Adventure Magazine Cover — page 150: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

) / \\ N yet | e fsa “NA Wy ~~ nnd x . x ~ nN > 4 EDGE NY ifs SIMITAR. , by A Complete Novelette WILLIAM ASHLEY ANDERSON Se : 4y _ Author of ‘‘The Elevation of an Emperor,” “The Trial of a Timid Man,’ etc T’ WAS one of the calm, languid fnights of Aden’s August in 1916. Hillot Cohusac, stretched out in a long Bombay chair of teak- wood with an inlaid tabouret of Cairo work- manship beside it, turned his pallid face up to the. vast, cloudless sky and let out a strangled sigh. He let it out slowly, be- cause even in the sanctuary of his roof-top he took no chance of cracking the shell of courage that sustained him. Thin to the point of frailness, suffering pain at almost every movement, he turned gingerly in his cushions and shifted his gaze to the small table, spread with immaculate linen and gleaming glass ‘and silverware. All at once he smiled at a memory—a dazzling smile, a smile that was almost of madness. Slowly, with slight jerks, winc- ing at every movement, he sat up and swung his feet with elaborate precautions upon the cement floor. Then he reached trembling for a cigaret, lighted it, dropped the cigaret from his lips and put his face into his hands. “What a rotten end!’ the Frenchman murmured with real anguish. ‘“‘What a rotten way to end it all!” His glossy black hair fell in long wisps through his white fingers. He was a figure of complete dejection. A huge,-bare-footed Arab in a long white kanza* and white em- broidered skull-cap appeared at the door that opened on to the stairway. “Effendi!” (Excellency) he said quietly. Cohusac lifted his head sharply, brushing his hair back in the same motion, and smiled quickly. * A garment resembling a nightgown. “What is it, Hamid?” speaking easily in Arabic. ‘‘The meal is prepared, effendz. serve it? “Bismillah! In the name of Allah!” Hamid came forward and assisted his master to the table. From this position Cohusac could look out over the neighbor- ing roofs. The clustering white, block-like buildings of the old city lay almost precisely in the center of an ancient crater, the eastern | portion of which had fallen into the sea. On all sides therefore rose the barren, honey- combed slopes, whose ragged edge stood outlined against the deep-blue sky as if torn out of cardboard—on all sides except the gap in the east, through which the moon poured a silver flood. Against the rising moon, and thus far effectually screening it, rose the abandoned citadel of Cirrir on top of an isolated prom- ontory, around which the moonlight poured. Moonlight shone through the gun-ports; Cohusac could imagine the bats whirring breathlessly in the dark wells that were ammunition-hoists. “That,” said Cohusac bitterly, ‘‘is like me! and a shell!”’ He took a sip of the innocuous Amer Picon beside his plate, then pushed it aside with a slight air of amused exasperation. “Tt is turtle soup,” said Hamid, placing a dish in front of Cohusac and dropping a slice of lime into it. Cohusac liked this, and he ate it slowly, in silence, while Hamid retired to the door- way, keeping his eyes upon his master with 140 NOOK Shall rT There is nothing left but a history 1 @)