“What nonsense!” sniffed Miss Wiggin.

“It’s not nonsense!” protested the junior partner.  “Now listen to what happens.  Some Armenian—­the Armenians are the pawnbrokers of Asia Minor—­moves into that village and in three months he has a mortgage on everything in it, including that brass bed.  Then the Turkish Government, which regards him as an undesirable citizen, tells him to move along; and Mister Armenian piles all the stuff the inhabitants have mortgaged to him into an oxcart and starts on his way, escorted by the Sultan’s troops.  On top of the load is Yusuf Bulbul Ameer’s brass bed.  Yusuf looks out of his doorway and sees the bed moving off and rushes after it to protect his property.

“‘Look here!’ he shouts.  ‘Where are you going with my brass bed?’

“‘It isn’t yours!’ retorts Mister Pawnbroker.  ’It’s mine.  I loaned you eighty-seven piasters on it!’

“‘But I’ve got an equity in it!  You can’t take it away!’

“‘Of course I can!’ replies the Armenian.  ’Where I goeth it will go.  The Turkish Government is responsible.’

“‘Not much,’ says Yusuf, grabbing hold of it, trying to pull it off the cart.

“‘Hands off there!’ yells the Armenian.

“Then there is a mix-up and everybody piles in—­and there is a massacre!”

“That’s a grand yarn!” remarked Mr. Tutt.  “Still, it may be—­”

“Bunk!” declared Miss Wiggin.  “And what has that got to do with camels?”

“My point is,” affirmed Tutt, waving his index finger—­“my point is that just as a Yankee brass bed in Turkey will make certain trouble, so a Turkish camel in New York is bound to do the same thing.”

A door slammed behind them and Willie’s voice interrupted the conversation.

“Mr. Tutt!  Mr. Tutt!” he cried hysterically.  “There’s been a murder down there—­and we—­I’m—­partly responsible.  I spent the night with the camel and he’s—­she’s—­all right—­in Regan’s Boarding Stable.  But Kasheed is in the Tombs, and I told them you’d defend him.  You will, won’t you?”

Mr. Tutt looked at the excited boy.

“Who killed whom?” he asked correctly.  “And where does the camel come in?”

“Somebody killed Sardi Babu,” explained Willie.  “I don’t know exactly who did it—­but they’ve arrested Kasheed Hassoun, the owner of Eset el Gazzar.”

“Who?” roared Tutt.

“The camel.  You see, nobody knew she was in the attic until I saw her stick her head out of the hole in the roof.  Then I told Murphy and he went up and found her there.  But Kasheed thought Sardi had told on him, you see, and nobody would believe him when he said he hadn’t.  The judge fined Kasheed twenty-five dollars, and he—­Kasheed—­accused Sardi of being a Turk and they had a big row right there in court.  Nothing happened until the cops had got Eset out of the window and she was over at Regan’s.  I stayed there.  Her head is bright red from the ink, you know.  Then somebody went over to the restaurant where Sardi was and killed him.  So you see, in a way, I’m to blame, and I didn’t think you’d mind defending Kasheed, because he’s a corker and if they electrocute him Eset will starve to death.”