Raising the lower edge of the rear wall, Werper crept within and
approached the corpse. Without an instant's hesitation he seized
the dead wrists and dragged the body upon its back to the point
where he had just entered. On hands and knees he backed out as
he had come in, drawing the corpse after him. Once outside the
Belgian crept to the side of the tent and surveyed as much of the
camp as lay within his vision--no one was watching.

Returning to the body, he lifted it to his shoulder, and risking
all on a quick sally, ran swiftly across the narrow opening which
separated the prisoner's tent from that of the dead man. Behind
the silken wall he halted and lowered his burden to the ground,
and there he remained motionless for several minutes, listening.

Satisfied, at last, that no one had seen him, he stooped and raised
the bottom of the tent wall, backed in and dragged the thing that
had been Mohammed Beyd after him. To the sleeping rugs of the dead
raider he drew the corpse, then he fumbled about in the darkness
until he had found Mohammed Beyd's revolver. With the weapon in
his hand he returned to the side of the dead man, kneeled beside
the bedding, and inserted his right hand with the weapon beneath
the rugs, piled a number of thicknesses of the closely woven fabric
over and about the revolver with his left hand. Then he pulled
the trigger, and at the same time he coughed.

The muffled report could not have been heard above the sound of his
cough by one directly outside the tent. Werper was satisfied. A
grim smile touched his lips as he withdrew the weapon from the rugs
and placed it carefully in the right hand of the dead man, fixing