Grim pointed out Yussuf Dakmar leaning through a window of the car
behind. His face was fat, unwholesome, with small, cold eyes, an
immoral nose, and a small mouth with pouting lips. The tarboosh he wore
tilted at an angle heightened the general effect of arrogant
self-esteem. He was an illustration of the ancient mystery--how is it
that a man with such a face, and such insolence written all over him,
can become a leader of other men and persuade them to hatch the eggs of
treachery that he lays like a cuckoo in their nests?

He smirked at Grim suggestively as we went by, and Grim, of course,
smirked back, with a sidewise inclination of the head in my direction,
whereat Yussuf Dakmar withdrew himself, apparently satisfied.

"Now he'll waste a lot of time investigating you," said Grim in an
undertone. "We'd better keep awake in turns, or he'll knife you."

"The toe of my boot to him!" I retorted. "One clean kick might solve
this international affair!"

"Steady!" Grim answered. "We need him until after leaving Haifa. The
French agent wired, and they'll have a gang at Haifa ready for us; but
Yussuf Dakmar will warn them off if we keep him hoping."

So we settled down into our compartment after a glance to make sure that
Mabel was all right, and for about two minutes I imagined we were in for
a lazy journey. Narayan Singh was on a camp-stool in the corridor,
snoozing with one eye open like a faithful sheep-dog. It didn't seem
possible for a creature like Yussuf Dakmar to make trouble for us, and I
proposed that we should match coins for the first turn to go to sleep.