one groaning beneath the chastisements of Allah. When this beggar reached the front gap in the balustrade he fell, a limp huddle of rags from which came forth an open palm and wheedling voice: "For love of the Prophet—I am a famished man—Allah will reward thee" The Nubian waiter, reckless of Allah's rewards, kicked him up with none too soft a foot; he limped away like a crippled dog, and sank again from exhaustion. Fiercely he reviled the Nubian: "May thy hand be blasted—may thy sons desert thee—may" The waiter turned his back, intent upon the fetching of more cigarettes and the receiving of more piasters, with scant uneasiness for a beggar's malediction. Being no longer watched, the old man arose from the sands; his desert eyes roved across the spaces between himself and the sea-wall looking for something, or seeking for somebody. Then he came slipping back, inch by inch until he had resumed his crouching position and his old whine: "May Allah prosper thee; behold I perish." But none took notice of him. As he stumbled back his shrewd glance of scrutiny rested no longer upon Lykoff than upon any other man. Lykoff gave no sign of recognition. And beggars were far too common in Alexandria for the Bloodhound to observe him.
Darkness came, as darkness comes in Africa,
