"You can't eat it," she said with contempt.

I suppressed my disappointment.

Fame," she continued dreamily, "is when every dog in the whole city knows about you. Mahmud"-her voice softened into strange tones of pleading-"I want fame."

at me.

Will it even kill

But, Zuleika," I cried, "what good will it do you? Will this fame you speak of provide you with bones? Will it marry you to a worthy husband? Will it even kill your fleas? "Fool!" she growled. "Fame is better than all that. Look I am beautiful, but who knows about me? Only our beat, and are there not twenty beats at least in Constantinople? I tell you I will not rest till every dog, ay, every puppy even, yelps my name, and the story of my beauty is a kennel-word from Pera to Stambul, from Ortakui on the Bosphorus to Ayub on the Golden Horn."

I gasped. Had she gone mad? But no! the light shining in her eyes was not the light of insanity.

66

Mahmud," she coaxed, edging a little closer to where I sat on the cobble-stones, "do this for my sake, and I will love

Her warm fur brushing my cheek made me dizzy.

"How can I?" I said faintly.

In a few words she planned out a campaign that made every individual hair on my body stand on end.

66

That means death!" I cried, aghast.

"Nonsense! It's dangerous, of course, but if you're clever there's no reason why you shouldn't escape with a bite or two." 'I never heard of a dog escaping."

66

66 Are you afraid?" she sneered.

66

No, no, Zuleika; at least, not much. You know I'd do anything for your sake, but”

My brain reeled. I propped myself against a lamp-post. Mother's story of the black dog who had crossed to our beat flashed to my mind. I could see him torn to pieces in the lane that led nowhere. My breath came quick. Zuleika was watching me closely.

"Of course," she said carelessly, "if you don't care to do a little thing like this for me, never mind. I'd be sorry to trouble you. I can easily get some other dog to do it."

66

"Stop!" I implored, for she made as if to bark. "I'll go." She gave one yelp of delight.

The night was dark when, according to our agreement, I met Zuleika at Galata Bridge. It had been raining, and the water lay in deep pools in the hollows of the road. Every lane that pierced upwards into the blackness of Pera sent its rivulet to join the main stream. The air was full of the sound of rushing waters.

Familiar with every turning, I could have found my way blindfold. At times a yelp out of the blackness broke upon the silence, or a volley of barks, or a howl, told of the dogs lurking on either hand. My heart warmed to the sounds. Their accent rejoiced my ears. It was the life I knew and loved.

A grey glimmer hedged about with shadows opened before me. I knew it for the entrance to the bridge. A solitary light streamed from a doorway. In the bright pathway stood a dog.

"You've kept me waiting," said Zuleika's voice sharply.

66

One has generally to wait for fame," I said grimly.

That astonished her, and, to tell the truth, it astonished me too, for I hadn't the least idea what it meant. Something strange had happened to me. Remarkable words seemed to be put into my jaws. I felt uplifted. Even my passion for Zuleika had undergone a change. It was no longer a thing of blood and bones, but a power that was forcing me towards great deeds-deeds pregnant with fate.

We were standing at the Galata end of the bridge. Through the railings that linked pier to pier came a livid glint, slowly yet ceaselessly moving like the coils of some great snake. It was the Bosphorus. We could hear it licking the piers-sucking at the rotten piles-growling a little to itself in a sleepy sort of way. The dark line of shipping that half blocked the Golden Horn was all but indistinguishable; but, in the far side of the bridge, black, sinister, far-reaching, lay Stambul.

The sight of it sent a shudder to the tip of my tail. I knew it of old, the great misty sea of roofs dominated by occasional domes, pierced by the far spears of minarets; yet never had I set foot within it. To me it represented all that was hostile. I knew well that, once there, not a set of teeth but would clash for my life, not a throat but would bellow for my blood. And now, as I gazed at it under the cope of night, more than ever did it appear black and ominous, a horror and a fear from which there might be no returning. And as if to emphasise the wordless feeling that surged within me, a long-drawn howl wailed from somewhere in the stagnant night, another answered it, and yet a third far off, in the direction of the Seven Towers, rose tremulous and faint. The dogs of Stambul were awake.

Light-footed and without speaking we stole to within a few yards of the boundary. Our beat terminated on mid-bridge, where the old wooden steps lead down to the steamers for Scutari. Some dogs know it only by the smell, but there are other ways of identification than that. If you forget the smell, there are the steps, and if you forget the steps, there are the sentries. You can't forget the sentries-they won't let you.

