The prisoners were marched out.  All except Scharnhoff and the woman were confirmed temporarily in the room in which Grim and I had breakfasted.  The woman was taken to the jail until an American missionary could be found to take charge of her.  They always hand the awkward cases over to Americans, partly because they have a gift for that sort of thing, but also because, in case of need, you can blame Americans without much risk of a reaction.

Goodenough left a guard of Sikhs outside the street entrance, to keep out all intruders until the sheikh could collect a few trustworthy masons to seal up the passage again.  Grim, Scharnhoff and I walked quite leisurely to Grim’s quarters, where Grim left the two of us together in the room downstairs while he changed into uniform.

“What will they do with me?” asked Scharnhoff.  He was not far from collapse.  He lay back in the armchair with his mouth open.  I got him some of Grim’s whiskey.

“Nothing ungenerous,” I said.  “If you were going to be hanged Grim would have told you.”

“Do you—­do you think he will let me go?”

“Not until he’s through with you,” said I, “if I’m any judge of him.”

“What use can I be to him?  My life is not worth a minute’s purchase if Noureddin Ali finds me—­he or that other whom they let go.  Oh, what idiots to let Noureddin Ali give them the slip, and then to turn the second-worst one loose as well!  Those English are all mad.  That man Grim has been corrupted by them!”

Grim hardly looked corrupted, rather iron-hard and energetic when he returned presently in his major’s uniform.  You could tell the color of his eyes now; they were blue-gray, and there was a light in them that should warn the wary not to oppose him unless a real fight was wanted.  His manner was brisk, brusk, striding over trifles.  He nodded to me.

“You sick of this?” he asked me.

“How many times?  I want to see it through.”

“All right.  Your own risk.”

He turned on Scharnhoff, standing straight in front of him, with both arms behind his back.

“Look here.  Have you any decency in that body of yours?  Do you want to prove it?  Or would you rather hang like a common scoundrel?  Which is it to be?”

“I—­I—­I—­I—­do not understand you.  What do you mean?”

“Are you game to risk your neck decently or would you rather have the hangman put you out of pain?”

“I—­I was not a conspirator, Major Grim.  If I had known what they intended I would never have lent myself to such a purpose.  I needed money for my excavations—­it has been very difficult to draw on my bank in Vienna.  Noureddin Ali represented himself to me as an enthusiastic antiquarian; and when I spoke of my need he offered money, as I told you already.  I never suspected until last night that he and Abdul Ali of Damascus are French secret agents.  But last night he boasted to me about Abdul Ali.  He laughed at me.  Then he—­”