The wrapping, in which the net had been, lay at my feet.  I stooped and took out from it a wicker basket.  Karamaneh stood watching me and biting her lip, but she made no move to check me.  I opened the basket.  It contained a large phial, the contents of which possessed a pungent and peculiar smell.

I was utterly mystified.

“You will have to accompany me to my house,” I said sternly.

Karamaneh upturned her great eyes to mine.  They were wide with fear.  She was on the point of speaking when I extended my hand to grasp her.  At that, the look of fear was gone and one of rebellion held its place.  Ere I had time to realize her purpose, she flung back from me with that wild grace which I had met with in no other woman, turned and ran!

Fatuously, net and basket in hand, I stood looking after her.  The idea of pursuit came to me certainly; but I doubted if I could have outrun her.  For Karamaneh ran, not like a girl used to town or even country life, but with the lightness and swiftness of a gazelle; ran like the daughter of the desert that she was.

Some two hundred yards she went, stopped, and looked back.  It would seem that the sheer joy of physical effort had aroused the devil in her, the devil that must lie latent in every woman with eyes like the eyes of Karamaneh.

In the ever brightening sunlight I could see the lithe figure swaying; no rags imaginable could mask its beauty.  I could see the red lips and gleaming teeth.  Then—­and it was music good to hear, despite its taunt —­she laughed defiantly, turned, and ran again!

I resigned myself to defeat; I blush to add, gladly!  Some evidences of a world awakening were perceptible about me now.  Feathered choirs hailed the new day joyously.  Carrying the mysterious contrivance which I had captured from the enemy, I set out in the direction of my house, my mind very busy with conjectures respecting the link between this bird snare and the cry like that of a nighthawk which we had heard at the moment of Forsyth’s death.

The path that I had chosen led me around the border of the Mound Pond —­a small pool having an islet in the center.  Lying at the margin of the pond I was amazed to see the plate and jug which Nayland Smith had borrowed recently!

Dropping my burden, I walked down to the edge of the water.  I was filled with a sudden apprehension.  Then, as I bent to pick up the now empty jug, came a hail: 

“All right, Petrie!  Shall join you in a moment!”

I started up, looked to right and left; but, although the voice had been that of Nayland Smith, no sign could I discern of his presence!

“Smith!” I cried—­“Smith!”

“Coming!”

Seriously doubting my senses, I looked in the direction from which the voice had seemed to proceed—­and there was Nayland Smith.

He stood on the islet in the center of the pond, and, as I perceived him, he walked down into the shallow water and waded across to me!