fruit-merchant's tale on every hand; the market buzzed with Buzak's name, but no two reports of him agreed.
At last he noticed a camel-driver watering his beasts, and from his unusual activity Gissing judged him to be one of Buzak's slaves; and, being far apart from the rest, the white man approached him with caution.
"Thou art in haste," he remarked.
"There is need," was the surly response; then, melting instantly as his willing fingers dosed over a coin—"Buzak the Sheik will start at dawn."
"Whither, my brother?"
The slave hesitated, and another and larger coin was dropped into his hand.
"I will tell thee, because thou hast named me brother, who am but a slave beneath thy feet. Moreover, with thy gold, perchance I may yet win freedom."
"Speak, in Allah's name!" implored Gissing.
"The caravan will start at dawn, but Buzak the Sheik doth not ride forth with it! This is a thing I heaxd by chance, while I lay chained and forgotten in the courtyard—but it is the truth. Buzak, my master, will remain secretly in this city, that he may search for an enemy who hath done him great evil."
Gissing's red-rimmed bloodshot eyes looked long into the pock-marked wretched face of the slave.
"Thou dost swear, by Allah?"
"By Allah, and by Allah. May my bones rot in the wilderness, and jackals pick them if I lie! May my soul go down to Eblis, and Shaitans torment me forever if I hide the truth from thee. Moreover it is a white man who hath injured Buzak, one who speaks with the tongues of the desert, and is like us in all points. All this came to my cars as Buzak spoke with one—Hassan ibn Shesh. This Hassan is to lead the caravan to El Zoonda, and is to learn aught he can on the journey, if perchance Buzak's enemy hath already fled into the desert."
"Hassan ibn Shesh!" A new stab of fear went through Gissing, as he recalled the obscene mass of flesh and the very evil face of the owner of that name. This was Buzak's chief councillor, the courtjester extraordinary, whose business it was to administer fresh zest and amusement to life in El Zoonda by devising new and spectacular deaths for Buzak's victims.
Under the littram he wore, Gissing's face was distorted by his panic, and his impulse was to run. . . and run. . . and run! To get away from this city where Buzak was, to run blindly somewhere. . . anywhere. . . at all costs to run!
Violently he restrained himself, and, with shaking hands, dropped a third piece of money into the slave's eager hand.
"Allah's peace be with thee!" he murmured hoarsely, and, turning from the well, he began to make his way unostentatiously to the caravan of Daouad el Wahab. Mechanically he threaded his way among the booths, and pyramids of red-gold oranges, to where the venerable Sheik in snowy turban, blue and scarlet burnous and gold slippers, sat peacefully directing his servants.
"Thou dost journey south, O Sheik?" asked Gissing, after the customary greeting.
"Even so," was the dignified response. "Who art thou, and why dost thou ask?"
"I am a physician—Fahd el Raschid—and would return in haste to Aufiz, where my wife lies sick. I came to this city for certain drugs and must journey swiftly back to her. I would pay thee well for thy company and protection, and for aught else thou dost demand."
The old Sheik deliberated in his long snowy beard, while Gissing's hands worked nervously under his sheltering sleeves. Lengthy argument and haggling
