It was a ridiculous search, because there wasn't really anywhere to
look. After three bags had been lifted and their bottoms scrutinized
the whole floor of the compartment lay naked to the eye, except where my
feet rested. Jeremy insisted on my raising them, to the accompaniment
of what he considered suitable comment on their size, turning his
"behind end" meanwhile toward Yussuf Dakmar.

Grim chuckled and caught my eye. Yussuf Dakmar had walked straight into
temptation, and was trying to search Jeremy's pockets from the rear--no
easy matter, for he had to discover them first in the loose folds of the
Arab costume.

Suddenly Jeremy's mood changed. He became suspicious, stood up, resumed
his seat--and glared at Yussuf Dakmar, who retired into his corner and
tried to seem unconscious of the game.

"I believe you are a thief--one of those light-fingered devils from
El-Kalil!" said Jeremy suddenly, after about three minutes' silence.
"I believe you have stolen my letter! Like the saint's ass, you are a
clever devil, aren't you? Nevertheless, you are like a man without
fingernails, whose scratching does him no good! Your labour was in
vain. Give me back the letter, or by Allah I will turn you upside
down!"

Yussuf Dakmar denied the accusation with all the fervour that a
blackguard generally does use when, for once, he is consciously
innocent.

"By the Beard of the Prophet and on my honor I swear to you that I
haven't touched your letter! I don't know where it is."