At times he would raise his eyes from his work, glance sharply to either side, and at the door of the room, which he was facing. At last he addressed the adept who squatted, cross-legged, in a shadowy corner where he fed grains of sandalwood to a censer that fumed before the silver image of a peacock. "Humayd, what time is it?" "Well past midnight, _saidi_. The sentries have been changed three times since sunset." "And still no report!" muttered Zantut as he stroked his black beard. Then, to Humayd: "Sound recall." The adept drew from behind the pedestal of the silver peacock a small drum, carefully tuned it, and with knuckles and the heel of his hand beat a curious, broken rhythm. The drum emitted a surprizing volume of sound for its size; yet so low-pitched was its hollow chug-chug-thump that it barely disturbed the silence of that late hour. Scarcely had Humayd set aside the drum when there came at the door a tapping that mimicked the cadence of the recall. "Enter!" commanded Zantut. And then, recognizing the newcomer, "What luck, Saoud?" "Less than none, _saidi_. I waited at the entrance of the _caravanserai_ across the street until my legs were knotted with cramps. And this"--he flashed from beneath his _djellab_ a keen, curved blade--"is all too clean." Zantut scrutinized him gravely. "You slept!" snapped the Master. "Not in that corner of perdition, _saidi_. And I reported while that drum was still warm." "Granted!" admitted Zantut. And then came another sequence of taps at the door. "Enter and report!" commanded Zantut. "Weariness and waste of time, _saidi_," announced the latest arrival. "As you ordered, I had a word with the guards posted at the city gates. My purse is somewhat lighter, but to no purpose." And the purport of each of the succeeding scouts was similar. Rankin had evaded them all. Then, after an interval, came the last scout. "I saw a man on horse, followed by three on foot, _saidi_," he began. "They carried a burden that might very well have been a man. The horseman halted at the house of the Shareef Yussuf, where he and his followers entered." "Ah! ... could it have been the Shareef's son, Absál?" "It could. He had a red beard, and was very tall and lean." "Sayyid Absál himself! Then what, Ismail?" "Someone of the party had been wounded. I followed blood splashes on the paving until I came to a side street close to the _caravanserai_ of this madman we are seeking. In a blind street I saw three men lying where they had fallen. They had no further use for the swords they still clutched. But before I could investigate, a party of armed men approached to pick up the dead." "Then what?" demanded Zantut. "I gathered from their remarks that an additional corpse would be easily enough handled. And I didn't wish to arouse suspicion by loitering."