Administrator had decided I was not a proper person to be turned
loose out of bounds, and nobody could have blamed him for that,
for he knew next to nothing about me. Or Grim might have been
called off for some other important business. The chances seemed
all against my going after all.

But on the fourth evening, just at sunset, when the sandwiches I
had ordered in advance were all thoroughly stale and I had almost
decided to unpack the small hand-grip and try to forget the whole
affair, I noticed an Arab standing in the door of the hotel
scrutinizing every one who passed him. I watched him for five
minutes. He paid no attention to officers in uniform. I left my
chair in the lobby and walked past him twice.

He had one eye, like a gimlet on a universal joint; he turned
it this and that way without any corresponding movement of his
head. It penetrated. You felt he could have seen you with it
in the dark.

I started to pass him a third time. He held his hand out and
thrust a small, soiled piece of paper into mine. The writing on
it was in Arabic, so I went back to the seat in the far corner,
to puzzle it out, he standing meanwhile in the doorway and
continuing to quiz people as if I had meant nothing in his life.
The message was short enough:


Bearer will accompany you to a place where the escort will
be in readiness. God give your honour a good journey. Mustapha
Ben Nasir.