I was there– and he evidently had a great deal to do with it. I thought at the time it was hypnotism – but it's clear enough now that this confederate of Ventimore's is a powerful and most unscrupulous magician.

Sylvia

[Springing up indignantly, and crossing to fireplace.] I won't hear any more! You're trying to make me doubt Horace again – but you can't! you can't! I know he'd never send a magician to hurt father! [As Horace enters from the hall, looking pale and wild.] Ah! Horace, you needn't tell me! You at least have no share in what has happened!

Horace

[Going to her and taking both her hands.] Darling! For Heaven's sake tell me what has happened?

Sylvia

[Triumphantly.] You hear, Mr. Pringle? He doesn't even know! Now will you dare to repeat what you were saying – to his face?

Pringle

If you insist. I've been saying, Ventimore, that I believe you to have inspired this abominable transformation of the Professor.

Horace

It's true, then? He – he really is a mule?

Sylvia

[Disengaging herself, with a sudden doubt.] Horace, tell me —did you send any one to father!

Horace

[Sinking into chair by sofa.] Heaven forgive me! I did.

Sylvia

[Recoiling from him with aversion.] To transform him into a mule?

[She goes to a chair below fireplace, and seats herself in despair.

Horace

[Rising and going towards her.] No, no! I wanted old Fakrash to convince him that he really had been in the bottle – but not like this! I thought I could trust him to do that! [Bitterly.] But I might have known!

Pringle

So you still stick to that story about the Jinnee?

Horace

Surely even you must believe it now?

Pringle

I – I admit that it doesn't seem so incredible as it did. But, if true, there's all the less excuse for you. Because you can make this Jinnee, or whatever he is, do anything you tell him. You can't deny that – I've seen you do it, you know!

Sylvia

Ah!

Horace

I can manage him right enough when he's there– it's when I haven't got my eye on him that he makes all these mistakes.

Sylvia

But why should he change poor father into a one-eyed mule? It's so utterly unreasonable!

Horace

I'm afraid the Professor alarmed him by threatening to send for a constable. However, darling – and this is what I'm here to tell you – it won't last long. I'll take care that your father will soon be restored.

Sylvia

[Rising, overjoyed.] You will? Oh, I must tell them! [Rushing to the sliding-doors and slightly opening them.] Mother, mother! I've news —good news!

Mrs. Futvoye

[Looking cautiously through the opening.] What is it, Sylvia? [Sees Horace with displeasure.] Mr. Ventimore! You here! [Stamping heard from study. Mrs. Futvoye turns and speaks over her shoulder.] Keep back, Anthony! Keep back! Remember – you're not fit to be seen, as you are!

Sylvia

[Happily.] It doesn't matter, mother. They both know. And Horace is going to make father all right again.

Mrs. Futvoye

Oh, in that case —

[She pushes the sofa aside and comes through, leaving the sliding-doors open, and pulling the curtains back, but replacing the sofa.

Horace

Mrs. Futvoye, I've something to say which I think will cheer the Professor up a bit.

Mrs. Futvoye

Unless you can say how and when my husband may expect to see an end of all this —

Horace

I shall make old Fakrash see to that.

Mrs. Futvoye

Make old Fakrash see to it?

Horace

The Jinnee I let out of that brass bottle. I told you all about him last night. You didn't believe me then.

Pringle

None of us did. But I'm afraid, Mrs. Futvoye, we've got to believe now.

Mrs. Futvoye

[To Horace.] Then – are you responsible for this?

Horace

Indirectly. Only indirectly. I couldn't prevent Fakrash making an ass of himself.

Mrs. Futvoye

You might have prevented his making a mule of my husband!

[Another plunge and crash of glass from behind.

Horace

I wasn't consulted! But I will say this for old Fakrash – nobody's readier to repair a blunder when once it's pointed out to him. He'll do anything for me.

Mrs. Futvoye

Then send for him and insist on his repairing what he's done here.

Sylvia

[Eagerly, down on right.] Yes, yes. Send for him, Horace, send for him!

Horace

[Heavily.] I'm afraid it wouldn't be any use.

Pringle

Nonsense! You could make him come if you chose!

