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Crawford, F. Marion (Francis Marion), 1854-1909

"Mr. Isaacs"

Whoever the man was
he must be on the other side of my companion, but I made out a head from
which the voice proceeded.
"Peace, Abdul Hafiz!" it said.
"Aleikum Salaam, Ram Lal!" answered Isaacs. He must have recognised the
man by his voice.
"Abdul," continued the stranger, speaking Persian. "I have business with
thee this night; thou art going home. If it is thy pleasure I will be
with thee in two hours in thy dwelling."
"Thy pleasure is my pleasure. Be it so." I thought the head disappeared.
"Be it so," the voice echoed, growing faint, as if moving rapidly away
from us. The horses, momentarily startled by the unexpected pedestrian,
regained their equanimity. I confess the incident gave me a curiously
unpleasant sensation. It was so very odd that a man on foot--a Persian,
I judged, by his accent--should know of my companion's whereabouts, and
that they should recognise each other by their voices. I recollected
that our coming to Mr. Ghyrkins' bungalow was wholly unpremeditated, and
I was sure Isaacs had spoken to none but our party--not even to his
saice--since our meeting with the Westonhaughs on the Annandale road an
hour and a half before.
"I wonder what he wants," said my friend, apparently soliloquising.
"He seems to know where to find you, at all events," I answered.


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