"Good man!" said I. "By the way, I wonder how that poor unfortunate Kellner is getting on. Do you suppose we shall be able to take him to Baghdad with us?"
"I should think not," said Edwards; "besides, he is much better off where he is. I expect that the man in charge of the hospital knows quite as much about his business as I do, and the long journey to Baghdad would probably throw the patient back, and as likely as not kill him."
"Then," said I, "I think I shall try and stay at Hillah for a week or two."
"What on earth for?" asked Edwards.
"To look after Kellner," I replied.
"What possible good do you think you can do him?"
"He might want to ease his mind," said I, laughing. "People do have things on their mind sometimes, when they are sick. He might wish to tell me, for instance, what has become of the Golden Girdle."
"Still that old, old story," said my companion sadly. "Surely you and your Will-o'-the-wisp have done enough harm already. The words of wisdom which we heard in Hillah the other day do not seem to have made much impression on you."
"Water off a duck's back, old man," I replied. "When I have laid Sophana's Serpent Belt at the feet of my uncle, then will I repent of all my sins, and be good for ever afterwards."