Horace

I tell you I can't. I don't even know where he is – or if he hasn't gone off to Arabia again —

Mrs. Futvoye

Off to Arabia! [Going towards him.] And when —when is he likely to be back?

Horace

[Suddenly.] Oh! [He collapses into the chair above the fireplace.] I – I've only just remembered. He told me he was going to settle down there!

[General consternation.

Mrs. Futvoye

And is my husband to remain a mule for the rest of his life?

[Furious plunging heard from study.

Horace

[In a choked voice.] Don't ask me, Mrs. Futvoye – don't ask me!

Pringle.

[Coming towards Horace.] I thought, Ventimore, you came to cheer the Professor up?

Sylvia

Horace, if you don't summon that odious Jinnee this instant, I shall hate you! I'm beginning to, as it is!

Horace

[Rising and coming towards her.] My darling, I'd do any mortal thing I could – but I'm helpless! [At this instant Fakrash, in Oriental robe and turban, and a long green cloak, suddenly emerges from the cabinet between the sliding-doors and the door to the hall, and stands scowling and evidently trying to repress both rage and fear. Horace sees him first.] No, I'm not! Hooray! we're saved! He's turned up, after all! [The others retreat towards the fireplace in alarm.] Leave him to me. I know how to manage him. [He approaches Fakrash.] So here you are! If you aren't ashamed of yourself, you jolly well ought to be! A pretty mess you've landed us in this time! Just you get us out of it again!

Fakrash

[Waving him aside.] No greeting to thee! I have come upon my own affairs.

Horace

You'll attend to mine first. Undo this infamous spell of yours – do you hear?

Fakrash

[Sullenly.] I will grant nothing more at thy request.

Horace

I don't think you quite understand. I don't request– I command. On the head and on the eye!

Fakrash

Thou art wasting breath. No longer am I under obligation to thee, O thou perfidious one!

Horace

[Anxiously.] Why – what's come to you? [Coaxingly.] I say! Fakrash – old chappie. Don't play the goat now! You can't mean to leave me on the mat like this!

Fakrash

[Glaring at him.] Canst thou not perceive how hateful thou hast become to me?

Horace

I do notice a coolness. But why? You were chummy enough not half an hour ago!

Fakrash

[Going from him towards right.] I had not then discovered thy treachery.

Horace

You're barking up the wrong tree, as usual, you know. Come – tell me what it's all about?

Fakrash

Not now. I will deal with thee hereafter, misbegotten cur that thou art!

[He stalks towards window.

Mrs. Futvoye

[From below fireplace, to Horace.] You don't seem to be managing him very well so far.

Pringle

[Coming down to Horace.] You gave us to understand that he would do anything for you.

Horace

So he will, generally – but not just now. [Crossing to Mrs. Futvoye and Sylvia, while Fakrash remains apart, with his back to the others.] He's suddenly turned nasty – I've no idea why. But I shall bring him round – in time.

Mrs. Futvoye

It's my husband who has to be brought round – and there's no time to be lost!

Horace

I know – but if I press Fakrash in his present mood, I shall only make matters worse.

Pringle

Well, if you can't – or won't– get him to do something, one of us must try! Perhaps if Miss Sylvia could bring herself to appeal to his better feelings – ?

Sylvia

[Shrinking back.] People who come out of bottles can't have better feelings! I couldn't —really, I couldn't.

Pringle

You'd rather not? [Sylvia shudders.] Then I must see what I can do.

Mrs. Futvoye

How good of you!

Horace

[Drawing Pringle back as he is going towards Fakrash.] I wouldn't, Pringle! He's in a vile temper. And, unless you're anxious to become a domestic animal of some sort —

Sylvia

Pray don't run such a risk, dear Mr. Pringle!

Pringle

I shall be very careful, and I trust that, with ordinary tact – [He makes a step towards Fakrash.] Ahem! [Fakrash turns suddenly round with a feline snarl; all retreat to left; Pringle pulls himself together and tries again.] My – my dear sir, may I ask your attention for a few moments?

Fakrash

[Striding towards him.] Who art thou? – a friend of yonder serpent's?

Horace

[Indignantly.] Oh, I say! "Serpent," you know! "Serpent" is a bit —

[Fakrash ignores him.

