As soon as Kagig saw me he dismissed the other men in various directions and made to start across the bridge.  I called to him to wait, and walked beside him.

“I’ve uncovered a plot, Kagig,” I began.  “Maga Jhaere has been talking with the Turkish prisoner.”

“I know it.  I sent her to talk with him!”

“She has bargained with him to betray Zeitoon!”

For answer to that Kagig turned his head and stared sharply at me —­then went off into peals of diabolic laughter.  He had not a word to offer.  He simply utterly, absolutely, unqualifiedly disbelieved me—­or else chose to have it appear so.

Chapter Eighteen “Per terram et aquam.”

AND HE WHO WOULD SAVE HIS LIFE SHALL LOSE IT

The fed fools beat their brazen gong
For gods’ ears dulled by blatant praise,
Awonder why the scented fumes
And surplices at evensong
Avail not as in other days. 
Shrunken and mean the spirit fails
Like old snow falling from the crags
And priest and pedagog compete
With nostrums for the age that ails,
But learn not why the spirit lags. 
Tuneless and dull the loose lyre thrums
Ill-plucked by fingers strange to skill
That change and change the fever’d chords,
But still no inspiration comes
Though priest and pundit labor still. 
Lust-urged the clamoring clans denounce
Whate’er their sires agreed was good,
And swift on faith and fair return
With lies the feud-leaders pounce
Lest Truth deprive them of their food. 
Dog eateth dog and none gives thanks;
All crave the fare, but grudge the price
Their nobler forbears proudly paid,
That now for moonstruck madness ranks—­
The only true coin—­Sacrifice!

The man who is a hero to himself perhaps exists, but the surface indications are no proof of it.  I don’t pretend to be satisfied, and made no pretense at the time of being satisfied with my share in Maga’s treachery.  But I claim that it was more than human nature could have done, to endure the open disapproval of my friends, begun by Fred’s half-earnest jest, and continued by my own indignation; and at the same time to induce them to take my warning seriously.

Will avoided me, and walked with Gloria, who made no particular secret of her disgust.  Fred naturally enough kept the joke going, to save himself from being tripped in his own net.  He had probably persuaded himself by that time that the accusation was true, and therefore equally probably regretted having made it; for he would have been the last man in the world to give tongue about an offense that he really believed a friend of his had committed.

Monty, who believed from force of habit every single word Fred said, walked beside me and was good enough to give me fatherly advice.

“Not the time, you know, to fool with women.  I don’t pretend, of course, to any right to judge your private conduct, but—­you can be so awfully useful, you know, and all that kind of thing, when you’re paying strict attention.  Women distract a man.”