We went on knocking, taking turns, until the door opened at last and the banker’s servant peered at us with a candle in his hand, demanding to know in the name of the thousand and one devils whom Solomon boiled in oil what impudent scavengers were making all that noise.  But the banker himself was in the background, thinking perhaps that the French had come already, on the lookout over the servant’s shoulder for a glimpse of a kepi.  So we put our shoulders to the door, thrust by the servant, and walked in.

“Take care!  I have a pistol in my hand!” said the banker’s voice.

“Three shots for a shilling at me then!” retorted Jeremy.

“Who are you?”

“Tell that shivering fool to bring the candle, and you’ll see!”

“Oh, you, is it!  I told you to come in the morning.  I can’t see you now.”

“Can’t see me, eh?  Come in here and peel your eyes, cocky!  Sit down and look at us.  There, take a pew.  Wonder where I learned such good English?  Well, I used to shine the toenails of the Prince o’ Wales, and you have to pass a Civil Service examination before they give you that good job.  I talk any language except French and Jewish, but this master of mine turns out to be a Jew who talks French, and not a prizefighter after all.

“What did I tell you this evening?  Said he was a spy for the French, didn’t I?  I tell you, I’m a dependable man.  What I say you can bet on till you’ve lost all your money.  Here he is, spying to beat the promised-landers—­just had tea with Feisul and learned all the inside facts—­offered me a pound to come and find you, but I charged him two and got the money in advance.

“You ought to pay me a commission, too, and then I’ll get married if there’s an honest woman left in Damascus.  If either of you want my advice, you won’t believe a word the other says, but I expect you’re both too wilful to be guided.  Anyhow, you’ll have to talk in front of me, because my master is afraid of being murdered; he isn’t afraid of ghosts or bad smells, but the sight of a long knife turns his heart to water and sets him to praying so loud that you can’t get a word in edgewise.  Go on, both of you—­yalla!  Talk!”

Does it begin to be obvious why kings used to employ court jesters?  The modern cabinets should have them—­men like Jeremy (though they’d be hard to find) to break the crust of situations.  Suspicion weakens in the presence of incongruity.

“This fellow seems less than half-witted,” I said, “but he’s shrewd, and I’ve found him useful.  Unfortunately he has picked up a lot of information, so we’ll have to keep an eye on him.  My business is to communicate with the French General Staff and I’m told you know how to manage it.”

“Huh-huh?  Who told you that?”

“Those who gave me my instructions.  If you don’t know who they are without my telling you, you’re the wrong man and I’ll not waste time with you.”