and little Mr. Pepperill had a diagram made of the inside of the
restaurant and a photograph of the outside of it, and stamped the
indictment in purple ink: Ready for Trial.

Contemporaneously Mr. Tutt was giving his final instructions to Mr.
Bonnie Doon, his stage manager, director of rehearsals and general
superintendent of arrangements in all cases requiring an extra-artistic
touch.

"It's too bad we can't cart a few hundred cubic feet of the Sahara into
the court room and divert the Nile down Center Street, but I guess you
can produce sufficient atmosphere," he said.

"I could all right--if I had a camel," remarked Bonnie.

"Atmosphere is necessary," continued Mr. Tutt. "Real atmosphere! Have
'em in native costume--beads, red slippers, hookahs, hoochi-koochis."

"I get you," replied Mr. Doon. "You want a regular Turkish village.
Well, we'll have it all right. I'll engage the entire Streets of Cairo
production from Coney and have Franklin Street crowded with goats, asses
and dromedaries. I might even have a caravan pitch its tents alongside
the Tombs."

"You can't lay it on too strong," declared Mr. Tutt. "But you don't need
to go off Washington Street. And, Bonnie, remember--I want every blessed
Turk, Greek, Armenian, Jew, Arab, Egyptian and Syrian that saw Sardi
Babu kill Kasheed Hassoun."

"You mean who saw Kasheed Hassoun kill Sardi Babu," corrected Bonnie.