"Do not bother about it," said Edwards. "Believe me, Kellner has not got a scheme in him at present."
About a week after this conversation had taken place, though many similar ones had intervened, there fell in the midst of my dull existence a very bomb of excitement, whose sudden explosion well-nigh rent me in twain.
CHAPTER XXI.
A DESPERATE PLUNGE.
Whilst I was living in Baghdad, I used to amuse myself by a daily visit to the bazaar, overhauling the antikas and other wares of the Jew dealers, and to save myself the unpleasantness of being mobbed by a crowd of Arab boys, on these occasions I dressed in simple Persian garments. The shop people, of course, knew who I was, but I mingled with the crowd without attracting attention. On the particular day of which I am writing, I noticed, as I walked about the bazaar, that I was being followed from place to place by a ruffianly-looking Arab, who, whenever I stopped to look at a stall, always seemed to be at my elbow. I began to be a little nervous about him, thinking that possibly he might be a fanatic, who, having returned from a pilgrimage to the Holy Shrines, and having discovered that I was an unbeliever, thought to ensure his entry into Paradise by putting a knife into me. At last I stopped, turned on him suddenly, and asked him what he wanted. He was so taken aback, that without offering a reply, he bolted into the crowd, and disappeared.
A little later I left the bazaar, and strolled along the narrow lanes towards Edwards's house. As I was nearing home, I heard footsteps behind, and glancing over my shoulder, saw that my supposed Arab fanatic was running after me. Thinking that I should have to fight, and seeing nobody else about, I stepped back against the wall, and prepared to make the best use of my heavy stick.
"Master," said the man, as he drew near, "it is you who were with Sheik Faris in the desert; is it not so?"
"Yes," I replied, "I am that man. Why do you follow me about?"