There was certainly something the matter with Hassan, for it was at
least a quarter of an hour before he reappeared and served his
specially prepared concoction with the usual ceremony but with more
restraint. Molly and the two men, after Hassan had sprinkled the
contents of his mysterious little flask into their coffee, gave him
their hands for the customary salute. When he came to Pamela he
hesitated. She shook her head and he fell back, bowing respectfully,
his hand tracing cabalistic signs across his heart. For a moment before
he departed, he raised his eyes and glanced at her. It was like the
mute appeal of some hurt or frightened animal.

"You don't approve of Hassan's little ceremony?" Lutchester asked her.

She shrugged her shoulders.

"In America," she observed, "I think we look upon coloured people of
any sort a little differently. Well, we've certainly given your friend
a chance," she went on, glancing at the little jewelled watch upon her
wrist, "We've outstayed almost every one here."

Their host paid the bill, and they strolled reluctantly towards the
door, Holderness and Pamela a few steps behind.

"Now what are your sister and Mr. Lutchester studying again?" the
latter inquired, as they reached the lobby.

Molly had paused once more before the notice on the wall, which seemed
somehow to have fascinated her. She read it out, lingering on every
word: