SYNOPSIS.
George Percival Algernon Jones, vice
president of the Metropolitan Oriental
Rug company of New York, thirsting for
romance, is In Cairo oU a business trip.
Horace Ryanne arrives at the hotel in
Cairo with a carefully guarded bundle.
Ryanne sells Jones the famous holy Yhi
ordes rug which he admits having stolen
from a pasha at Bagdad. Jones meets
Major Callahan and later Is introduced to
Fortune Chedsoye by a woman to whom
he had loaned 150 pounds at Monte Carlo
some months previously, and who turns
out to be Fortune’s mother. Jones takes
Mrs. Chedsoye and Fortune to a polo
game. Fortune returns to Jones the
money borrowed by her mother. Mrs.
Chedsoye appears to be engaged In some
“mysterious enterprise unknown to the
daughter. Ryanne Interests Jones in the
United Romance and Adventure com
pany, a concern which for a price will
arrange any kind of an adventure to or
der. Mrs. Chedsoye, her brother, Major
Callahan, Wallace and Ryanne, as the
United Romance and Adventure company,
plan a risky enterprise involving Jones.
Ryanne makes known to Mrs. Chedsoye
his intention to marry Fortune. Mrs.
Chedsoye declares she will not permit it.
Plans are laid to prevent Jones sailing
for home. Ryanne steals Jones letters
and cable dispatches. He wires agent in
New York, in Jones’ name, that he is
renting house in New York to some
friends. Mahomed, keeper of the holy
carpet, Is on Ryanne’s trail.
promises Fortune that he will see that
. Jones comes to no harm as a result of his
purchase of the rug. Mahomed accosts
Ryanne and demands the Yhlordes rug;
Ryanne tells him Jones has the rug ana
suggests the abduction of the New York
merchant as a means of securing its re
turn. The rug disappears from Jones
room. Fortune quarrels with her mother
when the latter refuses to explain her
mysterious actions. Fortune gets a mes
sage purporting to be from Ryanne ask
ing her to meet him in a secluded place
that evening. Jones receives a message
asking him to met Ryanne at the English-
Bar the same evening. Jones Is carried
off into the desert by Mahomed and his
accomplices after a desperate fight. He
discovers that Ryanne and Fortune also
are captives, the former is badly battered
and unconscious.
CHAPTER Xlll.—(Continued.)
A good fire was started, and the fu
nereal aspect of the oasis became
quick and cheerful. A little distance
from the blaze, George saw Fortune
bending over the inanimate Ryanne.
She was bathing his face with a wet
handkerchief. After a time Ryanne
turned over and flung his arms limply
across his face. It was the first sign
of life he had exhibited since the
start. Fortune gently pulled aside
his arms and continued her tender
mercies.
“Can I help?” asked George.
“You might rub his wrists,” she
answered.
It seemed odd to him that they
should begin in such a matter-of-fact
way. It would be only when they
had fully adjusted themselves to the
situation that questions would put
forth for answers. He knelt down at
the other side of Ryanne and mas
saged his wrists and arms. Once he
paused, catching his breath.
“What is it?” she asked.
“A rib seems to bother me. It’ll be
all right tomorrow.” He went on
with his manipulations.
"Is he badly hurt?”
“I can’t say.”
His knowledge of anatomy was not
wide; still, Ryanne’s arms and legs
worked satisfactorily. The trouble
was either in his head or back of his
ribs. He put his arm under Ryanne’s
shoulder and raised him. Ryanne
mumbled some words. George bent
down to catch them. “Hit ’em up in
this half, boys; we’ve got them going.
Hell! Get off my head, you farmer!
Two cards, please.” His
face puckered into what was intended
for a smile. George laid him back
gently. Foot-ball and poker: what
' had this man not known or seen in
life? Some one came between the
two men and the fire, casting a long
shadow athwart them. George looked
up and saw Mahomed standing close
by. His arms were folded and his
face grimly inscrutable.
“Have you any blankets?” asked
George coolly.
Mahomed gave an order. A blanket
and two saddle-bags were thrown
down beside the unconscious man.
George made a pillow of the bags and
laid the blanket over Ryanne.
“Why do you waste your time over
him?” asked Mahomed curiously.
“I would not let a dog die this way,”
he retorted.
“He would have let you die,” replied
Mahomed, turning upon his heel.
George stared thoughtfully at his
whilom accomplice. What did the
old villain insinuate?
“Can I do anything to make you
more comfortable?” speaking to For
tune.
“I’m all right. I was chilled a little
while ago, but the fire has done away
with that. Thank you.”
“You must eat when they bring you
food.”
•i 11 try to,” smiling bravely.
To take her in his arms, then and
there, to appease their hunger and
his heart’s!
Self-consciously, her hand stole to
her hair. A color came into her
cheeks. How frightful she must look!
Neither hair-pin nor comb was left.
She threw the strands across her
shoulder and plucked the snarls and
tangles apart, then braided the whole.
He watched her, fascinated. He had
never seen a woman do this before.
It was almost a sacrilege for him to
be so near her at such a moment.
Afterward she drew her blanket over
her shoulders.
“You’ve got lots of pluck.”
“Have I?"
“Yes. You haven’t asked a question
yet.”
“Would it help any?”
“No, I don’t suppose it would. I’ve
an idea that we’re all on the way to
the home of Haroun-al-Rashid.”
"Bagdad,” musingly.
“It’s the rug. But I do not under
stand you in the picture.”
"No more do I.”
With a consideration that spoke
well of his understanding, he did not
speak to her again till food was
passed. Later, when the full terror
of the affair took hold of her, she
would be dreadfully lonely and would
need to see him near, to hear his
voice. He forced some of the hot
soup down Ryanne’s throat, and was
gla.d to note that he responded a little.
After that he limped about the strange
camp, but was careful to get in no
one’s way. Slyly he took note of this
face and that, and his satisfaction
grew as he counted the aftermath of
the war. And it had taken five of
them, and evep then the result had
been in doubt up to the moment when
his head had gone bang against the
stucco. He took a melancholy pride
in his swollen ear and half-shut eye.
He had always been doubtful regard
ing his courage; and now he knew
that George Percival Algernon Jones
was as good a name as Bayard.
The camel-boys (they are called
boys all the way from ten years up to
forty), having hobbled the beasts,
were portioning each a small bundle
of tibbin or chopped straw in addition
to what they might find by grazing.
Funny brutes, thought George, as he
walked among the kneeling animals:
to go five days without food or water,
— H//IW! U E
' ■ ft MlMl
JwibW
li«
“For the Simple Reason I Didn't Have It to Give Up.”
to travel continuously from twenty
five to eighty miles the day! Others
were busy with the pack-baskets. A
tent, presumably Mahomed’s, was be
ing erected upon a clayey piece of
ground in between the palms. No one
entered the huts, even out of curios
ity; so George was certain that the
desertion had been brought about by
one plague or another. A smaller
tent was put up later, and he was
grateful at the sight of it. It meant
a little privacy for the poor girl. Great
God, how helpless he was, how help
less they all were!
An incessant clatter, occasionally
interspersed with a laugh, went on.
The Arab, unlike the East Indian, is
not ordinarily surly; and these
seemed to be good-natured enough.
They eyed George without malice.
The war of- the night before had been
all in a day’s work, for which they
had been liberally paid. While he had
spent much time in the Orient and
had ridden camels, a real caravan,
prepared for weeks of travel, was a
distinct novelty, and so he viewed all
with interest, knowing perfectly well
that within a few days he would look
upon these activities with a dull, hope
less anger. He went back to the
girl and sat down beside her.
“Have you any idea why you are
here?”
“No; unless he saw me in the ba
zaars with Horace, and thought to
torture him by bringing me alqng.”
Horace! A chill that was not of the
night ran over his shoulders. So she
called the adventurer by hia given
name? And how might her presence
torture Ryanne? George felt weak
in that bitter moment. Ay, how might
not her presence torture him also?
