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Updated: May 17, 2025
"What do you mean? What are you proposing?" Feisul asked quietly. "Baghdad is your place, not Damascus!" "But here I am in Damascus," Feisul retorted; and for the first time there was a note of impatience in his voice. "I came here at the request of the Allies, on the strength of their promises. I did not ask to be king. I would rather not be.
Feisul shook his head. "If other people break their promises, that is no reason why we should break ours. If we can defeat the French and force them to make other terms, then we will expel him from Syria. I leave at midnight, Jimgrim." "To defeat the French? You go to your Waterloo! You're in check with only one move possible, and I'm here to make you realize it.
Two whole squadrons had to eat lousy biscuit for a week because that swab sold the same meat five times over. But I'll get him yet!" "Well, as I was saying," Grim resumed, "there's a letter in Jerusalem that's supposed to be from Feisul. But when Feisul writes anything he signs his name to it, whereas a number is the signature on this.
But it wasn't until our rescue of Jeremy Ross from near Abu Kem, that I ever heard Grim come out openly and admit that he was working to establish Feisul, third son of the King of Mecca, as king of just as many Arabs as might care to have him over them. That was the cat he had been keeping in a bag for seven years.
"You mean your government has seen the thing, and sent you to confront me with it?" It was Grim's turn to laugh, and he was jubilant without a trace of bitterness. "No. The chief and I have risked our jobs by not reporting it. This visit is strictly unofficial." Feisul handed the letter back to him, and it was Grim who struck a match and burned it, after tearing off the seal for a memento.
"All that worries me is having to see this business through before we can make a wake for Sydney. I'm homesick. But never mind. All right, you fellers, I'll make one to give this Feisul boy a hoist!" "Atcha, Jimgrim sahib! Atcha!"
"The Emir Feisul is astonished, Jimgrim, that Colonel Lawrence and you should visit Damascus without claiming his hospitality. We have two autos waiting to take you to the palace." Well, the luggage didn't amount to much; Narayan Singh brought that down in a jiffy; and when I went to settle with the hotel-keeper one of the Syrian officers interfered.
For one thing, it's blue metallic ink. Feisul's private letters are all written with indelible black stuff made from pellets that I gave him; they're imported from the States." "But if Feisul wanted to prove an alibi, he naturally wouldn't use his special private ink," objected Mabel. "Then why his seal, and his special private notepaper? However, there's another point.
The time it takes to read this gives a totally false impression of the speed. The whole thing took place, I should say, within two minutes from the time when I punched that Syrian's nose until Mabel and Narayan Singh stood beside me watching Hadad, two more Arabs and Feisul drive away, with a second car crowded full of loyalists in close attendance.
Asia would wonder for a few months, and do nothing, until it began to dawn on them that you had acted wisely and had a better plan in view." "I am not proud, except of my nation," Feisul answered. "I would not let pride interfere with policy. But it is too late to talk of this." "Which is better?" Grin demanded.
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