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Through the racket from the hallway above faintly came the voice of Kalil Majdalain. "Her head is free of the ceiling. Quick, Kasheed! Turn her, thou, upon the landing!" "Whack!" responded the lath in the hand of Kasheed Hassoun. Step by step the gentle shaggy brute felt her way with feet, knees and nozzle up the narrow staircase.
Outside, that the Western world might not suspect what was going on, Shaheen Mahfous and Shanin Saba unloaded with as much noise as possible a dray of paper for Meraat-ul-Gharb, the Daily Mirror. By and by a window on the fourth floor opened and the head of Kalil Majdalain appeared. "Mahabitcum!" he grinned; which, being interpreted, means "Good fellowship to all!"
He had thick black ringlets, parted exactly down the middle of his scalp, hanging to his shoulders, and a luxuriant black curly beard reaching to his middle; in addition to which he wore a blue blouse and carpet slippers. He was a Maronite from Lebanon, and he and his had a feud with Hassoun, Majdalain, and all others who belonged to the sect headed by the Patriarch of Antioch.
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