"This is one time we fooled you," I remarked, speaking in a low tone of voice at Nikka—there was nobody else within twenty feet of our groups at the moment. "Jack speaking, Hugh. You and Watty follow us. Go around the block the other way from us. We'll pick you up."
Nikka had a bright thought as we started off. The Commissionaire at the hotel entrance had been watching us with suspicion, and Nikka made a pretense of thrusting by him into the lobby. The Commissionaire grabbed him by the arm, and hustled him on to the sidewalk, and at this we all pretended uneasiness and hurried up the street. Hugh and Watkins watched us disappear, then said good-by to King, and walked down the street. They were rounding the corner of the farther side of the block as we entered it, and when we made sure they had seen us, we turned into a cross-street that led between buildings toward Galata and the Golden Horn.
Hugh's shadows had a poor time of it after that, and I believe we lost them in the maze of crooked lanes in Stamboul. At any rate, they were nowhere in sight when we dodged into the gateway of the Khan of the Georgians. Hugh was bursting to talk, but Nikka motioned to him to be silent. The appearance of two Europeans like himself and Watkins was bound to attract some attention, and we rushed them through the courtyard as rapidly as possible. Of course, everybody who noticed them at all concluded that they were up to no good, considering the disreputable company they were in.
So they panted after us up the steep stairs to the second gallery, and Wasso Mikali opened the door of our cubicle and stood aside until Watkins had entered. Then he came in, himself, and locked it and squatted down with his back against it. He was as imperturbable as Watkins, which is saying a great deal. Watkins surveyed the room with cool disfavor, drew his finger through a smudge of smoke on the wall and shook his head.
"Dear, dear, gentlemen," he said. "They don't do very well for you 'ere, do they, now? A proper queer place, I call it. And you 'ave changed, too, if I may say so. Mister Jack, sir, you must let me draw you a 'ot tub, and I'll give Mister Nikka a shave."
We shouted with laughter.
"That is supposed to be a disguise, Watty," exploded Hugh. "My word, it's a good one! You lads had me fooled completely. I looked at you just as I've looked at scores of rascals like you, and King and I went on wondering what had become of you. I say, who's the old gent?"
Nikka introduced his uncle, and Wasso Mikali met Hugh with the unstudied courtesy that made it so difficult to remember that he knew nothing of what we call manners or the gentler aspects of life.
"I wish you'd tell him how much I appreciate his assistance," said Hugh. "And I shall be very glad to—"
"Hold on, Hugh," I interrupted. "Remember, he's Nikka's uncle. And besides, he's a king in a small way on his own."