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[Suddenly the room is in complete darkness; there is a loud report and a spurt of flame from the bottle. Horace has fallen back on the floor, with the cap of the bottle in his hand. There is just light enough to see a tall weird figure standing with out-stretched arms behind the bottle.
Horace
[Sitting up and rubbing the back of his head; faintly.] Hullo! Is any one there? Who's that come in?
The Stranger
[In an attitude of supplication.] Towbah! Yah nebbi Ullah! Anna lah amill Kathahlik ibadan! Wullah-hi!
Horace
I daresay you're perfectly right, sir – but I've no idea what you're talking about.
The Stranger
[Repeating the Arabic sentence.] Towbah! (&c. &c.) Wullah-hi!
Horace
[About to raise himself, sees the figure for the first time, and falls back astonished; then, recovering himself.] I suppose you've just taken the rooms on the ground-floor – so you must be able to make yourself understood in English?
The Stranger
[The room has grown lighter, and he is seen to be in dull-green robes and a high-peaked turban. His long grey beard is divided into three thin strands; his eyes are slightly slanted, and his expression is a curious mixture of fatuous benignity, simplicity, and cunning.] Assuredly I can speak so as to be understood of all men.
Horace
Then it's as well to do it. What was it you said just now?
The Stranger
I said: "Repentance, O Prophet of Allah! I will not return to the like conduct ever!"
Horace
Oh, I beg your pardon. [Sitting up again.] Thought you were speaking to me. But I say – [looking up at him] – how do you come to be here?
The Stranger
Surely by thine own action!
Horace
I see. You ran up to see what was the matter. Fact is, my head's still rather buzzy. I fancy I must have hit it somehow when I was trying to open that jar.
The Stranger
Then it was thy hand and none other that removed the stopper?
Horace
I – I suppose so. All I know is that something went off with a bang. I can't imagine what could have been inside the beastly thing!
The Stranger
Who else but I myself?
Horace
[Slowly rising to his feet.] You must have your little joke, eh? [He reels against the table.] Or did I misunderstand you? My head's in such a muddle!
The Stranger
I tell thee that I have been confined within that accursed vessel for centuries beyond all calculation.
Horace
You can't pull my leg like that, you know! Seriously, just tell me who you are.
The Stranger
Know then that he who now addresseth thee is none other than Fakrash-el-Aamash, a Jinnee of the Green Jinn.
Horace
[Half to himself.] Singular, "Jinnee" – plural, "Jinn." Where did I hear that? I – I shall remember presently.
Fakrash
I dwelt in the Palace of the Mountain of the Clouds in the Garden of Irem, above the City of Babel.
Horace
[To himself.] Why, of course! Sylvia! The Arabian Nights! [To Fakrash.] I can quite account for you now– but go on.
Fakrash
For a certain offence that I committed, the wrath of Suleymán, the son of Dáood – on whom be peace! – [he salaams] – was heavy against me, and he commanded that I should be enclosed within a bottle of brass, and thrown into the Sea of El-Karkar, there to abide the Day of Doom.
Horace
Don't think I'm believing in you. [Walking round the front of the bottle, as if to test Fakrash by touching him.] I've sense enough to know you're not real!
[He withdraws his hand without venturing upon the experiment.
Fakrash
Stroke thy head and recover thy faculties! I am real, even as thou art.
[He touches Horace's shoulder; Horace recoils.
Horace
I shall come round in time! [By the table, to Fakrash.] You tell me you've just come out of this bottle?
Fakrash
Dost thou doubt that it is even as I have said?
Horace
Well, I should have thought myself you'd take a bigger size in bottles. But of course, I couldn't doubt you if I saw you get into it again.
Fakrash
That would be the easiest of actions! [He makes a sudden swooping movement, as though to re-enter the bottle, and then thinks better of it.] But I should indeed be a silly-bearded one to do this thing, since thou mightst be tempted to seal me up once more!
Horace
[Disappointed, and backing against table, half afraid.] Too knowing an old bird to be caught like that, aren't you? But I don't mind! You'll disappear presently.
Fakrash
True, O young man of perfect qualities and good works! But I will not leave thee before I have rewarded thy kindness. For in the sky it is written upon the pages of the air: "He who doeth kind actions shall experience the like!" Therefore – [with a lordly gesture] – demand of me what thou wilt, and thou shalt receive!
Horace
Oh, I shall be awake so soon it's not worth while troubling you.
Fakrash
Dismiss bashfulness from thee. [Advancing towards him.] For by thy hand hath my deliverance been accomplished, and if I were to serve thee for a thousand years, regarding nothing else, even thus could I not requite thee!
Horace
[Retreating in some alarm to window.] Look here. I don't want anything, and – and the best thing you can do is to vanish.
Fakrash
[At back of table.] Not till thou hast told me thy name and the trade that thou followest.
Horace
Oh, you'll go then? [Fakrash assents.] Well, I'll humour you. My name is Horace Ventimore, and I'm an architect. I get my living by building houses, you know. Or rather, I should, if I could only get hold of a client – which I can't.
Fakrash
[Coming down nearer bottle.] Grant thy servant a period of delay, and it may be that I can procure thee a client.
Horace
Good old Arabian Nights again! You'd better not make the delay long – my head will be clear very soon.
Fakrash
Greater rewards by far will I bestow upon thee, most meritorious of men! But now – [going up to right] – I must leave thee for a season.
Horace
I knew I was coming round – you'll be gone directly.
Fakrash
Aye, for I must seek out Suleymán – [salaaming] – on whom be peace! – and obtain pardon from him.
[He waves his arm, and the door at back flies open.
Horace
[Eagerly.] Yes – I would! You go and do that! Make haste! [The door closes, leaving Fakrash visible through it in an unearthly light.] Good-bye – and good luck!
Fakrash
[Through door.] To thee also! And be assured that I will not be unmindful of thy welfare!
[The door becomes solid as Fakrash vanishes.
Horace
[Rubbing his eyes.] What a queer dream! [He goes up to the door, opens it, then returns and sits by table.] So vivid! [He sees the brass bottle on the floor.] Open! [Looking inside it.] Empty! H'm, better get it out of the way.
[He takes the bottle in one hand and the cap in the other, and carries them into the bedroom on right. The moment he has gone there is a rush of wind, and then a heavy thud on the balcony outside, and Mr. Wackerbath, a stout, prosperous-looking, elderly gentleman, in tall hat, frock-coat, white waistcoat, &c., reels through the open window into the room, and sinks into the armchair on left of tablet where he sits puffing and blowing.
Mr. Wackerbath
[Feebly.] Where am I? How did I – ? [He takes off his hat.] Ah, of course! I remember now. [He rises as Horace enters from bedroom.] Mr. – ah – Ventimore, I think? Mr. Horace Ventimore?
Horace
[Slightly surprised.] Yes, that's my name. [Offering chair on right of table.] Won't you sit down?
Mr. Wackerbath
Thank you – I will. [He sits down.] I – I ought to apologise for dropping in on you in this – ah – unceremonious way – but I acted, I may say – ah – on a sudden impulse.
Horace
I'm afraid I haven't much time to spare – but if it's anything of importance —
