"I certainly," said Verbeena, "am not discussing Velasquez, Amerigo Vespucci or Jack Dempsey. The yellow hair and the black whiskers are noticeably incompatible, don't you think?"

"To be sure," a.s.sented Mr. Hitchings. "Well then----" and he got red in the face. "I'll tell you. It was this way:

"In the first place he hates the English."

"I hadn't noticed that," said Verbeena.

"But he does--really. And why?"

Verbeena lifted her clubbed curls well off her ears.

"Why?"

For some reason or other she saw that Mr. Hitchings looked greatly distressed.

"Because--well, you see, his father was the Earl of Glucose but not a sticker for the proprieties. I might even say he drank freely. That was not a habit clearly to take into the Sahara. And when thus bedizened he sometimes failed in courtesy. Especially toward his wife.

She was Spanish but unquestionably all her life long had walked normally. She was a bit of a Moor too. But new to sand-dunes. One evening the Earl of Glucose feeling like kicking about a bit selected his wife. He busied himself thus for some time.

"Then it would seem he kicked her so far that he couldn't find her nor could she find herself and thus it was she happened upon the suburban oasis of Sheik Ben Butler, senior.

"A boy was born. Kicking just like his father.

"The Sheik did not send her to his harem but kept the Spanish lady with him hanging right around his neck until she died in his arms. Not promptly but nearly so.

"The truth now," said the distinguished novelist, "is on the point of bursting forth!

"Amut is that woman's son!"

"Mr. Hitchings!"

"I don't wonder that you are surprised. Amut was too when he heard it. We all were! You see my father was in America at the time and the Sheik was in China and so they met. By the same chain of circ.u.mstances, Amut and I were both educated in Siberia. You understand? But even if you don't, I don't either. Still it is explanatory, is it not?"

"Mr. Hitchings!"

"Beg pardon."

"Let me get you a fresh green carnation."

She pinned it on him. They grow freely in the desert.

But she said emphatically:

"The story, sir, is wholly unworthy of you."

"Good heavens!" said Mr. Hitchings in ineffable alarm. "This isn't my stuff! How could you think it? How ridiculous of me to have permitted myself to be persuaded by Amut to try and put this over! I regret the attempt abysmally. Right now, hear me, fair lady: I wash my hands of the Hull thing!"

"Friendship may excuse this conduct of yours," said Verbeena coldly.

"But how, if you are also English, is it that Amut makes a friend of you?"

"Now, there's something else again, isn't it? Just as if a rebellious Sheik around here for an instant would make a bosom friend of a Frenchman. It's a desperately silly story all the way through and I surely apologize and--O--what?"

Verbeena had seized both hands and just wouldn't let go.

"Forget it," she was saying. "I've something much more important."

Her eyes flamed.

"Will you--O, will you, my dear Mr. Hitchings, do a moving picture for me?"

"I most certainly will," replied Mr. Hitchings, "immediately--of a man packing his grip."

"But I beg of you, who is he? For G.o.d's sake, listen to a woman's plea! Solve this mystery of me lord's true ident.i.ty!"

By this time, however, Mr. Hitchings had engaged the drawing room of a camel and was navigating the Sahara by means of the good, old, honorable North Star.

CHAPTER XI

Mr. Hitchings was in such a hurry hurtling off the Sahara with a broken climax that he left some things behind.

There were two collar b.u.t.tons, a large piece of dignity and a newspaper clipping.

The collar b.u.t.tons Verbeena knew she would be able to use, she kicked the lost dignity aside but stood interested in the newspaper clipping.

Logically too. It was about her.

"MISS MAYONNAISE MUCHLY MISSING."

Such was the headline in the Biscuit _Bismallah_.

And the article went on to say:

"The world is in stupendous alarm over the disappearance of Miss Verbeena Mayonnaise who left the Hotel Biscuit here without her bacon and eggs more than a month ago or giving the clerk her forwarding address. She even forgot to pay her bill.

"Her intention was to take a jaunty junket into the far wild places of the Sahara and it would appear that she has.

"Not a squeak has been heard from Miss Mayonnaise since.

"Miss Mayonnaise, indeed, is as thoroughly missing as sauce Neuburg from American life.

"She was a grand girl in a gentlemanly way and things really don't look so good as to her fate.

"It is deplorable that the sands of the desert carry no wireless and the palm trees in this regard are also imperturbable.

"The terribly alarmed world has spoken to the British authorities demanding an immediate search but the discouraging reply has been: 'What can we do? The Sahara is so much larger than Scotland Yard!'