Whereunto ye are bidden to take courage.  Whereunto our army of Syria stands ready.  Whereunto the day has been appointed.

Know ye that the tenth day from the sending of this letter, and at dawn, is the appointed time.  Therefore let all make common cause for the favour of the Most High which awaits the Faithful.

In the name of God and Mohammed the Prophet of God, on whom be blessings.”

There followed the Moslem date and the numerical signature over Feisul’s indubitable seal.  Grim figured a moment and worked out the corresponding date according to our western calendar.

“Leaves six days,” he said pleasantly.  “It means the French intend to attack Damascus seven days from now.”

“Let ’em!” Jeremy exploded.  “Feisul’ll give ’em ——!  All they’ve got are Algerians.”

“The French have poison gas,” Grim answered dourly.  “Feisul’s men have no masks.”

“Get ’em some!”

That was Jeremy again.  Grim didn’t answer, but went on talking: 

“They’re going to get Damascus.  All they’ve waited for was poison gas, and now there’s no stopping ’em.  They forged this letter after the gas arrived.  Now if they catch Feisul in Damascus they’ll put him on trial for his life, and they probably hope to get this letter back somehow to use as evidence against him.”

“Go slow, Jim!” Mabel objected.  “Where’s your proof that the French are jockeying this?  Isn’t that Feisul’s seal?”

“Yes, and it’s his paper.  But not his handwriting.”

“He might have dictated it, mightn’t he?”

“Never in those words.  Feisul don’t talk or write that way.  The letter’s a manifest forgery, as I’ll prove by confronting Feisul with it.  But there’s a little oversight that should convince you it’s a forgery.  Have you a magnifying glass, doc?”

Ticknor produced one in a minute, and Grim held the letter under the lamp.  On the rather wide margin, carefully rubbed out, but not so carefully that the indentation did not show, was the French word magnifique that had been written with a rather heavy hand and one of those hard pencils supplied to colonial governments by exporters from stocks that can’t be sold at home.

“That proves nothing,” Mabel insisted.  “All educated Arabs talk French.  Somebody on Feisul’s staff was asked for an opinion on the letter before it went.  My husband’s Arab orderly told me only yesterday that a sling I made for a man in the hospital was magnifique.”

The objection was well enough taken, because it was the sort the forger of the letter would be likely to raise if brought to book.  But Grim’s argument was not exhausted.

“There are other points, Mabel.  For one thing, it’s blue metallic ink.  Feisul’s private letters are all written with indelible black stuff made from pellets that I gave him; they’re imported from the States.”

“But if Feisul wanted to prove an alibi, he naturally wouldn’t use his special private ink,” objected Mabel.