“That’ll do, Fred!” said Monty, pressing him back against the wall.  “The fact is,” he twisted at his black mustache and eyed us each for a second in turn, looking as handsome as the devil, “that I have found what I originally set out to look for.  It overlooks Zeitoon, hidden among trees.  I propose to use it.  As for quixotism—­is there any one here not willing to fight in the last ditch to help Kagig and these Armenians?”

“I’m with you!” laughed Gloria, and she and Will had a scuffle over near the fireplace.

“I knew what to expect of the women,” said Monty rather bitterly.  “I’m speaking to Fred and the men!”

“Where’s Peter Measel?” I asked.  But the others did not see the connection.

“Come along,” said Monty.  “Seems to me we’re wasting time,” and he strode out through the window on to the roof of the house below —­usually the shortest way from point to point in Zeitoon.  Kagig followed him, and then Rustum Khan.  The stars were no longer shining in the pale sky overhead, but it was dark where we were because of the mountains that shut out the dawn.  Fred came last, grumbling and stumbling, too disturbed to look where he was going.

“Fancy me acting Cassandra at my time of life and none to believe me!” he muttered.  Then, louder:  “I warn you all!  I know that fellow Monty.  If he comes out of this alive it’ll be because we haul him out by the hair!  Won’t you listen?”

Outside the window I remembered the field-glasses I had laid down in a corner, and returned to get them.  In the room were Maga and the woman Anna, who had appointed herself Gloria Vanderman’s maid; they were apparently about to sweep the floor and tidy the place, but as I crossed the room an older gipsy woman entered by the door, and she and Maga promptly drove Anna out through the window after my party.  Then the old woman came close to me, her beady bright eyes fixed on mine, and went through the suggestive gipsy motions that invite the crossing of a palm with silver.

There seemed at first no excuse for listening to her.  Every gipsy will beg, whether there is need or not, and knowledge of their habits did not make me less short-tempered; besides I had no silver within reach, nor time to waste.

“Not now!” I said, pushing her aside.

But Maga came to her rescue, and clutched my arm.

“See!” she said, and took a Maria Theresa dollar from some hiding-place in her skirt.  “I give silver for you.  So.”  The old hag pouched the coin with exactly the same avidity with which she would have taken it from me.  “Now she will make magic.  Then I see.  Then I tell you something.  You listen!”