Dakmar looking sulky and discouraged in their midst, almost like a
prisoner, and the other five wearing palpably innocent expressions.

"Lord!" remarked the officer nearest me. "That gang's got the wind up!
Look at the color of their gills! Booked through, I'll bet you, and
been listening to tales all night!"

The gang drew abreast just as another officer gave tongue to his
opinion. They couldn't help hearing what he said; he had one of those
voices that can carry on conversation in a boiler foundry.

"There's more in this than meets the eye! She's not a nurse. She don't
walk like a missionary. I heard her buy a ticket for Aleppo. Can you
imagine a lone, good-looking woman going to Aleppo by that train unless
she had a laissez passe from the French? She's wearing French heels.
I'll bet she's carrying secret information. Look! D'you see those two
Arabs in the train?" He pointed out Grim and Jeremy, who were leaning
from a window. "They tipped her off to get into the compartment next
ahead of them. D'you see? There she goes. She was for getting into
the coach ahead. They called her back."

Almost all the other cars were empty except that one, but, whether
because humans are like sheep and herd together instinctively when
afraid, or because the train crew ordered it, all six compartments of
the middle first-class car were now occupied, with Mabel Ticknor alone
in the front one. Nevertheless, Yussuf Dakmar and four of his companions
started to climb in by the rear door. The sixth man lingered within
earshot of the officers, presumably to pick up further suggestions.

So I got in at the front end and met them halfway down the corridor.