The Visit to the Holy Man
It was at the time when the name of the Senussi—the mysterious Holy Man who frightened the Foreign Office from an oasis of the Libyan Desert—was in the papers.
“The Senussi!” exclaimed Stromboli. “When I tell you that I—moi qui vous parle—have spoken with the Senussi; when I tell you that I—moi qui vous parle—have inflicted an indignity upon the Senussi; nay, more, when I tell you that the Senussi and I exchanged indignities! Are you at leisure? Then let me tell you.”
I consented to listen; and Stromboli began—
“You all talk of the Holy Man with bated breath, as if he was Beelzebub; but I, for my part, always spoke of him openly and fearlessly. And it happened one day, some fifteen years ago, that I was imparting information about him to some old friends of mine, who were Irish members of your House of Commons.
“‘He’s a holy man and a strong man,’ I was saying, ‘and he gets holier and stronger every day, and he knows how to bide his time. One day, when he’s holy enough and strong enough, he’ll get up in the middle of the night and preach the Holy War. And then beware! His followers will come out of the desert like a swarm of locusts and eat up the country.’
“Having made this speech, I proceeded to withdraw with dignity; but one of the gentlemen followed me down the stairs, and spoke to me in an Irish accent—
“‘Oirish whisky, Mr. Stromboli,’ he said, ‘is better f’r y’r health than the Scotch that ye’ve been drinking, an’ I happen to know a little place round the corner...’
“I accepted the invitation as cordially as it was given, never guessing that it was the prelude to a political proposal; but the refreshment was no sooner set before us than my companion broke the ice.
“‘I was listenin’ just now with very much interest to y’r conversation, Mr. Stromboli. Ye were spaking of a sartain holy friend of yours.’
“‘Hardly a personal friend,’ I corrected.
“‘Ah, well! ye said he was a holy man, and a powerful man, and ye seemed to know a good deal about his ways. So it occurred to me, between ourselves, to make a little proposal to ye.’
“It seemed to me, at this stage of the proceedings, that I had better ask my friend his name.
“‘Me name?’ he replied. ‘Well, of course, that’s what I should have begun by telling ye. Me name’s Biggar. Maybe ye’ve heard of me. I’m a member of the Irish Nationalist Party.’
“I bowed; while Mr. Biggar took off his spectacles, wiped them, put them on again, and peered at me with his penetrating little eyes. Then he called for further glasses of whisky, and proceeded—
“‘Well, now ye know me name an’ me position in life, and we’ll proceed to business. What I was about to ask ye was whether ye think it loikely that this holy friend of yours could be persuaded to take up the cause of Home Rule for Oireland.’
“I pointed out the obvious difficulty—that the Holy Man was a Mohammedan, and that the Irish people were not; but Mr. Biggar was not disconcerted.
“‘I’ve thought of that, sorr,’ he replied. ‘I was thinking of that over the first glass of whisky; and the way out of the difficulty is now clear to me. All that ye have to do is to put it to the Holy Man in this way—that the down-trodden Oirish people are prevented from becoming Mohammedans because they have not yet obtained Home Rule.’
“I congratulated Mr. Biggar on the ingenuity of his argument, and he advanced it a step further.
“‘I’m thinkin’, Mr. Stromboli, that the party to which I hold the confidential position of treasurer might perhaps make it worth y’r while to pay a visit to Mr. Senussi.’
“‘The Senussi,’ I corrected,
“‘Ah! So they say The Senussi, just as we say The O’Donoghue. It’s a further bond of union between us. And as I was saying, I’m thinking it might be made worth y’r while to go and see him, and present him with me compliments—the compliments of Mr. Joseph Gillis Biggar—and suggest to him that he should create a divarsion in the direction of Egypt, at the time when the Oirish members are moving the adjournment of the House of Commons. Will ye tell me now what ye think of the proposal?’
“I looked him in the face to make sure that he was sober and in earnest. I saw that he was both, and raised no objection when he called for a third glass of whisky.
“‘Voyons! Mr. Biggar,’ I said. ‘This is a very dangerous mission on which you propose to send me. Are you aware that the oasis in which the Senussi lives is surrounded by Arabs who have absolutely no other work to do except to murder all strangers who approach it without satisfactory credentials?’
“But Mr. Biggar was not confounded by the question.
“‘That’s what I was thinkin’ of over the second glass of whisky, Mr. Stromboli,’ he replied; ‘and I have already thought out a plan for you.’
“‘Unfold it, Mr. Biggar,’ I said. And he unfolded it.
“‘It’s like this, Mr. Stromboli. In addition to bein’ an Oirish member, I’m in business, as ye may have heard, as a provision merchant.’
“‘Proceed, sir,’ I said; and he proceeded.
“‘There’s one of me customers that’s a Mohammedan. He’s an Arab who throws raw potatoes into the air and catches them on the bridge of his nose and breaks them, in circuses in the North of Oireland; but he doesn’t pay up very easily, and I’ve threatened to County Court him for his bill. Now I’m thinking that it w’dn’t take a great deal of persuasion to induce that performing Mohammedan to give ye the sort of letter of introduction that ye require.’
“And Mr. Biggar called for a fourth glass of whisky; while I pointed out a further difficulty—that a Mohammedan who wrote from Ireland might perhaps fail to inspire the Senussi with confidence.
“‘I was thinkin’ of that over the third glass, and it’s no difficulty at all, at all,’ said Mr. Biggar. ‘The man w’dn’t date his letter from the circus, and he w’dn’t mention that he made his livin’ by catchin’ praties on the bridge of his nose; he’d date it from just where ye like, and he’d say just what ye please in it. Now, Mr. Stromboli, are ye satisfied? Take a minute or two to think it over.’
“I reflected for a minute or two with folded arms. Then, having made up my mind, I gripped Mr. Biggar by the hand.
“‘Mr. Biggar, you are a man of genius,’ I exclaimed. ‘Jean Antoine Stromboli Kosnapulski says it. There now remains no difficulty but one—the payment of my travelling expenses in advance.’
“His expression changed, as I have heard that it always did when money had to be disbursed; and his tone, for the instant, was almost unfriendly. At any rate it was peremptory.
“‘Now, mind me,’ he began. ‘Ye’ll go thurred class, and ye’ll take some packets of sandwiches so that ye needn’t be always dining in the hotels, and ye’ll——’
“But I overawed him.
“‘Mr. Biggar,’ I said. ‘Pray observe that you are not speaking to one of your Irish members. You are speaking to Jean Antoine Stromboli Kosnapulski.’
“‘I ask y’r pardon, sorr; I ask y’r pardon,’ said Mr. Biggar.
“It is granted,” I replied with dignity. ‘The brusqueness of your manner is no doubt necessary with Irish members, when they are at once indigent and exigent; but your heart is in the right place. And now, with your permission, we will discuss the details of our project.’
“‘While I have been drinkin’ me fourth glass,’ rejoined Mr. Biggar, ‘it has occurred to me that that will be the more profitable course. General principles are best agreed upon over the convivial bowl; but it would be an error of judgment to settle the practical minutiæ while under its influence, the more especially as the good people here are now engaged in turning out the lights.’
“So we bade each other an affectionate farewell, postponing the adjustment of the details, which were duly arranged at other interviews conducted in the day.
“I need not dwell upon them. Suffice it to say that my travelling expenses and my letter of introduction were both forthcoming in due season, the latter being written at my dictation, and checked and corrected, for the prevention of treachery, by an eminent Oriental scholar. As for my remuneration—
“‘We’ll pay ye by results,’ said Mr. Biggar; ‘and ye’ll find that ye’ll be treated very handsomely on the day when Ould Oireland gets Home Rule.’
“And his parting speech was—
“‘Me bhoy, ye’re one of the broightest jewels in the crown that Ould Oireland’s foightin’ for, and I’m only sorry we can’t be after givin’ ye a public dinner by way of a send-off. But there’s the danger that the Holy Man would come to hear of it, and shoot at ye from behind a hedge in the desert, just for all the world as if ye were a landlord. So ye’d best go about the business stealthily. And now good luck to ye.’
“So we shook hands on the platform at Charing Cross, and I set forth alone upon my perilous adventure.
“My starting-point was Cairo. There I was to hire camels and guides, and buy presents to propitiate hostile chiefs; and there began my pilgrimage across the wide and burning wastes of the Libyan Desert.
“You will not ask me for particulars of that desert journey. One journey through the desert is very like another—blazing days and chilly nights; a parching thirst that no drink really quells; the sandstorm blown along by a wind like a blast from an oven; the welcome rest beneath the date palms at the wells; the glorious sunsets that seem to set the heavens aflame; but no real incident unless you miss the wells and die of thirst, or marauding Arabs find you out and fall on you, and slay you, or drive you away to be sold in some slave-market in the heart of the dark continent.
“And I—moi qui vous parle—I braved those terrors, protected only by my Arabic letter, written at my dictation by the degenerate Mohammedan who broke raw potatoes on the bridge of his nose in the circus in the North of Ireland.
“Again and again my guides tried to persuade me to turn back, their terror increasing with every step that took us nearer to our destination.
“‘To draw near to Jarabub is forbidden,’ they said; ‘Senussi-el-Mahdi will slay us, and our blood will be on our master’s head.’
“I retorted with emphasis and even with temper.
“‘Are you not under my protection, and have I not paid you in advance? Go to, then, and lead on. Otherwise, your blood will truly be upon your master’s head, here and now. For I will slay you, and leave you for the crows to pick your bones.”
“‘It is fated,’ they said, and moved on sulkily.
“But presently I saw that they were whispering together; and I guessed what they were planning—to murder me in the night-time and steal away. Against this danger also, therefore, I took precaution.
“‘Voyons!’ I said. ‘You have the souls of slaves, and like slaves shall you be treated. This night, and every night, shall you sleep bound, so that you may not run away.’
“But, to my amazement, my proposal did not make them angry.
“‘So be it,’ they said. ‘For then will Senussi-el-Mahdi know that we are indeed our master’s slaves, and that it is our master alone who is accountable and worthy to be put to death.’
“So I tied them up—none the less securely because they had professed themselves willing to be tied—and, so to say, drove my guides before me towards the Oasis of Jarabub.
“Once or twice parties of Arabs, springing, as it seemed, out of the yellow sand, came upon me in the early morning, and bade me turn back to the place that I had come from.
“‘It is the will of Senussi-el-Mahdi,’ they explained, ‘and he cares but little whether we send thee back or slay thee where thou standest. Turn back, therefore, dog of a Christian, lest a worse thing befall thee.’
“No doubt they would have killed me without parley, if they had not seen that I was armed and could retaliate. But I had my rifle in my hands and two revolvers in my belt, so that they listened to me, or, rather, to my guide Abdullah, who interpreted.’
“‘Nay, but we come as friends,’ Abdullah said, ‘and our master bears a letter for Senussi-el-Mahdi from a true son of the Prophet in a distant land.’
“‘Son of a dog, thou liest!’ said the savage and discourteous Arab.
“There was nothing for it, therefore, but to show him the letter and let him read it. He still seemed only half convinced, but that sufficed.
“‘It is strange,’ he said, ‘but Senussi-el-Mahdi, who knows all things, will decide, when he has put thee to the question. It may be that he will make thee welcome, and it may be that he will slit thy throat; but I must not slit it for him until I know his will. In the meantime hast thou not perchance some gift for me?’
“I unpacked a burnous from my baggage and handed it to him with a courteous inclination.
“He took it from me with as little ceremony as though it had been a contraband article detected at a custom-house; but he made a sign to his men, and they melted away as suddenly as they had come in sight.
“We hurried on, starting each morning before dawn, so as to travel quickly while the air was cool, until one day, when the dawn broke, suddenly almost as a flash of lightning, the gleaming walls of a city showed themselves in front of us.
“‘It is Jarabub,’ said my guides with a single voice, throwing themselves upon the ground to say their prayers.
“I told them to make haste with their devotions and come on; and in half an hour or so we had reached our goal, and were seeking admission at the city gates.
“Do you ask me to describe the city? Well, I should say that, from a distance, it looked not unlike a group of disused limekilns, and that the resemblance did not entirely disappear when one got close to it. But I had no time just then to observe it closely. The walls and the windows were crowded with black men dressed in white, and bawling questions in a language that I did not understand.
“It was my luck that there was a man in the crowd who knew the English language; for then I knew what line to take.
“‘Voyons!’ I said to myself. ‘A black man who knows English knows also Englishmen, and is accustomed to be ordered, and not asked to do what is required.’
“And to him I said, in the tones of one accustomed to command—
“‘Hi, you, there! What’s your name, and where do you come from?’
“The effect was instantaneous, as, indeed, I had expected. Old memories and associations triumphed, and he spoke to me as a black soldier servant to his officer—
“‘Kroo boy, sah, from West Coast, sah. Name Bottled Bass, sah. Hope you quite well, sah. Get you plenty chop one time, sah.’
“It was the perpetuated triumph of the higher civilization over the lower. I lost no time in following it up.
“‘That’s all right, Bottled Bass,’ I said; ‘we’ll see about the chop later on. Meanwhile get this gate open, and tell Senussi-el-Mahdi I want to see him. Say I’ve got a letter from an old friend of his at Mecca.’
“To an Arab, of course, I should not have spoken thus; but it was clearly the proper way to speak to Bottled Bass. The Arabs themselves seemed favourably impressed on finding that I spoke to this recent negro convert with less ceremony than to themselves; and he himself seemed proud to be spoken to at all.
“It was not likely, of course, that he would be in a position to convey my message personally. But he was a friendly interpreter, and he would pass it on. Exclusive though the Senussi might be, the rumour would reach him, and his curiosity would be aroused. And so it happened.
“After a pause the city gate was opened, and I was allowed to enter. I was put in a courtyard, closely guarded, and given some dates and a jug of water. The population came and stared at me. But, at last, after weary hours of waiting, a message was delivered to me. Abdullah and Bottled Bass were jointly charged with its interpretation.
“‘The unbeliever is summoned to the presence,’ was Abdullah’s rendering.
“‘This way, sah. Follow the gen’leman, sah,’ was the gloss of Bottled Bass.
“The momentous hour had come, and I will not pretend that I approached it without apprehension. But there was no trace of nervousness in my demeanour. I was grave and dignified. Knowing what was due to myself, as well as what was due to my host, I met Senussi-el-Mahdi in the manner in which one high potentate meets another. It is not my fault that his attitude towards me was less courteous.
“Let me give him his due, however. He was a man of imposing and remarkable appearance: tall, with a fine full beard flowing to his waist, yet not hiding the fact that his chin was square and resolute; keen-eyed, as one who read the hearts of those who come before him; slow, but very masterful in his gestures. Save for his dress—he wore loose white robes and a turban on his head—he might have reminded one of those old-fashioned English schoolmasters at whose least word boys trembled. One would not dare to jest with him. He spoke French as well as Arabic.
“I bowed to him most ceremoniously, but he did not return my bow. It was a bad beginning.
“‘What would you with me?’ he asked curtly; and I explained myself.
“‘I have come from a far country,’ I said, ‘that the light of Senussi-el-Mahdi may shine upon me. I am Jean Antoine Stromboli Kosnapulski.’
“He merely stared at me as at some strange insect.
“‘Yes,’ I repeated, ‘I am Jean Antoine Stromboli Kosnapulski, and I bear a letter which will in part explain the reason why I seek this interview.’
“He motioned to a guard, who took the letter from me and placed it in his hands. He read it aloud, translating it for my benefit into French—
“‘From Mohammed-ben-Ali of Mecca, to the most Holy Son of the Prophet, the Chosen of God, Senussi-el-Mahdi. Greeting.
“‘With my own hands I write to thee commending to thee one who dwelleth among unbelievers yet worshippeth Allah according to his lights, and journeyeth to thee that a fuller light may shine upon his heart. Instruct him in the truth, O Mahdi! and he will be thy faithful servant. Nay, more, when instructed by thee in the Book, he shall in his turn instruct thee how the light may be spread among a people who yet live in darkness because their rulers hide the light. He is a man of a stout heart, moreover, and will draw the sword for thee at the hour when thou proclaimest the Jehad.’
“Senussi-el-Mahdi read this calmly and without visible emotion. There was no outburst of cordiality such as I had hoped for; there was no outburst of anger such as I had feared in the event of his guessing that I had come to him with forged credentials. Perhaps he had some faint suspicions; perhaps he was only following the ordinary rule of procedure in such cases. I cannot say. I only know that his manner was cold and judicious—like that of a schoolmaster to whom a new boy has been brought to be examined.
“‘You are sent to me for instruction? It is well. Speak, then, and tell me if thou knowest the Koran.’
“It was a question that I was not prepared for, but I blurted out an ambiguous answer.
“‘I know a little of most things, and my memory is good. As for the Koran, I know a very good translation of it, on which the skilled opinion of a scholar of your eminence——’
“‘So thou knowest not the Koran,’ interrupted Senussi-el-Mahdi pitilessly. ‘Or shall I question thee therein?’
“This, too, was a proposal which I had not anticipated. It is not impossible that my face may have shown signs of my confusion. I stammered out the only excuse that occurred to me—
“‘I have had a long journey, and am tired. With rest and preparation—
“But once more Senussi-el-Mahdi stopped me.
“‘It is well,’ he said. ‘Thou knowest not the Koran. But thou hast asked for instruction, and thou shalt be instructed. When thou hast learnt the Koran, I will hear thee further on the subject of the letter.’
“And he motioned to the guards, saying—
“‘Conduct him to the school, and place him in the lowest class.’
“Need I say that things were happening by no means as I had intended them to happen? Need I add that the word ’instruct’ would never have appeared in my credentials had I surmised that it would be interpreted so literally? Yet it is clear, I think, that at the moment no useful alternative to doing as I was told was open to me. So I followed my guides.
“No violence was used to me; no harsh words were spoken; though I must have been a puzzle to the inhabitants, they were too well disciplined to show it—all of them, that is to say, except Bottled Bass, who grinned at me with gleaming teeth.
“They showed me to the room that I was to live in. It was close to the residence of the Senussi himself, who wished, I suppose, to keep an eye on me. And then they put me to school. I—moi qui vous parle—a man of much general knowledge and wide experience of life, was put to school—and in the lowest class! I had to sit, cross-legged, in the midst of a semicircle of negro boys, while a learned Arab, with a stick and a manuscript, sat in the centre and taught.
“‘No matter,’ I said to myself, ‘my time will come, and I will bide my time, and earn my promised fee.’
“But I was curious to know the term of my probation; and I put the question to my teacher as politely as I could.
“‘In view, sir,’ I said, ‘of the zeal for knowledge which I am demonstrating, would you mind informing me how long this interesting course of instruction is to last?’
“‘You are as a little child,’ he answered kindly, ‘but it may, be, if Allah wills it, that in seven years you will have acquired the knowledge of a man.’
“Seven years of this tomfoolery! It was too terrible! My heart sank and my temper rose—the more so when I perceived that Bottled Bass, who was also a member of the lowest class, was grinning; and I retorted hotly—
“‘Do you take me for a fool, then? A little Koran is all very well in its way; but seven years of it! If you can’t shorten the course considerably, sir, I’ll get up and walk out of the place!’
“The teacher answered, more in sorrow than in anger, that my words should be laid before Senussi-el-Mahdi. He went out to report them, and presently returned, and said, still more in sorrow than in anger—
“‘El-Mahdi says that it is written that you shall be chastised, in order that you may learn humility.’
“And, almost before I knew what was happening, my teacher had motioned to two tall serving-men, and they had laid me on my back, holding my feet in the air, and the good old man himself was caning the soles of my feet.
“I know not whether the pain or the indignity was the worse, for both were very great. But the pain passed and the indignity remained. The more I reflected on the matter, the more certainly I felt that my position in the sacred city was untenable. Neither for the cause of Ireland nor for my promised fee would I consent to sit for seven years learning the Koran, and being caned when I displeased my teacher.
