Stranger from Smallness
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Stranger from Smallness - Otis Adelbert Kline
STRANGER FROM SMALLNESS
..................
Otis Adelbert Kline
JOVIAN PRESS
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Copyright © 2016 by Otis Adelbert Kline
Interior design by Pronoun
Distribution by Pronoun
TABLE OF CONTENTS
I. — HAGG NADEEM
II. — MYSTERIOUS HOST
III. — THE STRANGER
IV. — MORTAL ENEMY
V. — UNMASKED
VI. — SECOND WISH
VII. — FIRE OF THE EYES
VIII. — THE MAGICIAN
IX. — THE COLONEL
X. — THE FIRING SQUAD
I. — HAGG NADEEM
..................
FOR SOME TIME NOW, AS he passed from stall to stall in the sweet-smelling Suk al Attarin, the Street of the Perfumers in the Arab quarter of Cairo, Ralph Blake, American microbe hunter, had been conscious that he was being followed. The young bacteriologist, a tall, slender, sun-bronzed chap with dark brown hair that was bleached at the temples by exposure to the sun, had received a week’s furlough from his gruelling labors. He was trying to find the cause of and cure for a mysterious malady that was decimating the native population of lower Egypt.
He had hurried through tiffin after his late arrival at Shepheard’s hotel, anxious to make the most of the brief time alloted him for diversion in the Moslem metropolis, and had decided to tour the bazaars. The afternoon and evening had passed with many of the bazaars still unexplored, and now, it was near closing time.
Observing the two who had been following him, from the corners of his eyes, he saw that one was short and slight, with a patch over one eye beneath his red tarboosh. The other was as tall as Blake himself, but fully twice as wide, and walked with a rolling gait. His rotund countenance might have been jovial, save for the ferocious aspect imparted by three livid scars, two on the left, and one on the right side of his face.
These two, it appeared, were no strangers to hand-to-hand fights, and their cloaks, no doubt, concealed curved, razor-edged jambiyehs.
What could be their motive in following him? Robbery? Assassination? That might be it. He had a particularly bitter enemy—Hans Friedl of Vienna—not only jealous of his fame, but filled with undying hatred because Blake had once exposed a ridiculous error he had made.
Twice before, Blake’s life had been attempted by obviously paid assassins, once in China and once in New Guinea, and both times he had suspected Friedl. But he had been unable to prove anything because he had been compelled to kill his attackers in order to save his own life.
He began to wish that he had brought his favorite weapon—a Colt forty-five. But, as it still reposed in the bottom drawer of his wardrobe trunk, he could only rely on nature’s weapons.
He could, of course, call a policeman. But he had not been attacked, and could not even prove that he was being followed. Besides, every native policeman now seemed suddenly and mysteriously to have disappeared. There were only a few straggling shopkeepers and their employees about.
* * * * *
Keeping close to the nearest of these, Blake, with an effort to appear nonchalant, followed them out of the Suk al Attarin, and turned right on the Sukten Nahhasi. He kept a wary eye on the two villainous looking cutthroats who were following him. It was during one of his quick glances backward that the group he had taken to be harmless shopkeepers suddenly jumped on him. A cloak was thrown over his head, and he was borne to the ground by the sheer weight of numbers.
Blake instantly lashed out from the ground with fists and feet, flinging them in all directions, then tore the stifling folds of the cloak from his head and leaped erect. They were on him again in an instant, like a pack of wolves around a stag, and he saw that the monocular and the scar-faced ruffian who had been following him, had joined them—were apparently the ringleaders. He clipped the former on the jaw, sending him reeling against a wall, then punched the latter in the belly, doubling him up in agony.
Yet the odds would have been far too heavy had