to help
Feisul, a lineal descendant of the Prophet? You have helped him
to a throne. Now strike to hold him there!"

"Jimgrim says, I may go away and leave you here," growled Anazeh.
"What say you?"

"Ala khatrak. (Please yourself.) Jimgrim is wise."

"He is the father of wisdom. Mashallah! I will consider it.
There will be a banquet presently!"

"And loot! You can help yourselves!" shouted Abdul Ali of
Damascus. Then he sat down amid a storm of applause. Suliman
ben Saoud--Jimgrim--was on his feet before the tumult died away,
and again they grew perfectly still to listen to him. If an
Arab loves anything under heaven more than his own style of
fighting, it is the action and reaction of debate. I could
not understand a word of the mid-Arabian dialect, but Abdul
Ali's retorts were plain enough; and from the way that Grim
pointed at me and Mahommed ben Hamza it was fairly easy to
follow what was happening.

He denounced me as possibly dangerous, and wondered why they
permitted me to have an interpreter, who could whisper to me
everything that was being said.

"Put out the interpreter!" sneered Abdul Ali, and there was a
chorus of approval. Mahommed ben Hamza got up and hurried for
the door while the hurrying was good and painless to himself,
though it was hardly that to other people; forcing his way
between the close-packed notables he kicked more than one of them
pretty badly and grinned when they cursed him. I saw Abdul Ali
of Damascus whisper to one of his rose-coloured parasites, who
got up at once and made his way toward the door, too.

"The fellow is from Hebron," Abdul Ali sneered in a voice loud
enough for all to hear. "It is best that he should not go back
to Hebron to tell tales! I have attended to it."

My blood ran cold. I tried to catch Grim's eye, but he would not
look in my direction. I wondered whether he had heard Abdul
Ali's threat. It seemed to me that if Mahommed ben Hamza were
either murdered or imprisoned Grim's whole chance of success was
gone. The danger would be multiplied tenfold. Anazeh seemed the
only remaining hope. The old-rose individual who followed ben
Hamza had not reached the door yet.

"How about your men?" I asked.

"They are all right." Anazeh's eyes pursued the liquor bottle.

"Why not go and see?" I suggested.

"Ilhamdul'illah, they are good men. I know them. If there is
trouble they will come and tell me."

The door opened softly. The g