And I hurried along the sands, only just in time, for I had been so interested in Shin Shira’s story that I had not noticed how the tide had been creeping up.  I shall have a good look at that jewel in Shin Shira’s turban next time I see him—­and as for “the Bellows,” I hardly know which explanation to accept, Shin Shira’s or that of the guide.

MYSTERY NO.  III

THE MAGIC CARPET

It was just at the end of the school term, and I had received a letter from my young cousin Lionel, who was at Marlborough, reminding me of my promise that he should spend a part at least of his holidays with me.

“Mind you’re at the station in time,” he had said; “and, I say! please don’t call me Lionel if there are any of our fellows about, it sounds so kiddish.  Just call me Sutcliffe, and I’ll call you sir—­as you’re so old—­like we do the masters.  Oh yes! and there’s something I want you to buy for me, very particularly—­it’s for my study.  I’ve got a study this term, and I share it with a fellow named Gammage.  He’s an awfully good egg!”

“What extraordinary language schoolboys do manage to get hold of,” I thought as I re-read the letter while bowling along in the cab on my way to the station, which, a very few minutes later, came in sight, the platform being crowded with parents, relatives and friends waiting to meet the train by which so many Marlburians were travelling.

There was a shriek from an engine, and a rattle and clatter outside the station, as the train, every window filled with boys’ excited faces, came dashing up to the platform.

“There’s my people!” “There’s Tom!” “Hi! hi!  Here I am!” “There’s the pater with the trap!” “Hooray!” To the accompaniment of a babel of cries like these, and amidst an excited scramble of half-wild schoolboys, I at last discovered my small cousin.

“There he is!” he said, pointing me out to a young friend who was with him; and coming up he hurriedly offered his hand.

“How are you, Sutcliffe?” I asked, remembering his letter.

“All right, thanks,” he replied.  “This is Gammage.  I wanted to show you to him.  He wouldn’t believe I had a cousin as old as you are.  See, Gammage?”

Gammage looked at me and nodded. “’Bye, Sutcliffe; good-bye, sir,” said he, raising his hat to me and hurrying off to his “people.”

“I say! don’t forget the rug, Sutcliffe!” he bawled over his shoulder before finally disappearing.

“Oh no!  I say, sir! That’s what I want to ask you about,” said Sutcliffe, scrambling into the taxi, and settling himself down with a little nod of satisfaction.

“What?” I inquired, as we bowled out of the station.