CHAPTER XXIX.
THE BLACK PALMER Curious things may happen when masked men hold revel under a moonlit sky.
Thus in a tropical garden of palm and fountain, of dark, shifting shadows and a thousand softly luminous Chinese lanterns swaying in a breeze of spice, a Bedouin talked to an ancient Greek.
"He is here ?" asked the Bedouin with an accent slightly foreign.
"Yes," said the Greek.

"He is here and immensely relieved, I take it, to be rid of the jurisdiction of the hay-camp." "I fancied he would not dare--" "A man in love," commented the Greek dryly, "dares much for the sake of his lady.

One may conceivably lack discretion without forfeiting his claim to courage." "The disguise of his stained and shaven face," hinted the Bedouin grimly, "has made him over-confident.

Having tested it with apparent success upon you--" "Even so.

But he has forgotten that few men have such striking eyes." "If he has taken the pains to assure himself of my whereabouts," rumbled the Bedouin, "as he surely has, I am of course still blistering in extreme southern Florida, hunting tarpon.