and his body was found, his friends might get a clue. Wherefore, I argued, the words must be intelligible to somebody or other of our persuasion, and likewise they must be pretty well gibberish to any Turk or German that found them. The first, “Kasredin”, I could make nothing of. I asked Sandy. “You mean Nasr-ed-din,” he said, still munching crumpets. “What’s that?” I asked sharply. “He’s the General believed to be commanding against us in Mesopotamia. I remember him years ago in Aleppo. He talked bad French and drank the sweetest of sweet champagne.” I looked closely at the paper. The “K” was unmistakable. “Kasredin is nothing. It means in Arabic the House of Faith, and might cover anything from Hagia Sofia to a suburban villa. What’s your next puzzle, Dick? Have you entered for a prize competition in a weekly paper?” “Cancer,” I read out. “It is the Latin for a crab. Likewise it is the name of a painful disease. It is also a sign of the Zodiac.” “V. I,” I read. “There you have me. It sounds like the number of a motor-car. The police would find out for you. I call this rather a difficult competition. What’s the prize?” I passed him the paper. “Who wrote it? It looks as if he had been in a hurry.” “Harry Bullivant,” I said. Sandy’s face grew solemn. “Old Harry. He was at my tutor’s. The best fellow God ever made. I saw his name in the casualty list before Kut. ... Harry didn’t do things without a purpose. What’s the story of this paper?” “Wait till after dinner,” I said. “I’m going to change and have a bath. There’s an American coming to dine, and he’s part of the business.” Mr Blenkiron arrived punctual to the minute in a fur coat like a Russian prince’s. Now that I saw him on his feet I could judge him better. He had a fat face, but was not too plump in figure, and very muscular wrists showed below his shirt-cuffs. I fancied that, if the occasion called, he might be a good man with his hands. Sandy and I ate a hearty meal, but the American picked at his boiled fish and sipped
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