Carl switched on the light in the cluster of old iron lanterns above
the table and frowned heavily at the paper. No, it was the precise,
formal English of a foreigner, with here and there a ludicrous error
among the stilted phrases. And as Carl read, a gust of wild,
incredulous laughter echoed suddenly through the quiet room. Again he
read, cursing the dizzy fever of his head. Houdania! Houdania! Where
was Houdania? Surely the name was familiar. With a superhuman effort
of will he clenched his hands and jaws and sat motionless, seeking the
difficult boon of concentration. Out of the maelstrom of his mind
haltingly it came, and with it memory in panoramic flashes.
Once more he heard the clatter of cavalry galloping up a winding
mountain road to a gabled city whose roofs and turrets glinted ruddily
in the westering sun. There had been royalty abroad with a brilliant
escort, handsome, dark-skinned men with a lingering trace of Arab about
the eyes, who galloped rapidly by him up the winding road to the little
kingdom in the mountains. Houdania!--yes that was it--of course.
Houdania! A Lilliputian monarchy of ardent patriots. There had been a
flaming sunset behind the turrets of a castle and he had climbed
up--up--up to the gabled kingdom, seeking, away from the track of the
tourist, relief from the exotic gayety of his rocketing over Europe.
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