Out of Context

Tales of Secret Egypt
Sax Rohmer

I could not help thinking that it more closely resembled insanity than either; but since Bréton had made no reference to the wearer of the black turban, I experienced less anxiety respecting his physical than his mental welfare.

Three days later there was a dramatic development. Drifting idly into Bréton’s studio one morning I found him pacing the place in despair and glaring at his unfinished canvas like a man distraught.

“Where is Shejeret ed-Durr?” I inquired?

“Gone!” he replied. “She disappeared yesterday and I can find no trace of her.”

“Surely the excellent Suleyman, proprietor of the dancing establishment, can assist you?”

“I tell you,” cried Bréton savagely, “that she has disappeared. No one knows what has become of her.”

I looked at him in dismay. He presented a mournful spectacle. He was unshaven and his dark hair was wildly disordered. His despair was more acute than I should have supposed possible in the circumstances; and I concluded that his interest in Yâsmîna was deeper than I had assumed or that I was incapable of comprehending the artistic temperament. I suppose the Gallic blood in him had something to do with it, but I was unspeakably distressed to observe that the man was on the verge of tears.