sauntered a quarter of a mile or so along the way that leads towards
Jerusalem. I could see that his eye was anxiously turned down the
road, but he said nothing. We saw no cloud of dust, and then we
returned to breakfast.

"The steamer has come to anchor," said our dirty Polish host to us
in execrable English. "And we may be off on board," said Smith.
"Not yet," he said; "they must put their cargo out first." I saw,
however, that Smith was uneasy, and I made up my mind to go off to
the vessel at once. When they should see an English portmanteau
making an offer to come up the gangway, the Austrian sailors would
not stop it. So I called for the bill, and ordered that the things
should be taken down to the wretched broken heap of rotten timber
which they called a quay. Smith had not told me his story, but no
doubt he would as soon as he was on board.

I was in the act of squabbling with the Pole over the last demand
for piastres, when we heard a noise in the gateway of the inn, and I
saw Smith's countenance become pale. It was an Englishman's voice
asking if there were any strangers there; so I went into the
courtyard, closing the door behind me, and turning the key upon the
landlord and Smith. "Smith," said I to myself, "will keep the Pole
quiet if he have any wit left."

The man who had asked the question had the air of an upper English
servant, and I thought that I recognised one of those whom I had
seen with the old gentleman on the road; but the matter was soon put
at rest by the appearance of that gentleman himself. He walked up
into the courtyard, looked hard at me from under those bushy
eyebrows, just raised his hat, and then--said, "I believe I am