The Seller of Rugs
"What are they?" Edith asked, nodding at the carrion birds that were circling now overhead, waiting for their departure. There was something foul and evil in their slow movements.
"Vultures," responded the major briefly. But the girl barely heard. She had seen Monsey's eyes widen and his lips twitch.
"Birds of prey of the basest sort," repeated Fraser-Carnie and this time he, too, glanced at Monsey.
"Are they called falcons sometimes?" She turned to the major.
"Rather not. Falcons, my dear young lady, are a sort of hunting bird, used by the natives hereabouts, especially in the north. An old custom, you know, favored by the hill chiefs."
At the door of the bungalow Fraser-Carnie made his adieus, saying that work claimed him at his quarters. Monsey, however, lingered. Miss Rand, Edith learned from the boy who took their horses, was out. Monsey accompanied her up the porch steps. Here Edith halted, stifling an involuntary exclamation of surprise.
In the shadows of the veranda a white figure rose before her. It salaamed respectfully and revealed itself as a turbaned Mussulman.
"O, will the mistress of the house see what her servant brings?" the figure said in fair English. "I am Iskander, seller of rugs."
Edith seized this pretext to avoid being alone with Monsey and ordered Iskander to bring his wares to the upper porch. As she passed through the drawing-room she could not resist stealing a glance at the window seat where the box containing the belongings of
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