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I meet him Damascus once he told me some things then the tears run his cheeks down like a baby's when he talk and Serim know I know somethings! Ah! that's why he not believe me if he catch me talk to her. Afterward I find more out from my friend in Yuleima's house he is the gardener. Put your head close, effendi." I drew my chair nearer and listened.
Opposite her, drawing out his own chair, stood a young man in evening dress, his head outlined against the low, twilight sky. It was Mahmoud! I sprang from my seat and walked straight toward them. There came a low cry of joy, and then four outstretched arms two of them tight-locked about my neck. "Tell me," I asked, when we had seated ourselves, Yuleima's hands still clinging to mine.
Joe, who was sitting by me assisting with the water-cup, gazed into the intruder's face a moment, then closed upon my arm with a grip as if he'd break it. "Allah! Mahmoud Bey!" he whispered. "Yuleima's prince. That's him with the smooth face." The next instant the young man stood by my side. "The people are only curious, monsieur," he said in French.
Not to tell the prince of Yuleima's whereabouts, after their combined search for her, and the fees the prince had paid him, would be as cruel as it was disloyal. To assist in Mahmoud's finding her would bring down upon his own head if it was still on his shoulders the wrath of the chief of police, as well as the power behind him.
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