He had never, for the briefest space,
thought of Ryanne and Fortune at the
same time. She spoke, apathetically
it was true, as if she had known him
all her life. The wisest thing he could
do w’as to bring Ryanne to a condition
where he could explain some parts of
the enigma and be of some use. Hor
ace!
“I’m going to have another try at
him,” he said.
She nodded, but without any par
ticular enthusiasm.
George worked over Ryanne for the
better part of an hour, and finally the
battered man moved. He made an ef
fort to speak, but this time no sound
issued from his lips. At the! end of
the hour he opened his eyes and
smiled. It was more like the grin
George had once seen upon the face
of a boxer who had returned to the
contest after having been floored half
a dozen times.
“Can you hear me?” asked George.
Ryanne stared into his face. “Yes,”
thickly. “Where are we?"
"In the desert.”
“Which one?”
“Arabian.”
Ryanne tried to sit up alone.
“Better not try to move. They
banged you up at a great rate. Best
thing you can do is to go to sleep.
You’ll be all right in the morning.”
Ryanne sank back, and George bun
dled him up snugly. Poor devil!
“He’ll pull himself together in the
morning,” he said to Fortune. "I did
not know that you knew him well.”
“I have known him for eight or nine
years. He used to visit my uncle at
our villa at Mentone.” She smiled.
“You look very odd.”
“No odder than I feel,” with inef
fectual attempt, to bring together the
ends of his collar-band. “I must be
a sight. I was in too much of a hurry
to get there. Did you eat the soup
and fish?”
“The soup, yes; but I’m afraid that
it will be some time before I can find
the dried fish palatable. I hope my
courage will not fail me,” she added,
the first sign of anxiety she had
shown. She was very lonely, very
tired, very sad.
It is quite possible that Mahomed,
coming over, spoiled a pretty scene;
for George had some very brave
words upon the tip of his tongue.
"Come,” said Mahomed to Fortune
“You will Bleep in the little tent. No
one will disturb you.”
“Good night, Mr. Jones. Don’t wor
ry; I am not afraid.”
George was alone. He produced
one of his precious cigars and lighted
it Then he drew over his feet one of
the empty saddle-bags, wrapped his
blanket round him, and sat smoking
and thinking till the heat of the fire
replenished from time to time, filled
him with a comfortable drowsiness;
and the cigar, still smoking, dropped
from his nerveless fingers, as he lay
back upon the hard clay and slept.
Romance is the greatest thing in the
world; but for all that, a man must
eat and a man must sleep.
The cold crew of dawn was the tonic
that recalled him from the land of
grotesque dreams. He sat up and
rubbed his face briskly with his hands,
drying it upon the sleeve of his coat,
as hasty and as satisfying a toilet as
he had ever made. There was no ac
tivity in camp; evidently they were
not going to start early. The cook
alone was busy. The fire was crack
ling, the kettle was steaming, and
a pot of pleasant-smelling coffee
leaned rakishly against the hot
ashes. The flap to Fortune’s tent was
still closed. And there was Ryanne,
sitting with his knees drawn up under
his chin, his hands clasped about his
shins, and glowering at no visible
thing.
“Hello!” cried George. “Found
yourself, eh?”
Ryanne eyed him without emotion.
“When and how did they get you?”
George inquired.
“About three hours before they got
you. Something in a glass of wine.
Dope. I’d have cleaned them up but
for that.”
“How do you feel?”
“Damned bad, Percival.”
“Any bones broken?”
“No; I’m just knocked about; sore
spot in my side; kicked, maybe. But
it isn’t that.”
George didn’t ask what “that” was.
“Where do you think he’s taking us?”
"Bagdad, if we don’t die upon the
way.”
"I don’t think he’ll kill us. It
wouldn’t be worth his while.”
“You did not give him the rug.”
“Not I!”
“It comes hard, Jones, I know, but
your giving it up will save us both
many bad days. He asked you for it?”
“He did.”
“Then why the devil didn’t you give
it to him? What’s a thousand pounds
against this muddle?”
