"Wait until we are well without the city walls, and in the desert which has seen all things. Wait until we have seen what we are to see----" Kasim entered and bowed to the Shareef. "In readiness, _saidi_," he announced. The beggar followed the Shareef to the main entrance, where a groom with two mares, saddled and richly caparisoned, awaited them. "_Wallah!_" ejaculated the beggar, "but my lord wagers heavily against one cracked head. Each a Saklawiyah-Jidraniyah----" He bowed low as he pronounced the race and strain of the matchless beasts; and then, "To horse, _saidi_!" "You are strangely familiar with noble horses," observed the Shareef. The grimy hunchback smiled crookedly. "To the Isfayan Gate, _saidi_," he suggested, as the Shareef took the lead. At the gate the sentries challenged them, but recognizing Sayyid Yussuf, permitted them to pass. The beggar muttered a few words to the sentry. "I have kept it safely, _saidi_," replied the sentry, as he unbuckled from his waist a belt and scimitar which he handed the beggar. "I ride unarmed. Sayyid Yussuf, be kind enough to carry my sword." "Allah, and again, by Allah!" marveled the Shareef as he accepted the blade, and noted the sentry's respectful address. "Saint or beggar, or both ... but who are you, old man?" "You would be amazed, my lord," was the evasive reply. "Ride on yet a way. Let me lead." This time the Shareef followed in the wanderer's trace. And as he rode, he fingered the hilt of the beggar's scimitar, and wondered at the cool, unblinking sapphires that adorned the pommel, and the cunning workmanship of the embroidered belt. * * * * * "Let us halt here, _saidi_," requested the beggar after half an hour's brisk ride. They dismounted beside a low, half-crumbled, white-washed cupola that loomed spectrally in the moonlight: the ruined tomb of a forgotten saint. They made their salaam to the unknown occupant of the holy place. "For a beggar," began the Shareef, "you are armed like a prince. And I wonder whether you are mad as you pretend to be." "And for a cousin of the Prophet," replied the beggar, "I wonder if you are as wise as you ought to be." The moon was masked by a thin wisp of cloud. A cool, chilling breeze crept across the desert. "Kneel here, three paces before me, _saidi_," murmured the beggar. "Kneel facing me, with this ghost of a wind at your left ... and let this ghost of a moon bear witness to the truth that lies hidden in these sands.... Let it bear witness to my wager: my head against those two _asil_ mares.... With my own sword strike off my head, _saidi_," crooned the beggar, "if what you see be not the truth as Allah, the Merciful, the Compassionate, sees it ... and the truth, my lord, is that Iblis the Damned has beguiled you....