“Well, what’s the idea?” asked Grim, finishing his whiskey.

Scharnhoff shrugged his shoulders.

“You know my position.  I am helpless—­here on suffrance—­obliged by idiotic regulations to sit in idleness.  But if I could find a British officer with brains—­surely there must be one somewhere! —­one with some authority, who is considered above suspicion, I could show him, perhaps, how to get rich without committing any crime he need feel ashamed of.”

I could not see Grim’s eyes from where I sat, and he did not make any nervous movement that could have given him away.  Yet I was conscious of a new alertness, and I think Scharnhoff detected it, too, for he changed his tactics on the instant.

“Hah!  Hah!  I was joking!  Nobody who is fool enough to be a professional soldier would be clever enough to find the Tomb of the Kings and keep the secret for ten minutes!  Hah!  Hah!  But I have a favour I would like to beg of you, Major Grim.”

“I’ve no particular authority, you know.”

“Ach!  The Administrator listens to you; I am assured of that.”

“He listens sometimes, yes, then usually does the other thing.  Well, what’s the request?”

“A simple one.  There is a risk—­not much, but just a little risk that some fool might stumble on that secret of the Tomb of the Kings and get away with the treasure.  Now, did you ever set a thief to catch a thief?  Hah!  Hah!  I would be a better watch-dog than any you could find.  I know Jerusalem from end to end.  I know all the likely places.  Why don’t you get permission for me to wander about Jerusalem undisturbed and keep my eye open for tomb-robbers?  If I am not to have the privilege of discovering that Book of Chronicles, at least I would like to see that no common plunderer gets it.  Surely I am known by now to be harmless!  Surely they don’t suspect me any longer of being an agent of the Kaiser, or any such nonsense as that!  Why not make use of me?  Get me a permit, please, Major Grim, to go where I please by day or night without interference.  Tomb-robbers usually work at night, you know.”

“All right,” said Grim.  “I’ll try to do that.”

“Ah!  I always knew you were a man of good sense!  Have more whiskey?  A cigar then?”

“Can’t promise anything, of course,” said Grim, “but you shall have an answer within twenty-four hours.”

Outside, as we turned our faces toward Jerusalem’s gray wall, Grim opened up a little and gave me a suggestion of something in the wind.

“Did you see what he has in that cupboard?”

“Yes.  Two Arab costumes.  Two short crow-bars.”

“Did you notice the grayish dust on the rug—­three or four footprints at the corner near the cupboard?”

“Can’t say I did.”

“No.  You wouldn’t be looking for it.  These men who pose as intellectuals never believe that any one else has brains.  They fool themselves.  There’s one thing no man can afford to do, East of the sun or West of the moon.  You can steal, slay, intrigue, burn—­break all the Ten Commandments except one, and have a chance to get away with it.  There’s just one thing you can’t do, and succeed.  He’s done it!”