’Time passed more rapidly than I supposed.  While she sang I sipped the liquor with which the old woman had supplied me.  So enthralled was I by the display of the girl’s astonishing gifts that I did not notice what it was I was drinking.  Looking back I can only surmise that it was some poisonous concoction of the creature’s own.  That one small glass had on me the strangest effect.  I was still weak from the fever which I had only just succeeded in shaking off, and that, no doubt, had something to do with the result.  But, as I continued to sit, I was conscious that I was sinking into a lethargic condition, against which I was incapable of struggling.

’After a while the original performer ceased her efforts, and, her companions taking her place, she came and joined me at the little table.  Looking at my watch I was surprised to perceive the lateness of the hour.  I rose to leave.  She caught me by the wrist.

’"Do not go,” she said;—­she spoke English of a sort, and with the queerest accent.  “All is well with you.  Rest awhile.”

’You will smile,—­I should smile, perhaps, were I the listener instead of you, but it is the simple truth that her touch had on me what I can only describe as a magnetic influence.  As her fingers closed upon my wrist, I felt as powerless in her grasp as if she held me with bands of steel.  What seemed an invitation was virtually a command.  I had to stay whether I would or wouldn’t.  She called for more liquor, and at what again was really her command I drank of it.  I do not think that after she touched my wrist I uttered a word.  She did all the talking.  And, while she talked, she kept her eyes fixed on my face.  Those eyes of hers!  They were a devil’s.  I can positively affirm that they had on me a diabolical effect.  They robbed me of my consciousness, of my power of volition, of my capacity to think,—­they made me as wax in her hands.  My last recollection of that fatal night is of her sitting in front of me, bending over the table, stroking my wrist with her extended fingers, staring at me with her awful eyes.  After that, a curtain seems to descend.  There comes a period of oblivion.’

Mr Lessingham ceased.  His manner was calm and self-contained enough; but, in spite of that I could see that the mere recollection of the things which he told me moved his nature to its foundations.  There was eloquence in the drawn lines about his mouth, and in the strained expression of his eyes.

So far his tale was sufficiently commonplace.  Places such as the one which he described abound in the Cairo of to-day; and many are the Englishmen who have entered them to their exceeding bitter cost.  With that keen intuition which has done him yeoman’s service in the political arena, Mr Lessingham at once perceived the direction my thoughts were taking.