windows projecting over the court represented the best period of
Arab architecture. Their intricate carven woodwork had once
adorned the palace of a Grand Wazir. Agapoulos had bought them
in Cairo and had had them fitted to his house in Chinatown. A
smaller brass lamp of very delicate workmanship was suspended in
each of the recesses.

As Hassan, having lighted the four larger lanterns, was
proceeding leisurely to light the first of the smaller ones,
draperies before a door at the east end of the room were parted
and Agapoulos came in. Agapoulos was a short but portly Greek
whom the careless observer might easily have mistaken for a Jew.
He had much of the appearance of a bank manager, having the
manners of one used to making himself agreeable, but also
possessing the money-eye and that comprehensive glance which
belongs to the successful man of commerce.

Standing in the centre of the place he brushed his neat black
moustache with a plump forefinger. A diamond ring which he wore
glittered brilliantly in the coloured rays of the lanterns. With
his right hand, which rested in his trouser pocket, he rattled
keys. His glance roved about the room appraisingly. Walking to
a beautifully carved Arab cabinet he rearranged three pieces of
Persian copperware which stood upon it. He moved several
cushions, and taking up a leopard skin which lay upon the floor
he draped it over an ebony chair which was inlaid intricately
with ivory.

The drooping eyelids of M. Agapoulos drooped lower, as returning
to the centre of the room he critically surveyed the effect of