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Mehemed Sadan was seated on a high-backed chair, close by a long table, on which was a long cloth of black velvet, covered with mystic signs and letters, which were all so much Greek to the visitors. The room was filled with all kinds of things calculated to impress the vulgar with superstitious awe.
"The traitor, whoever he may be, let fall a letter that he was carrying to Mathias." "That's lucky. Well, did they discover any thing?" "No; it was written in cypher." "The cunning rascals!" "Now, I've got more news for you," Dick went on to say. "Out with it, then." "You have heard of the Arab who tells fortunes in the town?" "Mehemed Sadan, the great necromancer?" "Yes.
Mehemed Sadan, the Arabian magician, carried on his occult practices in a house in the best part of the town, and all his surroundings tended to show that the "black art" had proved a most profitable commerce to him.
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