“For the simple reason I didn’t have
it to give up.”
"What’s that?”
“When I went up to my room, night
before last, some one had been there
ahead of me. And at first I had giv
en you the credit,” said George, with
admirable frankness.
■fc 1 "
mJ I I
/ ,W iRMJBr
w. IHH
“Don’t Worry Any More About the Rug, Then. I Know Where It Is.”
“Gone!” There was no mistaking
the dismay in Ryanne’s voice.
“Absolutely.”
“Well, I be damn!” Ryanne threw
aside the blanket and got up. It was
a painful movement, and he swayed
a little. “If Mahomed hasn’t it, and
I haven’t it, and you haven’t It, who
the devil has, then?”
George shook bis head.
“Jones we are in for it. If ‘that
cursed rug is Mahomed’s salvation,
it is no less ours. If we ever reach
the palace of Bagdad and that rug is
not forthcoming, we’ll never see the
outside of the walls again."
“Nonsense! There’s an American
consul at Bagdad."
"And Mahomed will notify him of
our arrival!" bitterly.
“Isn’t there some way we two
might get at Mahomed?”
“Perhaps; but it will take time.
Don’t bank upon money. Mahomed
wants his head. If the rug ...”
But Ryanne stopped. He looked be
yond George, his face full of terror.
George turned to see w'hat had pro
duced this effect. Fortune was com
ing out of her tent. “Fortune? My
God!” Ryanne’s legs gave under and
he sank, his face in his hands. “I
see it all now! Fool, fool! He’s go
ing to get me, Jones; he’s going to get
me through her!”
CHAPTER XIV.
Mahomed Offers Freedom.
Fortune had slept, but only after
hours of watchful terror. The slight
est sound outside the tent sent a
scream into her throat, but she suc
ceeded each time in stifling it. Once
the evil laughter of a hyena came over
her ears, shivering. Alone! She laid
her head upon the wadded saddle-bags
and wept silently, and every sob tore
at her heart. She must keep up the
farce of being brave when she knew
that she wasn’t. The men must not
be discouraged. Her deportment
would characterize theirs; any sign
of weakness upon her side would cor
respondingly depress them the more.
She prayed.to God to give her the
strength to hold out. She ■was afraid
of Mahomed; she was afraid of his
grim smile, afraid of his mocking
eyes; she could not sponge out the
scene wherein he had so gratuitously
kicked Horace in the side. Horace!
No, she did not believe that she would
ever forgive him for this web which
he had spun and fallen into himself
Two things she must hide for the
sake of them all: her fear of Mahom
ed and her knowledge of Ryanne’s
trickery.
What part in this tragedy had the
Arab assigned her ? Her fingers twined
and untwined, and she rocked and
rocked, bit her lips, lay down, sat up
and rocked again. But for the ex
haustion, but for the insistent call of
nature, she would never have closed
her eyes that night.
And her mother! Whaf would her
mother believe, after the scene that
had taken place between them? What
could she believe, save that her daugh
ter had fulfilled her threat, and run
away? And upon this not unreason
able supposition her mother would
make no attempt to find out what had
become of her. Perhaps she would
be glad, glad to be rid of her and her
questions. Alone! Well, she had al
ways been alone.
The only ray of sunshine in all was
the presence of Jones. She felt,
subtly, that he would not only stand
between her and Mahomed, but also
between her and Ryanne.
“Hush!” whispered George. “Don’t
let her see you like this. She mustn’t
know.”
“You don’t understand,” replied Ry
anne miserably.
“I believe I do.” George’s heart
was heavy. This man was in love
with her, too.
Ryanne struck the tears from big
eyes and turned aside his head. He
was sick in soul and body. To have
walked blindly into a trap like this,,
of his own making, too! Fool! What
had possessed him, usually so keen,
to trust the copper-hided devil? AU
for the sake of one glass of wine!
With an effort entailing no meager
pain in his side, he stilled the strang
ling hiccoughs, swung round and tried
to smile reassuringly at the girl. ,
“You are better?” she asked.
