As Hassan, having lighted the four larger lanterns, was proceeding leisurely to light the first of the smaller ones, draperies before a door at the east end of the room were parted and Agapoulos came in.  Agapoulos was a short but portly Greek whom the careless observer might easily have mistaken for a Jew.  He had much of the appearance of a bank manager, having the manners of one used to making himself agreeable, but also possessing the money-eye and that comprehensive glance which belongs to the successful man of commerce.

Standing in the centre of the place he brushed his neat black moustache with a plump forefinger.  A diamond ring which he wore glittered brilliantly in the coloured rays of the lanterns.  With his right hand, which rested in his trouser pocket, he rattled keys.  His glance roved about the room appraisingly.  Walking to a beautifully carved Arab cabinet he rearranged three pieces of Persian copperware which stood upon it.  He moved several cushions, and taking up a leopard skin which lay upon the floor he draped it over an ebony chair which was inlaid intricately with ivory.

The drooping eyelids of M. Agapoulos drooped lower, as returning to the centre of the room he critically surveyed the effect of these master touches.  At the moment he resembled a window-dresser, or, rather, one of those high-salaried artists who beautify the great establishments of Regent Street, the Rue de la Paix, and Ruination Avenue, New York.

Hassan lighted the sixth lamp, muttering smilingly all the time.  He was about to depart when Agapoulos addressed him in Arabic.

“There will be a party down from the Savoy tonight, Hassan.  No one else is to come unless I am told.  That accursed red policeman, Kerry, has been about here of late.  Be very careful.”

Hassan saluted him gravely and retired through one of the draped openings.  In his hand he held the taper with which he had lighted the lamps.  In order that the draperies should not be singed he had to hold them widely apart.  For it had not occurred to Hassan to extinguish the taper.  The Egyptian mind is complex in its simplicity.

M. Agapoulos from a gold case extracted a cigarette, and lighting it, inhaled the smoke contentedly, looking about him.  The window-dresser was lost again in the bank manager who has arranged a profitable overdraft.  Somewhere a bell rang.  Hassan, treading silently, reappeared, crossed the room, and opening a finely carved door walked along a corridor which it had concealed.  He still carried the lighted taper.

Presently there entered a man whose well-cut serge suit revealed the figure of a soldier.  He wore a soft gray felt hat and carried light gloves and a cane.  His dark face, bronzed by recent exposure to the Egyptian sun, was handsome in a saturnine fashion, and a touch of gray at the temples tended to enhance his good looks.  He carried himself in that kind of nonchalant manner which is not only insular but almost insolent.