“My dear friend!” he exclaimed in his richest and deepest voice, as he recognised the Wanderer.  “Come in.  I am delighted to see you.  You will join me at supper.  This is good indeed!”

He took his visitor by the arm and led him in.  Upon one of the tables stood a round brass platter covered, so far as it was visible, with Arabic inscriptions, and highly polished—­one of those commonly used all over the East at the present day for the same purpose.  Upon this were placed at random several silver bowls, mere hemispheres without feet, remaining in a convenient position by their own weight.  One of these contained snowy rice, in that perfectly dry but tender state dear to the taste of Orientals, in another there was a savoury, steaming mess of tender capon, chopped in pieces with spices and aromatic herbs, a third contained a pure white curd of milk, and a fourth was heaped up with rare fruits.  A flagon of Bohemian glass, clear and bright as rock-crystal, and covered with very beautiful traceries of black and gold, with a drinking-vessel of the same design, stood upon the table beside the platter.

“My simple meal,” said Keyork, spreading out his hands, and smiling pleasantly.  “You will share it with me.  There will be enough for two.”

“So far as I am concerned, I should say so,” the Wanderer answered with a smile.  “But my business is rather urgent.”

Suddenly he saw that there was a third person in the room, and glanced at Keyork in surprise.

“I want to speak a few words with you alone,” he said.  “I would not trouble you but——­”

“Not in the least, not in the least, my dear friend!” asseverated Keyork, motioning him to a chair beside the board.

“But we are not alone,” observed the Wanderer, still standing and looking at the stranger.  Keyork saw the glance and understood.  He broke into peals of laughter.

“That!” he exclaimed, presently.  “That is only the Individual.  He will not disturb us.  Pray be seated.”

“I assure you that my business is very private—­” the Wanderer objected.

“Quite so—­of course.  But there is nothing to fear.  The Individual is my servant—­a most excellent creature who has been with me for many years.  He cooks for me, cleans the specimens, and takes care of me in all ways.  A most reliable man, I assure you.”

“Of course, if you can answer for his discretion——­”

The Individual was standing at a little distance from the table observing the two men intently but respectfully with his keen little black eyes.  The rest of his square, dark face expressed nothing.  He had perfectly straight, jet-black hair which hung evenly all around his head and flat against his cheeks.  He was dressed entirely in a black robe of the nature of a kaftan, gathered closely round his waist by a black girdle, and fitting tightly over his stalwart shoulders.

“His discretion is beyond all doubt,” Keyork answered, “and for the best of all reasons.  He is totally deaf and dumb and absolutely illiterate.  I brought him years ago in Astrakhan, of a Russian friend.  He is very clever with his fingers.  It is he who stole for me the Malayan lady’s head over there, after she was executed.  And now, my dear friend, let us have supper.”