“There’s your pound,” he said casually.
Abdul peered at him in the dusk. It was very odd that Hugh did not offer him half what he asked, instead of paying up without bargaining. He regretted extremely that he had not asked more. But the little blue fragment was now in Hugh’s pocket, and the sovereign glistened very pleasantly in his own palm.
“And what was the rest of the hieroglyphic, do you think?” Hugh asked.
“Eh, Allah only knows the wickedness and the power of the monkeys,” said Abdul. “Once there were such in Egypt, and in the temple of Mut in Karnak, which the English dug up, you shall see a chamber with just such monkeys sitting round it, four of them, all carved in sandstone. But on them there is no writing; I have looked at them behind and before; they not master-monkeys. Perhaps the monkey promised that whoso called on him thrice, if he were owner of the blue image of which gentleman has the half, would be his master, and that monkey would do his bidding. Who knows? It is of the old wickedness of the world, the old Egyptian blackness.”
Hugh got up. He had been out in the sun all day, and felt at this moment a little intimate shiver, which warned him that it was wiser to go indoors till the chill of sunset had passed.
“I expect you’ve tried it on with the half-monkey, haven’t you?” he said.
Abdul burst out into a toothless cackle of laughter.
“Yes, effendi,” he said. “I have tried it a hundred times, and nothing happens. Else I would not have sold it you. Half-monkey is no monkey at all. I have tried to make boy with the ink-mirror see something about monkeys, but nothing comes, except the clouds and the man who sweeps. No monkey.”
Hugh nodded to him.
“Good-night, you old sorcerer,” he said pleasantly.