Pringle

No, no, I repudiate him. I represent this unfortunate family —they repudiate him too.

Mrs. Futvoye and Sylvia

[Together.] Yes, yes, indeed —indeed we do!

[Horace sinks speechlessly on chair by sofa on right.

Fakrash

[To Pringle.] I will hearken unto thee, for indeed thou seemest a person of abundant intelligence and excellent conduct.

Pringle

You're very kind – I hope I am. Hem! [Going nearer Fakrash.] I am sure, sir, that, if you had realised the serious embarrassment you have caused the members of this household by transforming its head into a one-eyed mule, you would never have allowed your – your sense of humour to carry you so far.

Fakrash

For mine own safety was it accomplished – for the sage threatened to deliver me into custody.

Horace

[Starting up and coming towards Fakrash.] He never meant it! And, anyhow, you're safe enough!

Fakrash

[Turning on him fiercely.] Hold thy lying tongue!

Pringle

Ventimore, I must beg you not to interfere.

Horace

Damn it all, Pringle, he's my Jinnee – not yours!

[He attempts to join Mrs. Futvoye and Sylvia, who turn their backs on him, after which he returns to his former place, crushed.

Pringle

[To Fakrash.] Evidently, sir, there has been some slight misunderstanding on both sides. But I feel confident that, if you will only consent to see this unfortunate gentleman, the matter can very soon be amicably arranged.

Fakrash

I am here for this very purpose. Let this learned man appear before me.

Pringle

I won't keep you waiting long. [He goes up to the sliding-doors and calls.] Professor! If you will kindly step this way, Mr. Fakrash would be glad to see you.

[A pause. The Mule comes slowly on from the left side of the sliding doors.

Horace

[Overwhelmed.] Great Heavens above!

Pringle

[Trying to be polite and at his ease.] Er – how do you do, Professor? Sorry to see you looking so – so unlike yourself. [The Mule shows irritation; Pringle retreats nervously; then, in an undertone to Mrs. Futvoye.] He – he can't jump that sofa, can he?

Mrs. Futvoye

[In an undertone, to him.] Of course not – that's why it's there!

Pringle

[To Fakrash.] A distinguished archæologist, sir, a corresponding member of every learned society in Europe – reduced to these extremities! [To The Mule, which seems to feel its position acutely.] Professor, as Ventimore has refused to interfere, I have taken on myself to assure this – this venerable Jane —

Horace

[In an undertone to Pringle.] Jinnee! Call him "Jinnee"!

Pringle

[To Horace.] I prefer to leave such familiarities to you, Ventimore – [To Mule.] – this venerable personage, Professor, that if you have inadvertently offended him, you are ready to make any reasonable apology. That is so?

[The Mule bows its head.

Fakrash

Ask if he be willing to surrender the stopper of the bottle wherein I was enclosed.

[Mule shakes head.

Pringle

Now, Professor, if you consent to a request which I must say seems to me a very moderate and proper one, will you – er – signify the same in the usual manner by raising – er – your right ear?

[The Mule's left ear goes up sharply.

Fakrash

The left ear! He refuseth!

Pringle

No, no, he meant the right ear – he hasn't got complete muscular control as yet. I really think we should get on better if you gave him back his power of speech.

Fakrash

It may be so. [He approaches The Mule and addresses it.] O thou of remarkable attainments, whom I have caused to assume the shape of this mule, speak, I command thee, and say if thou wilt restore my stopper.

The Mule

[Laying back its ears and showing its teeth.] I'll see you damned first!

[General sensation.

Mrs. Futvoye

[Going towards The Mule in distress.] Oh! he wouldn't be so obstinate if he wasn't a mule!

Fakrash

[To The Mule.] Thou art trifling with my safety and thine own! Reveal unto me the spot in which thou hast hidden the stopper and delay not – for it will be no difficult undertaking to transform these women of thine into mules like thyself.

[Horror of Mrs. Futvoye and Sylvia, and despair and rage of Horace, who rises and rushes towards Fakrash.

The Mule

You can do it for all I care – !

Mrs. Futvoye

Oh, Anthony!

The Mule

We shall at least be a more united family than we are now!

