Lacey had talked so much, not because he was garrulous only, but because
the inquiry in David's eyes was an encouragement to talk. Whatever his
misfortunes in Mexico had been, his forty years sat lightly on him, and
his expansive temperament, his childlike sentimentality, gave him an
appearance of beaming, sophisticated youth. David was slowly
apprehending these things as he talked--subconsciously, as it were;
for he was seeing pictures of the things he himself had observed, through
the lens of another mind, as primitive in some regards as his own, but
influenced by different experiences.

"Say, you're the best listener I ever saw," added Lacey, with a laugh.

David held out his hand. "Thee sees things clearly," he answered.

Lacey grasped his hand.

At that moment an orderly advanced towards them. "He's after us--one of
the Palace cavalry," said Lacey.

"Effendi--Claridge Effendi! May his grave be not made till the karadh-
gatherers return," said the orderly to David.

"My name is Claridge," answered David.

"To the hotel, effendi, first, then to the Mokattam Hills after thee,
then here--from the Effendina, on whom be God's peace, this letter for
thee."

David took the letter. "I thank thee, friend," he said.