The Mena weekly star., 1913-05-22

watching the water-bubbles in their Sheeshas, or pipes,
 A curious phase of this class of un. der-world Is that no one is curious. Strangers are never questioned except when they invite attention, which they seldom do. So, when Ryanne and his quasi-companions entered, there wasn't the slightest agitation. A blowsy bar maid stood behind the bar, polishing the copper spigots. Ryanne threw her a greeting. to which she responded with a smirk that once upon a time had been a smile. He, being master of ceremonies, selected a table in the corner. The four sat down, and Ryanne plunged intrepidly into the business under hand. To make tool of Ma homed, if not an ally, toward this he directed his effort. Half dozen times, Mahomed dropped a word in Arabic to the other two, who understood little or no English.
 50, you see, Mahomed, that's the way the matter stands. I'm not SC much to blame as you think Here this man Jones has me in a wise. If ] do not get this bit of carpet, off go, into the dark, into nothing. I handled you roughly, know But could help it? It was my throat or yours. You're no chicken. You and that other chap made things exciting"
 Mahomed accepted this compliment to his prowess in silence. Indeed, he gazed dreamily over Ryanne's head The other fellow wouldn't trouble any one again. To Mahomed it had not been the battle, man to man; it had been the guile and trickery leading up to it. He had been bested at his own game duplicity, and that irked him. Death, he, as his kind, looked upon with Oriental passlvity. An, well! The game was to have a sec ond inning, and he proposed to play 1t in strictly Oriental ways.
 "How much did he give you for itT'
 The expression upon Ryanne's face would have deceived any one but Ma homed. Give for it!" indignantly. "Why, that's the whole trouble. All my trouble, all the hard work, and not a plaster, not piaster Cant you understand. had to do it?"
 "Is he going to sell it?'
 Sell it? Not he! He's collector, and crazy over the thing"
 Mahomed nodded. He knew some thing of the habits of collectors. "ls he still in Cairo. and where may he be found?"
 Ryanne began to believe that the game was going along famously; Ma homed was sure Of it.
 He is George P. A. Jones, of Morti' mer & Jones. rich rug dealers of New York. Money no object"
 Though his face did-not show it, Ma homed was singularly depressed py this news. If this man Jones had money. of what use was his little pacK- ct of notes? :,
 oI must have that rug, effendi. There are two reasons; 1t is holy and the loss of it means my head.
 Good riddance!" thought Ryanne' a SVmnatn4tlc 1OOh upph hiS i"NNs
 What have you to suggest Tn the way of a plan?" asked Mahomed.
 Ryanne felt a jingle of jubilation' He saw nothing but plain-sailing into mort But Mahomed had arranged to euide his craft into the whirlpool. un' to himself he kept up a ceaseless re- iteration of-"Patience, patience, pa tfence!"
 Said Ryanne. You do not care now you get the rug. so long as you do get it?" ,,
 "No. effendi." Mahomed smiled
 "A little rough work wouldn't dis- turb you?"
 ''No. it would not"
 "Wen. then. listen to me. Suppose vou arrange to take my friend Jones into the desert for little trip, pc his dragoman for while. In tact' kidnap him. abduct him, steal nm. You can hold him in ransom TOT the