search."

"Odd, the inquiries we get," he commented to Ryder when the
Frenchmen had completed their courteous farewells. "You'd think the
Bank was a Bureau of Information! Yesterday there was a stir about
two crazy lads who are supposed to have joined the Mecca pilgrims in
disguise.... Of course our clerks are Copts and _do_ pick up a bit
and the Copts will talk.... I say, Jack, what are you doing?" he
broke off to demand in astonishment, for Jack Ryder had seated
himself upon a divan and was absorbedly rolling up his trouser leg.

"The dear Egyptian flea?" he added.

"Not at all. I am looking at my knees," said Ryder glumly. "I just
remembered that I have to show them to-night.... A ball--in
masquerade. At a hotel. Tourist crowd.... How do you think they'll
look with one of your Scotch plaidies atop?" he inquired feelingly.

"Fascinating, Jack, fascinating," said the promptly sardonic McLean.
"You--at a masquerade!... So that's what brought you to town."

He cocked a taunting eye at him. "Well, well, she must be a most
engaging young person--you'll be taking her out on the desert with
you now, like our friend Delcassé--a pleasant, retired spot for a
body to have his honeymoon ... no distractions of society ...
undiluted companionship, you might say.... Now what made you think
she'd like your knees?" he murmured contemplatively. "Aren't you
just a bit--previous? Apt to startle and frighten the lady?"

"Oh, go on, go on," Ryder exhorted bitterly. "I like it. It's better