There v(as in the tone of that ques
tion an answer to all his dreams. One
night’s work had given him his ticket
to the land of those- weighed and
found wanting. She knew; how much
he did not care; enough to read his
guilt.
It appeared to George that she was
accepting the situation with a philos
ophy deeper than either his or Ry
anne’s. Not a whimper, not a plaint,,
not a protest so far had she made.
She was a Roland in petticoats.
“Oh, I’m bashed up a bit,” said Ry
anne. “I’ll get my legs in a day or
so. Fortune, will you answer one
question?”
“As many as you like.”
“How did you get here?”
“Don’t you know?”
George wasn't certain, but the girl’s
voice was cold and accusing.
“I?”
“Yes. Wasn’t it the note that you:
wrote to me?”
Ryanne took his head in his hands,
wearily. “I wrote you no note, For
tune; I have never written you a note
of any kind. You do not know my
handwriting from Adam’s. In God’s
name, why didn’t you ask your mother
or your uncle? They would have rec
ognized the forgery at once. Who
gave it to you?”
“Mahomed himself.”
“Damn him!” Ryanne grew strong:
under the passipg fit of rage. “No,
don’t tell me to be silent. I don’t care
about myself. I’m the kind of a man
who pulls through, generally. But
this takes the spine out of me. I’m
to blame; it’s all my fault.”
“Say no more about it.” She be
lieved him. She really hadn’t thought
him capable of such baseness, though
at the time of her abduction she had 1
been inclined to accuse him. That
he was here, a prisoner like herself,
was conclusive evidence, so far as she
was concerned, of his innocence. But
she knew him to be responsible for
the presence of Jones; knew him to
be culpable of treachery of the mean
est order; knew him to be lacking in
generosity and magnanimity toward a
man who was practically his benefac
tor. “What does Mahomed want?”
“The bally rug, Fortune. And Jones
here, who had it, says that it is gone.”
"Vanished, magic-carpet-wise," sup
plemented George.
“And Jones would have given it up.”
“And a thousand like it, if we could
have bought you out of this.”
"Jones and I could have managed*
to get along.”
“We shouldn’t have mattered.”
“And would you have returned to
Mr. Jones his thousand pounds?”
“Yes, and everything else I have,”
quite honestly.
“Don’t worry any more about the
rug, then. I know' where it is.”
“You?” cried the tw r o men.
“Yes. I stole it. I did so, thinking
to avert this very hour; to save you
from harm,” to George, “and you from
doing a contemptible thing,” to Ry
anne. “It is in my room, done up in
the big steamer-roll. And now I am
glad that I stole it.”
Ryanne laughed weakly.
Said George soberly: “What con
temptible thing?” He remembered
Mahomed’s words in regard to Ry
anne as the latter lay insensible 16
the sand.
Ryanne, quick to seize the opportu
nity of solving, to his own advantage,
the puzzle for George, and at the same
time guiding Fortune away from a
topic, the danger of which' she knew
nothing, raised a hand. “I bribed Ma
homed to kidnap you, Jones. Don’t
be impatient. You laughed at me
when I laid before you the prospectus
of the United Romance and Adven
ture Company. I wished to prove to
you that the concern existed. And so
here is your adventure upon approval.
I thought, of course, you still had the
rug. Mahomed was to carry you into
the desert for a week, and by that
time you would have surrendered the (
rug, returned to Cairo, the hero of aV
full-fledged adventure. Lord! what a
mess of it I’ve made. I forgot, next
to this bally rug, Mahomed loved me.”
The hitherto credulous George had
of late begun to look into facts in
stead of dreams. He did not believe
a word of this amazing confession, de
spite the additional testimony of For
tune, relative to Ryanne’s statements
made to her in the bazaars.
“The biter bitten,” was George’s
sole comment.
Ryanne breathed easier.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
When Philosophy Comes Easy.
A philosopher who died recently left
a fortune of $1,000,000, which, we
mifeht say, accounts for the philosophi
calness of his philosophy.—Detroit
Free Press
