e
eyeballs."

"But you do remember that it was long ago--when your own daughter
was very little?"

"Exactly. That is my recollection, monsieur.... And I recall," said
the pasha, suddenly obliging and sentimental, "that even my little
one cried for the child. It was afflicting.... Assure the family in
France of my sympathy in their disappointment."

"I am sorry that my news is after all of no interest to you,"
observed McLean, setting the example for rising. "You will pardon my
error of information--and accept my appreciation of your courtesy."

"It is I who am indebted for your trouble," their host assured
them, all smiles again.

But Ryder was not to be led away without a parting shot.

"The name of the Delcasse child--was Aimee?"

Imperceptibly Tewfick hesitated. Then bowed in assent.

"Odd," said young Ryder thoughtfully. "And your own daughter's name,
also, is Aimee.... Two little ones with the same name."

With a slight, vexed laugh, as one despairing of understanding, the
pasha turned to McLean. "Your young friend, monsieur, is uninformed
that Turkish children have many names.... After the loss of the
elder we called the little one by the same name.... I trust I have
made everything perfectly clear to you?"

"As crystal," said McLean politely.

* * * * *

"As lightning," said Jack Ryder hotly, striding down the street. "It
was a flash of invention, that yarn. When I spoke about the
questions raised by his marriage the old fox sniffed the wind and
was afraid of trouble--he decided on the instant that no future
fortune was worth interference with his plans, and he cut the ground
from under our feet.... Lord, what a lie!"

"Masterly, you must admit."

"Oh, I admired the beggar, even while I choked on it. But
fever--desert burial--two Aimees! And the sentimental face he
pulled--he ought to have had a spot-light and wailing woodwinds."

McLean chuckled.

"I'll believe anything of him now," Ryder rushed on. "I'll bet he
murdered Delcasse and kidnapped the mother--and now he is selling
their daughter--"

"I fancy murder's a bit beyond our Tewfick. That's too thick. He's
probably telling the truth there--he may never have known Delcasse.
And as for the widow--she must have been in no end of trouble with a
dead man and a wrecked expedition and a baby on her hands, and
Tewfick may have offered himself as a grateful solution to her.
You'd be surprised at the things I've