Adventure Magazine Cover — page 172: what you’re looking at

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

162 in order that we may embrace again the opportunity to converse with you discreetly upon the matter that engages our heart. You know the time and you know the place! May Allah preserve you! It was not from Abu Khalil! Miriam! Cohusac went over the message many times with the greatest care, studying it for the slightest hint of irony or over- burdening of flattery that might indicate either a determination to have vengeance or a genuine desire to open up relations again with Sevier. Sevier had left Aden at night, and on board a British gunboat with whose officers he was friendly. His departure had been sudden and secret. It It was from was possible, therefore, that Abu Khalil and | his friend might think that the American was still in Aden, in hiding, recuperating from wounds. “TI believe,” said Cohusac, ‘‘that she means it. But what the is Abu Khalil’s interest in this correspondence?”’ Cohusac considered for a moment, made a wry face, then smiled brightly. “By Jove,” said he, ‘I will risk it! Only those deserve high adventure who will take the risk of looking for it.” Again Cohusac in his hunchback disguise made his way down the long, dark alleyway with all the sensations of a man passing along on a moonlit night through a particu- larly dangerous communication trench. Again he stood looking up expectantly but fearfully. It was very late. The distorted moon was on the decline. Plucking his mandolin lightly, the French- man began to hum in broken phrases, in the manner of those bellowing operatic stars who know their scores but not the words that are intended to interpret them: *‘Ah, Moon of my delight that knoweth no wane— Again I am an idiot! Again! Again!” (Plunk-a-plunk! Plunk-a-plunk! Ter-r-r-ruml) “How oft hereafter shall I look— That’s it—looking! Looking!—look—in vain!’’ The end of a rope struck his upturned face. He suppressed an oath, shivering nervously. A soft voice called: “In the name of Allah! Ssh-sh! the rope and climb!” Cohusac flung the rope from him as if it were the end of a noose. “The Compassionate!” he exclaimed. “Look down! Light of the heavens, look, and say if you behold an acrobat! It is written that I mount no walls! It is writ- Grasp Adventure ten that the mountain was immovable and could not come to Mohammed——”’ ‘Peace! Enter then by the godown door, All is arranged; you may come in safety.” “The poet admired the lioness from afar. ‘Hudhal’ he cried. ‘Behold the Queen of the Desert, the beautiful Sultana of the Mountains!’ ‘Friend,’ said the lioness, ‘draw near that you may taste the jasmine and honey of my lips!’ “Pah! What is it you fear?” ‘Mistress of hearts, I tremble for the blame you may attach tome. By the beard of the Prophet, I proclaim my innocence! But who is believing?” ‘Are you afraid of a woman?” whispered the voice. ‘‘You a man—and yet you fear a weak woman?” “Weak? In what sense? Your rounded arms are capable of snapping these match- sticks of mine—your firm and supple figure might crush this miserable body as easily as your tapering fingers crush the thin- shelled walnut!”’ “You—you admit this!” exclaimed the voice incredulously in a vibrant tone of satisfaction. “You —a man-— admit the superiority of a woman in even one thing? What of the spirit? What do you think of a woman’s soul?”’ “Was not Fatima a woman?” said Co- husac in a tone of reverence, delighted at the conversation. ‘And is she not a saint?” “Taib!” said the woman above decisively. “You have spoken well. Friend of the faith, enter without fear! Allah bear witness, you will return in safety! In testimony, hudhal I recite the Fathal’’ In a voice that had the flute-like cadence of cooing doves the woman recited the first chapters of the Koran. “After that,’”’ said Cohusac to himself, “T am a coward if I don’t go up.” He waited until the door of the godown was drawn slightly ajar and followed a Somali carrying a dim lantern past ragged cliffs of hides smelling overpoweringly of naphthalene and up a narrow stone stairway that led out upon the roof. Keeping in the shadow, his guide led him into a room of the second story, where the woman Miriam was waiting for him with her head swathed in a white cloth, and a black cloak wrapped about her, covering her from her head to her feet, which were slippered in black kid slippers with slightly upturned toes. Go NOOK 1@)