An opportunity came that same evening. George had been telling of the starvation in Damascus, of the deaths from destitution all over Syria, of the hangings without trial, of the general discontent, of the terrible conditions of his own imprisonment for sixty days, because he had been suspected of spying for the King of the Hedjaz.
"Wouldn't you like," said M., "to be away from this nightmare of a life and in a peaceful country like Egypt?"
"I guess yes, my dear," said George. "But I desire to quit the East and live among English."
"Well," said C., "I could find you a comfortable job in Australia."
"Very obliged. I take your address and write when war shall finish."
"That's no good. None of us may be alive when the war is over. How would you like to take the job now?"
"What can you desire to say, my dear?"
There was an awkward pause. We were shy of carrying the matter further; for chance-met Levantines, like politicians, do not as a rule inspire confidence.
Yet it had to be done. I continued the conversation in French, George's weird English not being a good medium for the discussion of secrets.
"If," I promised, "you help us to escape and come with us, we will give you not only money, but a job for life in Australia."