The House of the Falcon
Edith Rand had left Yakka Arik.
His only information was the story of Aravang. Donovan could not know whether she had gone willingly or not. Yet, he believed she had been taken forcibly.
"Aravang," he voiced the result of his thoughts, "run through the village, to the mosque. Summon Iskander first, to come speedily here. Aye—bid all the Sayak leaders and Mahmoud to come. Say that I must speak with them. Go swiftly!"
"Excellency, I hear"—the servant rose and dropped from the rail of the balcony to the earth, muttering, "It shall be done. I am a dog, but a dog can run"
Donovan looked at the stars, to mark the hour.
He went below to the empty sleeping room. Aravang had set the table, with lighted candles that flickered in the passing breaths of wind. The sight of Edith's empty chair stirred him strangely, and he moved it away from the table.
The curtained recess that had been Edith's was dark. He could make out vaguely the outlines of soft garments hanging in orderly array beside the bed. A very faint scent of rose leaves came to him. Pushing aside his untouched plate, Donovan buried his face in his hands.
The room was chilly, in spite of the embers of the fire Aravang had kindled in the grate. When the curtains that screened Edith's quarters swayed, Donovan looked up with a start to see only the dressing shelf the girl had fashioned laboriously—the mirror fixed in a chink in the stone, the silk-covered board bearing comb and pins, sewing materials.
Everything that had belonged to Edith was in its place. Could she have meant to leave him? Had she
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