Grim nodded.

“And the rest of your mission?”

“Is confidential.”

“And are you satisfied that I am to be trusted?”

“I think you mean business.”

“Then you should tell me what is the nature of your secret mission to Jerusalem.  Possibly I can give you needed information.  If you have obtained information of value, you should confide in me.  I can be most useful when I know most.”

Grim frowned.  He began to look uneasy.  And the more he did that, the more delight Noureddin Ali seemed to take in questioning him, but be pleaded his own case, too.

“The trouble with the Nationalist movement,” he insisted, “is lack of unity.  There is no mutual confidence—­consequently no combination.  There are too many intellects working at cross purposes.  You should tell me what is being done, so that I may fit in my plans accordingly.  When the Dome of the Rock has been blown up there will be ample opportunity for putting into execution a combined plan.  You must confide in me.”

“Suppose I get rid of that messenger and the boy first,” Grim suggested.

Grim felt in his pocket and produced a purse full of bank notes.  But they were all big ones.

“Never mind, I have change,” said Noureddin Ali.  “How much will you give him?”

“No,” said Grim.  “The boy can take him to the hotel.  Let him wait for me there.  He has no further business here.  He should return to Damascus.  He had better travel with me in the car tomorrow morning.  Take him to the hotel, and wait for me there, you,” he added in Arabic to Suliman.

Yussuf came and opened the door.  Suliman took my hand and led me out.  The door slammed shut behind me, and a great Sikh, leaning on his rifle at a corner thirty feet away, came to life just sufficiently to follow me up-street with curious brown eyes.

“That is Narayan Singh,” announced Suliman when we had passed him.  “He is Jimgrim’s friend.”

There was another Sikh just in sight of him at the next corner, and another beyond him again, all looking rather bored but awfully capable.  None except the first one took the slightest notice of us.

It was some consolation to know that “Jimgrim’s friend” was on guard outside Yussuf’s.  I had no means of knowing what weapons Grim carried, if any, but was positive of one thing:  if either Noureddin Ali or the man with alligator eyes should get an inkling of his real identity his life would not be worth ten minutes’ purchase.  Including Yussuf, who would likely do as he was told, there would be three to one between those silent walls, and it seemed to me that Narayan Singh might as well be three miles away as thirty feet.  However, there was nothing I could do about it.

It was late afternoon already, and the crowd was swarming all one way, the women carrying the baskets and the men lording it near enough to keep an eye on them.  If Suliman and I were followed, whoever had that job had his work cut out, for we were swallowed up in a noisy stream of home-going villagers, whose baskets and other burdens made an effectual screen behind us as well as in front.