stalls, looked up and looked and looked, seeing nothing, being blinded
with love of Damaris.

Zulannah drove back in her Rolls-Royce to the edge of the Arabian
quarter, where, owing to the narrowness of the lanes called by courtesy
streets, she alighted to finish what remained of the journey in a
litter swung from the shoulders of four Nubian slaves, and, arrived at
the great house, summoned her special bodyguard, Qatim the Ethiopian;
and for acquiring information down to the smallest detail about some
special individual there is, surely, no detective agency on earth to
compare to one ordinary, native servant.

He loves intrigue!

So that, twenty-four hours later, Zulannah laughed shrilly when Qatim
the Ethiopian repeated all he had learned of the white man and the
white maid he presumably loved.

"Love!" she scoffed. "He has not met _me_!"

But in the weeks that followed no plot had succeeded, no device or
subtle invitation had lured the bird to the list, so that she beat
sharply upon a silver gong this night of the stars, upon which the
Ethiopian came running hastily to cast himself upon the ground at the
jewelled, henna'd feet.

"Get up," she said, kicking him upon the side of the head; whereupon he
rose, chalking up one more mark on his own particular slate of Life,
upon one side of which was written Desire and the other Revenge.