from that spoken around Jerusalem.

"Who are these?" asked the man in bed, speaking hoarsely as he stared
first at Jeremy and then at me.

"Jmil Ras, a friend of mine," Grim answered.

"And that one?"

He didn't like the look of me at all. Western clothes and a shaven face
spell nothing reassuring to the Arab when in trouble; he has been
"helped" by the foreigner a time or two too often.

"An American named Ramsden. Also a friend of mine."

"Oh! An Amirikani? A hakim?"

"No. Not a doctor. Not a man to fear. He is a friend of Feisul."

"On whose word?"

"Mine," Grim answered.

Sidi bin Tagim nodded. He seemed willing to take Grim's word for
anything.

"Why did you say a Jew stabbed you?" Grim asked suddenly.

"So that they might hang a Jew or two. Wallah! Are the Jews not at the
bottom of all trouble? If a Greek should kill a Maltese it would be a