"It war me," groaned the hidden Bogey more deeply than before.
"Who are you?" faltered the musician, hearing the mysterious voice, but seeing no one.
"Me am special messenger from de Prophet," Bogey replied.
"Allah Kerim! my dream is coming true. Is it the Prophet speaks?" gasped the Turk, his olive cheeks turning the hue of saffron.
"Iss, it de profit brings me here," returned Bogey, truthfully.
"What message does he send to his slave?" asked the old Turk.
"He say you make sich orful row wid dat flute he can git no sleep, an', derefore, he send me to stop it. You got to gib up de flute direckly."
The teeth of the half-silly musician were chattering in his head.
His optics rolled wildly from side to side.
Just at this crisis Bogey, with his eyes glaring and his white teeth fully exposed, thrust his black face from the foliage.