breath in great enjoyment.  “So Hamdi was cheated and he has been a devil to her.  The first little wife dies and he shut the second up here, teasing her sometimes, sometimes making love when he is dull, but forcing her to his will for fear he will divorce her....  How she must have hated you, when she had to play that sister.  Except that she was glad that I was being put aside,” the dancer added with quick spite.  “I think she would put poison in my meat if she did not fear Hamdi so....  And always she hopes that he will come back to her.  I have seen her waiting, night after night——­”

And Arlee thought of the jewels and the silks ... and the long, long, silent hours....  Slowly she put out her hand and snuffed out the smoking wick, then raised her eyes to where the painted bars stretched black across the starry square of sky.  “Won’t she help?” she asked.

“Not she!  Hamdi would find her out....  Not through her can you get word to your friends.  For you have friends here?  And they will help you?  And then you will help me?”

“Oh, yes, if I can get help,” promised Arlee.  “But I am afraid my friends have gone up the Nile—­and there are just—­just one or two left in Cairo that would help.  And I must get word to them at once.  What is the best way?  Couldn’t I push a note through the windows on the street?  Someone might see that!”

“Yes, the doorkeeper.  No, that is not safe....  If only that girl were sure——­”

“Mariayah?” cried Arlee.

“No, the other—­the little one with the wart over her eye.  Have you seen her?  Well, watch for her, then.  She has an itching palm—­she may help.  But only in little things, of course, for she is afraid.  And I have no money left and she is afraid to take a jewel.”

“I have almost no money,” said Arlee blankly.  “Only a letter of credit——­”

“A letter of nothing here!  But promise her your friends will give much.”

“Would she mail a letter?”

“Have you stamps?  No?  She is so ignorant that is an obstacle.  And the post is distant and she dare not go far.  But sometimes the baker sends a little boy, and if you had money to give she might get a note to him to carry—­though, maybe, she burns the note and keeps the money,” the Viennese ended pessimistically.

“But I must get help at once,” Arlee iterated passionately.  Before——­”

“Before?” the other repeated curiously, “He makes love to you—­h’m?”

“He—­is beginning.”

“Only beginning?”

“Only—­beginning.”  Arlee felt the girl’s strange, hard scrutiny through the dark.  Then she heard her draw a quick breath as if her eyes on Arlee’s flower-like face had convinced her of something against all her sorry little reason.

“Well, that is good then,” she said.  “Try to keep him off.  What does he promise you?”

“Promise me?  He does not promise anything.”