Mrs. Futvoye

[Frantically.] Anthony! Don't provoke him! Think of others!

Fakrash

[With some anxiety.] Hearken! I am disposed to show thee indulgence. Obey, – and I will restore thee to what thou wert.

The Mule

Why couldn't you say so before? I'll accept those terms, as there's no alternative. Only – [with his head on one side reflectively] – I can't for the life of me recollect what I did with that seal. Tut-tut!

Mrs. Futvoye

Oh, Anthony! Think! Think!

[General suspense and excitement.

The Mule

[Irritably.] I am thinking, Sophia! [After further reflection.] Ah! I remember now! I put it inside one of the vases on the mantelpiece, for safety.

[Horace looks aimlessly under the table and sofa; Mrs. Futvoye, Sylvia, and Pringle rush to the fireplace and search the vases.

Mrs. Futvoye and Sylvia

[Turning vases upside down.] Which? Which? No. It's not there! It's not here.

Pringle

[As he finds the metal cap in the last vase.] I've got it! [Going to Fakrash, and presenting it.] Allow me, sir.

[Fakrash snatches it eagerly. Pringle goes up to The Mule and reassures it, Mrs. Futvoye accompanying him.

Fakrash

[Gloating over the cap.] It is indeed my stopper! Now shall I be secure from disturbance!

Horace

[Going to Fakrash, seizing his arm, and drawing him to the right; then, in an undertone.] Pitch into me afterwards if you like – but listen now. You must keep your side of the bargain!

Fakrash

[Coldly.] What I have promised I perform.

Horace

[Relieved.] Ah, I knew you were a good old sort – at bottom. And – I say —do make them understand that I've had nothing to do with all this.

Fakrash

[Grimly.] Have no uneasiness – for thou shalt receive justice. [Horace retires to sofa on right, expecting to be rehabilitated.] Hear, O company, my words! I repent of my conduct in obeying the orders of yonder wretch – [pointing to Horace, who gasps in stupefaction] – who is seeking even now to deter me from showing kindness.

Horace

Liar! Liar!

Fakrash

Being desirous of escaping marriage with this damsel – [with a step towards Sylvia] – he commanded me to transform her father as ye see. And I, whom he had delivered from a bottle of brass, was compelled by gratitude to fulfil all his desires.

Horace

[Going up to Fakrash furiously.] You infernal old scoundrel! [Fakrash smiles malignantly and stalks off to the right; Horace crosses to Sylvia.] You don't believe him, Sylvia? You can't!

Sylvia

Don't speak to me! Don't come near me!

[Mrs. Futvoye and Pringle express disgust and indignation.

Horace

You're devilish hard on me, all of you. [He staggers to the sofa in front of sliding-doors and falls back, hitting his head against The Mule's nose; The Mule makes a grab at him; he rises in confusion.] I – I beg your pardon, sir!

[He retreats to the left of the sofa.

Sylvia

[Down on left, to Fakrash.] But you won't obey him any longer, will you? You are going to restore poor father?

Fakrash

[On the right.] Let him first swear that he and all his household will preserve secrecy concerning this affair.

The Mule

[Angrily.] Damn it, sir, we're not likely to chatter about it!

Pringle

[Approaching Fakrash, reassuringly.] It will never be allowed to go beyond the family.

Fakrash

[To Pringle.] O eloquent and comely-faced one, I accept thy undertaking, for thou art indeed a worthy and honourable person. [As Pringle, highly flattered, returns to The Mule, Fakrash beckons Mrs. Futvoye.] In order that I may restore thy husband, bring me hither a cup of fair water.

Mrs. Futvoye

There's some in the dining-room. [Going towards door to hall.] At least, it's filtered, if that will do!

The Mule

Don't ask foolish questions, Sophia – do as you're told!

Mrs. Futvoye

[With dignity.] I think you forget yourself, Anthony!

[Pringle opens the door for her, and she goes out.

Sylvia

[Going to Pringle, and taking his hand.] Dear, dear Mr. Pringle! Where should we be without you?

Pringle

[Modestly.] Don't mention it, Miss Sylvia! That is – no trouble, I assure you!

[They come down together to the left, talking in dumb show.