Upon the occasion of which I bark, our sentry was one Aziz, famous for the celerity of his grip. The Stambul sentry we saw but dimly, sitting on his haunches in the middle of the bridge. He appeared to be a big yellow dog. As we approached, we heard his "All's well" yelp out. His accent was objectionable. "You'll have to pass them," whispered Zuleika. "Without a fight?" I objected.

"Yes; you must use your brains, not your teeth. Can you do it?"

"I can manage Aziz," I whispered after a moment's thought. "But I'm not sure of the other.'

"Then leave him to me. Keep to the left, where the shadow is deepest. You know what you have to do?"

Yes, I cross Stambul by way of Sultan Valideh, Eski Serai, and Anan Bazarri to the Gate of the Seven Towers, visit all the six Kapu beats to Avan Serai, swim the Golden Horn, run the gauntlet of Ters Haneh, and reach Galata by the old Turkish cemetery.'

I could hear her licking her lips in the darkness.

And to one and all you cry my name."

"To one and all."

"Good. Now, go. You've no time to lose." "But, Zuleika

Well, what is it?"

"Have you nothing to say to me?"

"No. What should I have to say?"

"I-don't-know. But I thought, as I am about to risk my life, you-you

I broke off. She had growled impatiently. The utter hopelessness of making her understand was like a lump of ice on my heart. Something of the bitterness of death already tinged my thoughts. It was my fault. I saw that clearly enough. With another and a better dog, she would have been all anxiety and affection, but with me she was like an empty grave, a thing you peer into with hungry disappointment.

And yet, for nothing in Galata would I have gone back. No; the ache within me drove me forward into the blackness. It even awoke a ferocity I had never before felt. She would see ! If die I must, others should die too; and the death-rattle in their throats would immortalise the name Zuleika.

"I'm ready," I growled shortly.

She crossed to the right, while I stole forward and hailed Aziz. To hoodwink him was easy-he suspected nothing. I merely mentioned that the smell at the top of the steps had changed slightly for the better. Before the words were out of my jaws he was sniffing at it eagerly. In the gloom to the right I could see Zuleika holding the Stambul sentry in close conversation. He appeared to be endeavouring unsuccessfully to kiss her. In another moment I had crossed the boundary.

PART VI

To make my way to the end of the bridge was easy enough; the difficulty lay in negotiating the network of lanes that was bound to enmesh the darkness beyond. These byways of Constantinople, built entirely without plan, nameless, tortuous, innumerable, by day a difficulty, by night a danger, would puzzle the cleverest

But here it was

dog alive. Put me down anywhere in my own beat, and, blind alley or sunken drain, I could tell it at once. different.

Warily I trotted on. Before me, black against the moonless sky, rose the dome and minarets of the Sultan Valideh Mosque. The night was voluble with sounds, eloquent with smells. A dog passed me hurriedly in the darkness. The soft patter of his paws was like the beat of little hammers on my brain. His odour, at once racial and characteristic, awoke my keenest interest. It was with the greatest difficulty I refrained from following him. Further on two dogs were quarrelling over some refuse. Not the words only, but the intonation also, impressed itself upon me with peculiar effect. I could imitate it now-the angry note of greed, the growl of remonstrance, the menace, the retort, the rage suddenly let loose, and the cry of pain that yelped itself into the distance.

Beyond the mosque I halted. So far was good. I had passed many dogs; none had suspected me. True, I had taken my precautions. My Galata smell I had artfully concealed by wallowing in a Stambul drain. As long as I kept my jaws shut, I flattered myself that no one need find me out.

Alas for canine caution! At the very moment when I was priding myself upon my success, discovery overtook me. I suppose I was too confident. I believe I was thinking of Zuleika rather than of how best to avoid notice, for, turning a corner sharply, I ran right into a stranger who was scratching himself in the middle of the road.

"Confound you for a Christian!" he snarled.

I've a hasty temper, I don't deny it. Still, under the circumstances I think I would have swallowed any other insult. But Christian!

"Liar!" I snarled, and sprang at his throat.

We rolled upon the stones. He was past growling. I seldom make a mistake. Other dogs hurried up.

"Did you hear him call?" barked one.

"Who is it?" barked another.

"It's Mohammed," yelped an aged voice, "but I can't see whom he's fighting with."

I took no notice of them. Mohammed kept me busy. I've