Except for the clink and bump of the tumbler, and once when I filled and relit the pipe, all was quiet for half an hour, when Yussuf Dakmar piped up suddenly and asked me whether I didn’t intend to come to bed.

“I will not trouble you, effendi.  I will keep over to my side.  There is plenty of room in the bed for the two of us.”

As he spoke I heard a movement of the bedclothes as Grim pinched Jeremy awake again.  I answered before Jeremy could horn in.

“Hic!  You ’spect me ‘nto bed full o’ snakes?  Never sleep ’slong as venomous reptiles waiting!  Hic!  You stay ’n bed an keep ’em ’way from me!”

Well, Jeremy didn’t want any better cue than that.  He got up, lit the candle and explained to me with great wealth of Arabic theosophy that the snakes I saw were mere delusions because Allah never made them; and I tried to look utterly drunk, staring at him with dropped jaw and droopy eyelids, knocking an empty bottle over with my elbow by way of calling attention to it.

“Get into bed, effendi,” Jeremy advised me, feeding the cue back, since I was in the middle of the stage.

“Not into that bed!” I answered, shaking my head solemnly.  “That f’ler put snakes in on purpose.  Why’s he sober when I’m drunk?  I won’t sleep in bed with sober man.  Let him get drun’ too, an’ both see snakes.  Then I’ll sleep with him!”

Jeremy’s roving eye fell on the small doped bottle that I had taken from Grim’s valise.  Looking preternaturally wise, he walked over to Yussuf Dakmar’s bed, sat down on it with his back toward me and proceeded to unfold a plan.

“Allah makes all things easy,” he began.  “It is lawful to take all precautions to confound the infidel.  We shall never get that drunkard to bed as long as there’s any whisky, so let’s encourage him to drink it all.  When it’s gone he’ll sleep on the floor and we’ll get some peace.  It’s a good chance for us to drink whisky without committing sin!  We needn’t take much—­just one drink each, and then he’ll swallow the rest like a hog to prevent our getting any more.  You look as if a glass of whisky would do you good.  That fellow Omar is asleep and won’t see us, so nobody can tell tales afterwards.  It’s a good opportunity.  Come on!”

I had sat so that Yussuf Dakmar couldn’t see what I was doing and poured out the liquor in advance, arranging the glasses so that Yussuf Dakmar would take the doped stuff—­a perfectly un-Christian proceeding, I admit.  Christians are scarce when you get right down to cases.  Most of us in extremity prefer Shakespeare’s adage about hoisting engineers.  It gets results so much more quickly than turning the other cheek.  At any rate, I own up.

Yussuf Dakmar, smirking in anticipation of an easy victory, took the nearest tumbler and tossed off the contents in imitation of Jeremy’s free and easy air; and the drug acted as swiftly as the famous “knock-out-drops” they used to administer in the New York Tenderloin.