There were many Persian, Turkish and Arabian women on the island, wives of the more potential men.  It was no secret that they had been purchased from avaricious masters on the mainland, in Bagdad and Damascus and the Persian gulf ports—­sapphires passing in exchange.  Marriages were performed by the local priests.  There were no divorces.  Perhaps there may have been a few more wife murders than necessary, but, if one assumes to call wife murder a crime, he must be reminded that the natives of Japat were fatalists.  In contradiction to this belief, however, it is related that one night a wife took it upon herself to reverse the lever of destiny:  she slew her husband.  That, of course, was a phase of fatalism that was not to be tolerated.  The populace burned her at a stake before morning.

One hot, dry afternoon about a week after the reopening of the chateau, the siesta of a swarthy population was disturbed by the shouts of those who kept impatient watch of the sea.  Five minutes later the whole town of Aratat knew that the smoke of a steamer lay low on the horizon.  No one doubted that it came from the stack of the boat that was bringing Rasula and the English solicitor.  Joy turned to exultation when the word came down from Von Blitz that it was the long-looked-for steamship, the Sir Joshua.

Just before dusk the steamer, flying the British colours, hove to off the town of Aratat and signalled for the company’s tug.  There was no one in Aratat too old, too young or too ill to stay away from the pier and its vicinity.  Bowles telephoned the news to the chateau, and the occupants, in no little excitement, had their tea served on the grand colonnade overlooking the town.

Von Blitz stood at the landing place to welcome Rasula and his comrades, and to be the first to clasp the hand of the man from London.  For the first time in his life his stolidity gave way to something resembling exhilaration.  He cast more than one meaning glance at the chateau, and those near by him heard him chuckle from time to time.  The horde of natives seethed back and forth as the tug came running in; every eye was strained to catch the first glimpse of—­Rasula?  No!  Of the man from Brodney’s!

At last his figure could be made out on the forward deck.  His straw hat was at least a head higher than the turban of Rasula, who was indicating to him the interesting spots in the hills.

“He’s big,” commented Von Blitz, comfortably, more to himself than to his neighbour.  “And young,” he added a few minutes later.  Bowles, standing at his side, offered the single comment: 

“Good-looking.”

As the tall stranger stepped from the boat to the pier, Von Blitz suddenly started back, a look of wonder in his soggy eyes.  Then, a thrill of satisfaction shot through his brain.  He turned a look of triumph upon Britt, who had elbowed through the crowd a moment before and was standing close by.