“I wouldn’t do that in this cold, Quatermain,” Lord Ragnall answered.  “Did they say what they are, Savage?”

“I made out that they were conjurers, my lord.  At least when I told them to go away one of them said, ‘You will go first, gentleman.’  Then, my lord, I heard a hissing sound in my coat-tail pocket and, putting my hand into it, I found a large snake which dropped on the ground and vanished.  It quite paralysed me, my lord, and while I stood there wondering whether I was bitten, a mouse jumped out of the kitchenmaid’s hair.  She had been laughing at their dress, my lord, but now she’s screaming in hysterics.”

The solemn aspect of Mr. Savage as he narrated these unholy marvels was such that, like the kitchenmaid, we both burst into ill-timed merriment.  Attracted by our laughter, Miss Holmes, Miss Manners, with whom she was talking, and some of the other guests, approached and asked what was the matter.

“Savage here declares that there are two conjurers in the kitchen premises, who have been producing snakes out of his pocket and mice from the hair of one of the maids, and who want to see Mr. Quatermain,” Lord Ragnall answered.

“Conjurers!  Oh, do have them in, George,” exclaimed Miss Holmes; while Miss Manners and the others, who were getting a little tired of promiscuous conversation, echoed her request.

“By all means,” he answered, “though we have enough mice here without their bringing any more.  Savage, go and tell your two friends that Mr. Here-come-a-zany is waiting for them in the drawing-room, and that the company would like to see some of their tricks.”

Savage bowed and departed, like a hero to execution, for by his pallor I could see that he was in a great fright.  When he had gone we set to work and cleared a space in the middle of the room, in front of which we arranged chairs for the company to sit on.

“No doubt they are Indian jugglers,” said Lord Ragnall, “and will want a place to grow their mango-tree, as I remember seeing them do in Kashmir.”

As he spoke the door opened and Mr. Savage appeared through it, walking much faster than was his wont.  I noted also that he gripped the pockets of his swallow-tail coat firmly in his hand.

“Mr. Hare-root and Mr. Mare-root,” he announced.

“Hare-root and Mare-root!” repeated Lord Ragnall.

“Harut and Marut, I expect,” I said.  “I think I have read somewhere that they were great magicians, whose names these conjurers have taken.”  (Since then I have discovered that they are mentioned in the Koran as masters of the Black Art.)

A moment later two men followed him through the doorway.  The first was a tall, Eastern-looking person with a grave countenance, a long, white beard, a hooked nose, and flashing, hawk-like eyes.  The second was shorter and rather stout, also much younger.  He had a genial, smiling face, small, beady-black eyes, and was clean-shaven.  They were very light in colour; indeed I have seen Italians who are much darker; and there was about their whole aspect a certain air of power.