“Ah, no, no, my dear Miss Beecher, there is no hope of that.”  The young man started walking down the path and Arlee walked beside him, her eyes fixed on his face, incredulous of the denial that they were reading there.  “He would think it a test, a trap—­not for one minute is it to be thought of!  Now could I let you go alone in that place by the canal.  There is danger—­you do not understand——­”

“Oh, I understand, but I can take care of myself!” Across her pleading flashed the ironic thought of how excellently she had taken care of herself in coming there that very afternoon!  “Just let me get over that wall and I can find my way—­and if you cannot bribe the man we can wait till it is darker and then, when he is at the other end, why I can be down and off in a jiffy!”

“He would shoot,” said the Captain.  “He has his order.  I have talked with them....  And what would the authorities say when they send here the doctor to-morrow and you are gone?”

“Say—­say—­Oh, what does it matter what they say?  Tell them that I ran away without your knowledge.  Surely——­”

“But your name has been given as detained.  They would not let you reappear in the world——­”

“You leave that to me!  I know it would be all right—­once I was there.  Please do this for me, Captain Kerissen—­please!  I know that in a great palace like this there must be many, many ways where one could slip into the streets——­”

“In all this palace there are but three doors—­the door in the vestibule by which you entered, the great door to its right, under the arch into the court, and the little door from the garden to the canal.”  He waved his cigarette at the wall ahead of them, towards which they were slowly walking.  “And all those three doors are barred upon the outside and there is a soldier before each one—­and the soldier that you saw within the vestibule, watching us there.”

“But—­but the windows.”  She remembered the mashrubiyeh, but went on resolutely, “I mean, the windows on the men’s side.  Aren’t there any windows in that part which are open?”

“The selamlik is a short wing and looks into the court.”  A note of impatience sounded in his voice.  He tossed away his cigarette which fell, a burning spark, in the shadows.  Already, as they talked, it had grown darker, and the impatient tropic night was stealing on them.  “It is no use,” he repeated.  “There is no way out for you—­or any of us.”

Into her heart stole the unthinkable perception that he did not want to help her—­he was afraid of the authorities—­or else—­or else—­Desperately she returned to the appeal.

“But do let me try to get over that wall.  I will watch for the soldier—­I will take the responsibility.  Please, now—­let us plan that attempt.”

His answer held a quiet finality.  “It is impossible....  And the wall is too high for such little feet.”

The startled color flashed into her cheeks.  Only Oriental language of course....  Perhaps she was unduly sensitive to any hint of familiarity in her predicament.