Grim was in Mephistophelian humor. He can sleep cat-fashion, for sixty
seconds at a time, with all his wits about him in the intervals, and
likes to feel in the crook of his own forefinger the hidden hair-trigger
of events. I don't think Jeremy was awake when I first entered the
room, although it suited Grim's humor that he should be presently; but
you would have sworn they were both unconscious, judging by the see-saw,
bass and baritone snoring.

I poured out whisky, drank a little of it grouchily, and watched Yussuf
Dakmar into bed. He didn't take many of his clothes off and even by
candle-light you could see the shape of the knife concealed under his
shirt. He sat cross-legged on the bed, presumably praying, and as I
didn't like the look of him I blew out the candle.

Instantly, pinched and prompted by James Schuyler Grim, Jeremy sat up
and yammered profanely at the darkness, vowing he couldn't see to sleep
without a light in the room. I tinkled a tumbler against a whisky
bottle, and Jeremy instantly swore that he heard burglars. Sitting up
and whirling his pillow he knocked Yussuf Dakmar off the bed on to the
floor.

So I lit the candle again, after emptying my glass of whisky into a
spittoon; whereat Jeremy quoted the Koran about the fate of drunkards
and, getting out of bed, apologized to Yussuf Dakmar like a courtier
doing homage to a king.

"Your honor was born under a lucky star," he assured him. "I usually
shoot or stab, but the pillow was the first thing handy."

The Syrian had hard work to keep his temper, for he had fallen on the