"Show me the Prophet's beard!" commanded Jeremy. "Show me your honor!"

"You talk like a madman! How can I show either?"

"Then how can you swear by them? Father of easy words and evil deeds,
give me the letter back!"

Yussuf Dakmar appealed to me as presumably responsible for Jeremy.

"You saw, effendi, didn't you? I tried to help him. But he who plays
with the cat must suffer her claws, so now he accuses me of stealing. I
call you to witness that I took nothing."

"You must excuse him," I answered. "That is a highly important letter.
If it isn't found the consequences may be disastrous."

"By Allah, it shall be found!" exploded Jeremy, glaring harder than ever
at Yussuf Dakmar. "Look at his face! Look at his evil eyes! He came
in here on purpose to spy on us and steal that letter! It is time to
use my razor on him! I swear not by the Prophet's beard or anybody's
honor, but by the razor in my sock that he has the letter and that I
will have it back!" Well, that was a challenge there was no
side-stepping. Sure of being able to prove innocence, Yussuf Dakmar
decided that a bold course was the best. He proceeded to empty his own
pocket, laying the contents on the seat before Jeremy's eyes. And
Jeremy watched like a puzzled puppy with his brow wrinkled. The process
took time, because he was wearing one of those imitation Western suits,
of prehistoric cut but up-to-date with every imaginable pocket that a
tailor could invent. Their contents included a dagger and a clasp-knife