The Wheel O' Fortune

At ten o'clock on a morning in October--a dazzling, sunlit morning after hours of wind-lashed rain--a young man hurried out of Victoria Station and dodged the traffic and the mu...

The Baron Franz von Kerber was in evening dress. He was engrossed in the examination of a faded, or discolored, document when Royson was shown into an apartment, nominally the d...

Royson had time and to spare for the analysis of events during the remainder of the day. In spite of von Kerber's repudiation of luck, he believed that the fickle jade sometimes...

Royson righted the carriage; then he lifted the man to a sitting position, and listened to his stertorous breathing. The blow had been delivered on that facial angle known to bo...

Royson was not in the least nonplussed by this recurrence of a dilemma for which he was not responsible. Von Kerber, of course, could have extricated him with a word, but von Ke...

"Why in the world did you hide yourself in this part of the ship, Irene?" cried Mrs. Haxton, advancing with a rapidity that was in marked contrast to her usual languid movements...

Mr. Fenshawe, renewing his acquaintance with Arabic gutturals, and von Kerber, walking apart with Mrs. Haxton, in order to learn how and when she had received tidings of Abdulla...

Royson knew not one word of Arabic. His Italian was of a rudimentary type, based on some acquaintance with Latin, eked out by a few phrases gleaned from books of travel. The pol...

Several minor rills of events combined to produce this tempestuous torrent at the door of the Hôtel Grande del Universe, and any level-headed man acquainted with their meanderin...

When Irene was freed from her bonds she sighed deeply, uttered a little sob as though her soul had fluttered to her lips, and sank into Royson's arms. In the ever-growing darkne...

When Mrs. Haxton descended the yacht's gangway, and seated herself in the boat which had brought Abdullah from the shore, she threw a main with fate. But she was acting with her...

After eight hours of dreamless sleep, Irene awoke to a torpid but blissful conviction that bed is a most comfortable place when bones ache and the slightest movement is made irk...

"There is a spice of the nomad in all of us," said Irene, pulling up her hardy Somali pony and allowing him to graze on some prickly plant from which a grass-fed animal would ha...

To the Arab every white man is a Frank. The European invader was given that name during the First Crusade, and the Paynim does not change appreciably with the centuries. But he...

The march Royson had undertaken was a trying one. The desert runs to extremes, and, at that season, the thermometer varied a hundred degrees between noon and midnight. When the...

Mrs. Haxton was no laggard in her hammock on the day after Royson's departure from the camp, but, early riser though she was, Irene was up and dressed when the older woman came...

The news that her lover was safe restored the sparkle to Irene's eyes and the color to her wan cheeks. Fenshawe, indeed, had not given her the full measure of Abdur Kad'r's brea...

Royson, a soldier by instinct if not by training, realized the folly of dashing blindly into a fray the nature of which was hidden from him. Though the plight of his erstwhile c...