“Learn them?” answered Jeremy, still juggling.  “I am a dervaish.  I was born, not taught.  I can ride through the air on cannon-balls, and whatever I wish for is mine the next minute.  Look, I have one piastre.  I wish for twenty.  What do I do?  I spin it in the air—­catch it—­d’you hear them?  There you are—­twenty!  Count ’em if you like.”

“A dervaish?  A holy person?  You?  Where do you come from?”

“I was born in the belly of the South Wind,” answered Jeremy.  “Where I come from, every shell-fish has a pearl in it and gold is so common that the cattle wear it in their teeth.  I can talk three languages at once and swear in six, use sulphur for tobacco, eat sardines without opening the can, and flavour my food for choice with gun-powder.

“I’ve been everywhere, seen everything, heard all the lies, and I found that big effendi in Jerusalem.  I saw him first.  He calls himself Ramsden, which is derived from the name of a creature bearing wool, which in turn is a synonym for money.  He’s on his way to supply Feisul with money, and I’m going to show him the streets of Damascus.  Anything else you want to know?”

“Supply Feisul with money?  That is interesting.  American money perhaps?  An American banker by any chance?”

“Nothing to do with chance.  He’s a father of certainties.  Didn’t he give me that letter to keep, and didn’t I find a safe place for it between you and the cushions?  Yes, I put it there.  I’m an honest man, but I have my reasonable doubts about this other fellow.  Ramsden effendi found him somewhere, and engaged him as a servant without asking me.  Perhaps he’s honest.  Only Allah knows men’s hearts.  But he hasn’t got an honest face like yours, and when pay-day comes I shall hide my money.”

“So you know Damascus?” answered Yussuf Dakmar.  “I hope you will come and see me in Damascus.  I will give you my address.  If Ramsden effendi has only engaged you temporarily, perhaps I can show you a way to make money with those accomplishments of yours.”

“Make money?” answered Jeremy, prattling away like a madman.  “I am weary of the stuff.  I’m hunting the world over, in search of a friend.  Nobody loves me.  I want to find someone who’ll believe the lies I tell him without expecting me to believe the truth he tries to foist on me.  I want to find a man as tricky with his brains as I am with my hands.  He must be a politician and a spy, because I love excitement.  That’s why I called you a spy.  If you were one, you might have admitted it, and then we could have been friends, like two yolks in one eggshell.  But I see you’re only a shell without a yolk in it.  Who cleaned you?”

“How long have you been in the service of Ramsden effendi?” Yussuf Dakmar asked him.

“Not long, and I am tired of it.  He is strong, and his fist is heavy.  When he gets drunk he is difficult to carry upstairs to bed, and if I am also drunk the feat is still more difficult.  It is a mystery how such a man as he should be entrusted with a secret mission, for he drinks with anyone.  Aha!  He scowls at me because I tell the truth about him, but if I had a bottle of whisky to offer him he would soon look pleasant again, and would give me a drink too, when he had swallowed all he could hold.”