This, on top of what happened last night! Somebody claiming the Black as his! Perhaps this was the man who had attempted to kill the Black and, having failed, was attempting to get him this way! Alec pulled up in front of the door to the barn. Inside he saw Henry talking to a tall, elderly man. Behind them stood two policemen.

Henry was the first to see Alec’s white face. “Alec,” he said, “this is Mr. Abu …” He stopped and turned to the man beside him.

“Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak,” the stranger finished.

Alec’s eyes swept to the Black safely in his stall, then back to the stranger. His skin was the color of old mahogany and was tough and dry. He was tall and slight with sparkling black eyes. A white beard, cut to a point, jutted out when he talked; his hair was steel gray. Alec found it difficult to guess his age. He wore a brown coat of English cloth and an embroidered waistcoat.

“Mr. Ishak owns the Black, Alec.”

It was Henry’s voice, low and strained. Alec turned and faced his friend; there was a tightening in his throat. He swallowed; then the heat of anger rushed through his body. “But, Henry …,” he almost shouted. “How do we know? Last night … the hypodermic … the gold chain. Has this nothing to do with it?” His gaze swept to the policemen, then back to Henry again. “Were the contents of the hypodermic poisonous? Were there any fingerprints? Isn’t it strange that this man should turn up now … after last night?”

They were silent when Alec finished, then Henry said, “Yes, Alec, it’s strange and all pretty hard to believe … especially comin‘ all at once like this.” He paused, then continued. “This morning when the police came they took the hypo and gold chain back to the station. Later on they came back and told me the stuff in the hypo was a deadly poison. No fingerprints were found. An hour ago they showed up again, bringin‘ Mr. Ishak here with ’em. He had papers which proved he owned the Black.”

“I’d like to see them,” Alec interrupted, turning to Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak.

The tall man handed the papers to Alec, who read them carefully. After a moment he looked at the policemen. One of them, guessing what was foremost in his mind, said, “We’ve checked Washington and he’s who he says he is. When he showed up at the station this afternoon we were suspicious, too.”

Abu Ja‘ Kub ben Ishak looked at Alec and his face was grave. “Perhaps,” he said, “it is best that I explain why I went to the station.” He paused, and his voice softened. “It was simply to identify myself, for I knew that it would be necessary before I could claim my horse. You see, he had been stolen from me. It wasn’t until reports reached me in Arabia of a great black stallion beating Sun Raider and Cyclone that I guessed the Black might possibly be my horse, Shêtân.