“Why, a rug for my—­our—­study,” said the boy.  “Gammage has bought no end of things to make our room comfortable, and they’ve sent me up some pictures and chairs and things from home—­and—­it would be awfully decent of you if you’d buy me a rug to put in front of the fire-place.  It’s rather cheek to ask, but you generally give me something when I come over to see you, and I arranged with Gammage to say I’d rather have that than anything.  What sort of a shop do you get rugs at?  Couldn’t we get it on our way now, and then it would be done with?  I might forget to ask you about it later on.”

“What sort of a rug do you want?” I asked, as the taxi turned into Tottenham Court Road.

“Oh, I don’t know, sir.  Any sort of an ordinary kind of rug will do.  There’s some in that window; one of those would do.”

I stopped the taxi and we got out.  The window was filled with Oriental rugs and carpets, and a card in their midst stated that they were “a recent consignment of genuine old goods direct from Arabia.”

“Oh, they’re too expensive, I expect,” I remarked, as we stood amongst a small crowd of people in front of the window, “those Oriental rugs are generally so—­”

But Sutcliffe suddenly nudged my arm, and, with an amused twinkle in his eye, called my attention to a remarkable little figure standing beside him, dressed in an extraordinary yellow costume, and wearing a turban.

“Why! bless me!  It’s Shin Shira!” I exclaimed.  “I hadn’t noticed you before.”

“No,” said the Yellow Dwarf, “I’ve only just appeared.  How very strange meeting you here!”

I told him what we were doing, and introduced my young cousin, who was greatly interested and somewhat awe-struck at the extraordinary little personage in the Oriental costume, whose remarkable appearance was causing quite a sensation amongst the bystanders.

“Oh, these rugs,” he said, looking at them casually.  “No, I don’t fancy they are much good for your purpose, they seem to be too—­hullo!” he suddenly cried excitedly, “what’s that?  Good gracious!  I really believe it’s—­Why, yes!  I’m sure of it!  I recognise it quite well by the pattern.  There’s not another in the world like it.  How could it possibly have got here?”

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

“Why, this carpet,” cried Shin Shira, pointing excitedly to a very quaint-looking Oriental rug in the corner of the window.  “It’s the Magic Carpet which everybody has read about in the Arabian Nights.  It enables anybody in whose possession it is to travel anywhere they wish—­surely you must have heard about it.”

“No!” cried Lionel, his eyes sparkling with eagerness, “not really?  Oh, sir!  Do—­do please buy it—­it will be simply ripping!  Do! do!  Why, it will be better than an aeroplane.”

I had never in my life before seen my cousin so excited about anything.

“I should certainly advise you to purchase it,” whispered Shin Shira.  “It is a very valuable rug, and no doubt you would find it very useful in many ways.”