguiled you? Where is the daughter of your brother, on whom be peace?" "On the way to the Valley of Djinn, with Zantut the darvish and his pious companions." "And what of the infidel, Rankin?" next demanded the beggar. "The _kaffir_ rides with them. But who are you, reverend saint?" wondered the Shareef; for there was something strangely familiar about this madman. "I am as much a saint as Zantut is a darvish. It is you who are stark mad, and not I," declared the beggar. "Even so," agreed the Shareef. "But what do you mean?"