“Yet how to get away—that was indeed a knotty problem to think out. My teacher himself, who bore me no ill-will, but had merely punished me for what he considered to be my good, told me, in the kindness of his heart, that it would be impossible to get away.
“‘Though thou shouldst take the swiftest camel in the city,’ he said, ‘yet wouldst thou be overtaken. For among the gifts of God to Senussi-el-Mahdi is this gift: he throws himself into a trance so that none can wake him, and his dreams are messages that flash across the desert, and become answering dreams in the brains of other faithful followers of the Prophet. Thus would he speed word of thy escape, and the faithful would lie in wait for thee and bring thee back. Wherefore be comforted, for it is written that thou shalt stay with us, and become, in the fulness of time, a holy man.’
“This time I did not answer hotly, having learnt from experience that it would be better not to do so; but I withdrew to meditate.
“‘Voyons!’ I said to myself. ‘Let me think things out. Surely I have thought out things as difficult in other days!’
“And so I gradually framed my plan, examining it and adding to it nightly while I lay awake. This is how the plan slowly built itself—
“‘Shall I slip over the wall and get away at night? It might be done, but it would be of no use. I should only be in the desert, where I should die of thirst. Shall I steal a camel? But one cannot steal a camel quite so easily as one can steal a cat or dog—nor can one lift a camel over a wall at night. What then? There is no way of going without Senussi-el-Mahdi’s leave.’
“Thus I began thinking; and as night succeeded night my thoughts took more useful shape.
“‘How to get leave to go? If I could lay Senussi-el-Mahdi under some great obligation—but that is hard. He is not the man to be sensible of obligations. He will let me go only if he can be made to feel that it is to his interest to be rid of me.’
“That narrowed the problem. But how to prove to Senussi-el-Mahdi that it would be well for him to let me go? It took at least three weeks’ hard thought to settle that; but, at the end of the three weeks, light flashed upon me.
“‘Voyons!’ I cried. ‘He has trances, and when he is in a trance——’
“I did not dare to speak aloud the thought that was in my mind; but I nursed it, filling in the details, and waiting patiently.
“As I have told you, I slept in a room quite near Senussi-el-Mahdi’s own, and I now made it my rule every night to creep on tiptoe to his chamber and peep through his curtains to see whether his sleep was a trance or not. Night after night I crept back disappointed. But the night came at last when I saw that he lay stiff and still, with his eyes wide open and yet seeing nothing; and I knew that at last the hour for action had arrived.
“‘He will either murder me or let me go,’ I said to myself. ‘I will take the risk. It is the only way.’
“With that I crept back to my own room, and fumbling in the dark among my belongings, found my razor. I looked out of the window to make sure that no one saw or heard me; but the city was silent, save for the dismal howling of stray dogs, and the watchman pacing on the walls. Then I lit a tiny lamp, and covering it with my hand, crept back to where the Senussi lay.
“To murder him? A poor plan that in a city where every man would be eager to avenge his death. To threaten him? He was hardly a man who would keep a promise made under the influence of threats. I had a plan that promised better.
“‘It is a great art, the barber’s!’ I whispered to myself, as I mixed the lather and plastered it gently on his chin.
“He did not wake; he did not even stir. His soul was far away, communing with the souls of other pious Musselmans elsewhere; and while it wandered, I—moi qui vous parle—shaved Senussi-el-Mahdi where he lay.
“To what purpose? You will begin to grasp my purpose when I describe the manner in which I shaved him.
“For I did not shave him altogether; nor did I shave him precisely as the barbers shave. Far from it. On the contrary, I shaved off the beard on the right side of his face and the hair on the same side of his head; and then I took cosmetics and twisted out his great moustache until it stretched six inches or more either way, like furious spikes of straw.
“‘Now for a looking-glass,’ I said to myself; and having found a mirror, I so fixed it that, when Senussi-el-Mahdi woke, he would look straight into it and see his altered image.
“To what purpose? Surely you have guessed. But I had not yet quite finished my strange task.
“‘Voyons, mon cher,’ I went on, soliloquising: ‘I think I should like your portrait as a souvenir.’
