Tewfick Pasha turned in his chair and cocked his eyes at this strange young man who had dropped from the blue with this extensive advice.  He looked puzzled.  This American fitted into no type of his acquaintance.  He was so very young and slim and boyish ... with not at all the air of a legal representative....  But McLean’s position vouched for him.

“You speak for the French family, monsieur?”

Unhesitatingly Ryder declared that he did.

“Then you may inform the family,” announced Tewfick, bristling, “that my daughter has been very well cared for all these years without advice from France.”

“I haven’t a doubt of it,” said Ryder quickly, “but the French law might begin to entertain doubts of it, if mademoiselle were married off now without consultation with the authorities....  Already,” he added a little meaningly, as the other shrugged the suggestion away, “there have been questions raised concerning the mother’s marriage and the separation of the little Mademoiselle Delcasse from her relatives in France, and now if she were to be married without any legal settlement of her estate—­”

Steadily he sustained the other’s gaze, while his unfinished thought seemed to float significantly in the air about them.

“Have a cigarette,” said the pasha hospitably, extending a gold case monogrammed with diamonds and emeralds.  “Ah, coffee!” he announced, welcomingly, as a little black boy entered with a brass tray of steaming cups.

“I hope, gentlemen, that you like my coffee.  It is not the usual Turkish brew.  No, this comes from Aden, the finest coffee in the world.  A ship captain brings it to me, especially.”

Beamingly he sipped the scalding stuff, then darted back to that suspended sentence.  “But you were saying—­something of a trusteeship?...  Do I understand that it is an aunt of Madame Delcasse—­the former Madame Delcasse—­who is leaving this money?”

“Not of Madame but of Monsieur Delcasse,” McLean informed him.

“Ah!...  That accounts ...  But in that case, then, there need be no concern in France over my daughter’s marriage....”  He turned his round eyes from one to the other a moment.

“There is no Mademoiselle Delcasse.”

“Sir?” said Ryder sharply.

“There is no Mademoiselle Delcasse,” repeated the pasha, his eyes frankly enlivened.

“But—­we have just been speaking—­you cannot mean to say—­”

“We have been speaking of my daughter—­the daughter of the former Madame Delcasse.”

Smilingly he looked upon them.  “A pity that we did not understand each other.  But you appear to know so much—­and I supposed that you knew that, too, that the daughter of Monsieur Delcasse was dead.”

Neither of the young men spoke.  McLean looked politely attentive; Ryder’s face maintained that look of concentration which guarded the fluctuations of his feelings.

“It was many years ago,” the pasha murmured, putting down his coffee cup and selecting another cigarette.  “Not long after her mother’s marriage to me....  A very charming little girl—­I was positively attached to her,” Tewfick added reminiscently.