Horace

[Going to Fakrash on the right.] You – you pig-headed old muddler – [pointing to Sylvia and Pringle] – look at that! You've done for me this time.

Fakrash

[Darkly.] Nay – not yet.

[Mrs. Futvoye enters from the hall, carrying a glass goblet full of water.

Mrs. Futvoye

[To Fakrash.] I've brought it in this, but if you prefer a breakfast-cup —

The Mule

[Impatiently.] What the devil does it matter? Let him get on with it!

Fakrash

[As he meets Mrs. Futvoye and takes the goblet from her.] This will serve. [He goes up to The Mule and sprinkles some drops of water on its head.] Quit this form and return unto the form in which thou wert!

[The Mule fades into the Professor, who appears gasping and in an extremely bad temper; Pringle shifts the sofa to let him pass; Fakrash retires to near the window.

Sylvia

[Rushing to the Professor.] Father!

Mrs. Futvoye

[Coming to his other side.] Now, Anthony, after all you have been through, you'd better sit down for a little.

Sylvia

[As she and Mrs. Futvoye bring him down to the chair left of sofa on right.] It is lovely to have you back, father dear!

Pringle

[Joining them.] You're looking better already, sir!

Professor Futvoye

[Sinking into the chair by sofa.] Tut-tut! There, there – nothing to make all this fuss about! If one of you had only had the sense to try cold water, I should have come round long before this!

Sylvia

But, father! – you forget that, but for Mr. Pringle —

Professor Futvoye

No, my dear, I do not. I owe much – very much – to Pringle's good offices – as I shall remember, my dear Pringle, as I shall remember. But I attribute my restoration in some measure to the fact that – from first to last – I was able to preserve perfect calm and self-control.

Pringle

[With an involuntary glance at the study, in which every article of furniture is smashed.] Quite so! And now I want you – all three – to celebrate your recovery by dining with me this evening at the Savoy. You promised you would last night, Professor. Not in the restaurant – I'll engage a private room.

Professor Futvoye

No, no – not to-night, my boy. I don't feel up to going out just yet.

Mrs. Futvoye

Nonsense, Anthony! You can dine out anywhere now, you know – and it will do you good. Thank you, Mr. Pringle, we shall be delighted. Sha'n't we, Sylvia?

Sylvia

I think I would rather stay at home this evening, mother.

[Pringle tries to persuade her in by-play.

Professor Futvoye

[Rising.] We'll come, Pringle, we'll come. [To Fakrash, who is still standing by the window.] Now then, sir, you've got all you came for – what are you waiting for?

Fakrash

To receive thy thanks.

Professor Futvoye

What? For exposing me to all this humiliation! You'll get no thanks from me, sir – and the sooner you and your accomplice relieve this house of your presence the better!

Fakrash

[Moving to right behind the sofa.] Let the rat, while he is still between the leopard's paws, observe rigidly all the laws of politeness! Take heed – or thou mayst become more hideous even than a mule!

[General sensation.

Professor Futvoye

Eh? I spoke hastily – but I meant nothing offensive! I – I'm very much obliged to you. And now don't let us detain you —either of you – from your other engagements.

Horace

[Coming forward.] I'm going, sir – but I must say one last word to Sylvia – !

Fakrash

[To Sylvia.] Hearken not to this deceiver, O damsel, – for he will never wed thee!

Sylvia

[Indignantly.] I'll never wed him!

Fakrash

Thou wilt not – for he is betrothed to a darker bride.

Horace

What!

Sylvia

Ah! [To Horace, coldly.] The – the lady I met last night? I wish you every happiness. [Turning to Pringle.] On second thoughts, Mr. Pringle, I will come to dinner to-night.

[Pringle expresses his gratification.

Horace

[Going nearer Sylvia.] Sylvia! It may be for the last time – !

Fakrash

It is! Come! [He extends his right hand towards Horace, who is irresistibly drawn backwards to him.] For I will tarry no longer.

[He seizes his arm.

Horace

[Making an ineffectual resistance.] Let me go, Fakrash! Where are you taking me to?

Fakrash

[Seizes him round the waist.] To meet – [he soars up with Horace through the open window on the right, and the remainder of the sentence is continued outside in mid-air] – thy bride!