“So I crept back once more and fetched my camera, and blew magnesium powder through the flame of the little lamp to make a flash-light, and took my snap-shot of Senussi-el-Mahdi in his trance.
“The flash aroused him from his slumbers. His eyes opened, and he saw the reflection of his face. Doubtless he would have yelled in his amazement, but I took a quick step forward and clapped my hands upon his mouth.
“My self-possession and my quick wit had now returned to me. I was no longer the schoolboy, humbled and chastised. I was Jean Antoine Stromboli Kosnapulski, master of the situation. My tongue was loosened, and my words flowed quickly.
“‘You know me?’ I began. ‘I am Jean Antoine Stromboli Kosnapulski.’
“Senussi-el-Mahdi nodded his grotesque head slowly. Half his proud spirit seemed to have left him with the loss of half his hair.
“‘You have trampled on me,’ I continued, ‘you have insulted me; you have inflicted shameful indignities on me. But no man with impunity treats Jean Antoine Stromboli Kosnapulski thus; and now my hour has come.’
“A menace was rising to his lips; but I had only to hold the mirror once more before him to subdue him. As I have said, his self-confidence forsook him when he saw how ridiculous he looked. I continued—
“‘You have made me speak to you humbly as a pupil to his master—as a sinner to a saint. But that is over now. I have treated you with ignominy, even as you treated me; and now that account is squared between us, I speak to you as man to man.’
“‘Dog of a—’ he began; but once more I held the mirror to him, and he changed his tone, and merely asked—
“‘What would you have with me, then?’
“‘Listen,’ I replied. ‘I know well that you have but to speak the word to have me slain. But I know also—and you, too, know—that, if you speak that word, the reputation of Senussi-el-Mahdi is for ever lost. Think of it, then! A Mahdi with half a beard and half a head of hair, and a waxed moustache like a Hungarian hussar’s! The thing is too ridiculous! It could not be.’
“And once more I emphasised my criticisms with the mirror; and he looked at me with impotent rage, and did not speak.
“‘Listen,’ I continued. ‘You can keep your holy reputation only if you hide your shame by veiling yourself until your beard has grown again; you may even acquire an added holiness. Who knows? But you can only keep your secret if you let me depart from Jarabub in peace. What say you, Holy Man?’
“He still seemed to hesitate; but this time I had merely to point to the mirror to decide him.
“‘Depart in peace,’ he said.
“‘But I shall need guides and an escort,’ I replied.
“‘You shall have them.’
“‘And a letter of safe conduct. Take your pen and write.’
“I put the materials before him, and he wrote at my dictation:—
“‘Senussi-el-Mahdi to all whom it may concern. Greeting—
“‘Jean Antoine Stromboli Kosnapulski, the stranger within my gates, goeth on a high errand for me to Cairo. Let him have guides and camels. Let him start at once. Protect him and speed him on his way.’
“‘Good,’ I said; but then I remembered something else.
“There were his trances, and the murderous messages that he might send in them. Against that risk also I must make provision. So I made him add—
“‘Take warning, also, that there is a certain false prophet, an enemy of the stranger, who sendeth messages in my name. Haply he will send false messages compassing the stranger’s death. Know, therefore, that such messages come not from me; and slay any man who seeks to harm one hair of the stranger’s head. And in the meantime, let none disturb me for two days.’
“‘Now sign it,’ I said. And Senussi-el-Mahdi signed; and having gained my end, I once more treated him with courtesy and consideration.
“‘Farewell,’ I said. ‘May Allah make your hair and beard grow quickly! For your hospitality—such as it was—I thank you. Rest assured that I shall guard at least one pleasant recollection of my sojourn here.’
“With that I bowed several times, and walking backwards respectfully, gradually left the room.
“And so—as I had no trouble in the desert—my adventure ended happily.
“My fee, indeed, is still unpaid; but I have not ceased to hope for it. Even now the Sect of the Senussi agitates and causes trouble; and many Irish members, having made wealthy marriages, are in a position to recompense, with interest on the over-due account, the service rendered them by Jean Antoine Stromboli Kosnapulski.”
The End
WARD, LOCK & Co., LTD., LONDON, NEW YORK, & MELBOURNE.