place behind a little side-counter.

'Follow me,' he said, and led us through a long, noisome passage, which
was pitch dark and very unevenly paved. Then he unlocked a door and
with a swirl the wind caught it and blew it back on us.

We were looking into a mean little yard, with on one side a high
curving wall, evidently of great age, with bushes growing in the cracks
of it. Some scraggy myrtles stood in broken pots, and nettles
flourished in a corner. At one end was a wooden building like a
dissenting chapel, but painted a dingy scarlet. Its windows and
skylights were black with dirt, and its door, tied up with rope,
flapped in the wind.

'Behold the Pavilion,' Kuprasso said proudly.

'That is the old place,' I observed with feeling. 'What times I've
seen there! Tell me, Mr Kuprasso, do you ever open it now?'

He put his thick lips to my ear.

'If the Signor will be silent I will tell him. It is sometimes
open--not often. Men must amuse themselves even in war. Some of the
German officers come here for their pleasure, and but last week we had
the ballet of Mademoiselle Cici. The police approve--but not often,
for this is no time for too much gaiety. I will tell you a secret.
Tomorrow afternoon there will be dancing--wonderful dancing! Only a
few of my patrons know. Who, think you, will be here?'

He bent his head closer and said in a whisper--

'The Compagnie des Heures Roses.'

'Oh, indeed,' I said with a proper tone of respect, though I hadn't a
notion what he meant.

'Will the Signor wish to come?'

'Sure,' I said. 'Both of us. We're all for the rosy hours.'

'Then the fourth hour after midday. Walk straight through the cafe and
one will be there to unlock the door. You are new-comers here? Take
the advice of Angelo Kuprasso and avoid the streets after nightfall.
Stamboul is no safe place nowadays for quiet men.' I asked him to name
a hotel, and he rattled off a list from which I chose one that sounded
modest and in keeping with our get-up. It was not far off, only a
hundred yards to the right at the top of the hill.

When we left his door the night had begun to drop. We hadn't gone
twenty yards before Peter drew very near to me and kept turning his
head like a hunted stag.

'We are being followed close, Cornelis,' he said calmly.

Another ten yards and we were at a cross-roads, where a little _place_
faced a biggish mosque. I could see in the waning light a crowd of
people who