“He ought to have fallen for that,” said Yerkes, but the doctor shook his head.

“He’s an Arab.  They’re Shiah Muhammedans.  Their Paradise is a pleasant place from all accounts.  He advised me to drink my own elixir, and have lots and lots of years in which to find the ivory, without being beholden to him for help.  Wily old scaramouch!  But I had a better card up my sleeve.  He has taken to discarding ancient prejudices—­doesn’t drink or anything like that, but treats his harem almost humanly.  Lets ’em have anything that costs him nothing.  Even sends for a medico when they’re sick!  Getting lax in his old age!  Sent for me a while ago to attend his favorite wife—­sixty years old if she’s a day, and as proud of him as if he were the king of Jerusalem.  Well—­I looked her over, judged she was likely to keep her bed, and did some thinking.”

“You know their religious law?  A woman can’t go to Paradise without special intercession, mainly vicarious.  I found a mullah—­that’s a Muhammedan priest—­who’d do anything for half of nothing.  They most of them will.  I gave him fifty dibs, and promised him more if the trick worked.  Then I told the old woman she was going to die, but that if she’d tell me the secret of Tippoo Tib’s ivory I had a mullah handy who would pass her into Paradise ahead of her old man.  What did she do?  She called Tippoo Tib, and he turned me out of the house.  So I’m fifty out of pocket, and what’s worse, the old girl didn’t die—­got right up out of bed and stayed up!  My rep’s all smashed to pieces among the Arabs!”

“D’you suppose the old woman knew the secret?” I asked.

“Not she!  If she’d known it she’d have split!  The one ambition she has left is to be with Tippoo Tib in Paradise.  But he can intercede for her and get her in—­provided he feels that way; so she rounded on me in the hope of winning his special favor!  But the old ruffian knows better!  He’ll no more pray for her than tell me where the ivory is!  The Koran tells him there are much better houris in Paradise, so why trouble to take along a toothless favorite from this world?”

“Has the government any official information?” asked Monty.

“Quite a bit, I’m told.  Official records of vain searches.  Between you and me and these four walls, about the only reason why they didn’t hang the old slave-driving murderer was that they’ve always hoped he’d divulge the secret some day.  But be hates the men who broke him far too bitterly to enrich them on any terms!  If any man wins the secret from him it’ll be a foreigner.  They tell me a German had a hard try once.  One of Karl Peters’ men.”

“That’ll be Carpets!” said Monty.  “Somebody belonging to Carpets—­Karl Peters.”

“The man’s serving a life sentence in the jail for torturing our friend Juma here.”

“Then Juma knows the secret?”

“So they say.  But Juma, too, hopes to go to Paradise and wait on Tippoo Tib.”