of triumph or something like that in her most fascinating eyes. Charming creature, yes?"
And then I exploded.
"You ought to be shot! He'll beat the tar out of her. He'll flay her alive"
"Regrets, and all that, surely. But caveat emptor still holds good. She had no business messing around with the master's trinkets. After all, a bit of deceit"
"And that girl will surely smell hell"
"Much regret, certainly. But really, would you have me pass up such an opportunity? I'd cheerfully have committed murder for that rug. As it is"
Revell smiled at the memory of his exceeding cleverness, and gazed at the throne-rug of Saladin with that fanatic affection comprehensible only to a collector.
And that smile drove me mad. Thanks to my babbling, Revell had turned a very clever trick; and thanks also to me, that dainty girl's shoulders . . . no, bin Ayyub wouldn't beat her himself; he'd have black Saoud lay aside his duties of foot-man, pipe-bearer and coffee-grinder, and peel every inch of skin off her shoulders. The noble Turk is a man of few words and short temper when dealing with his family. All of which went to my head, seeing that it was mainly my fault for having set Revell on the trail.
"Listen, you damned coyote!"
I gripped Revell by the shoulder by way of emphasis. He blinked in amazement.
"Listen and get me straight: you're going to return that rug here and now. Bin Ayyub treated me like a gentleman. And moreover, it's my fault if that girl
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