"I haven't, and I didn't recognize him at first," I answered, trying
for the coolness which Anthony dared to count upon.

"You remember me now?" he inquired politely.

"I--er--yes," I replied, also in French. "Your face is familiar, though
you've changed, I think, since--er--since you were in England. It must
have been there--yes, of course. You were on a diplomatic mission. But
your name--"

"You may have known me as Ahmed Antoun," said the wretch, not dreaming
of that slip he had made.

Cleopatra, who has little French, nevertheless started, and fixed upon
the face under the turban a stare of feverish interest. Brigit and the
unobtrusive lady with the slanting eyes both showed such symptoms of
surprise as must too late have warned Fenton that he had missed his
footing, skating on thin ice.

"Antoun!" exclaimed Mrs. East. "Why, that's what you said you called
your friend Captain Fenton."

I glanced at Anthony. His profile had no more expression than that of
an Indian on an American penny, and, indeed, rather resembled it. If he
were blaming me for letting anything out, I had a right to blame him
for letting himself in. He was silent as well as expressionless. He
left it all to me--diplomat or duffer.

"'Antoun Effendi' was the nickname my friend Fenton got at school," I