"Step out, Giorgi Bordu and Jakka," called Tokalji.
Nikka sunk his fingers in my arm in a warning grip, and we stepped forth from the group of Tziganes clustered in front of the fire. There was at least a chance that we should not be identified—but its value was demonstrated the instant the firelight splashed over Nikka's aquiline face and tense, febrile body.
"Surely, I have seen that lean fellow before," piped Hilmi Bey, pointing at Nikka.
"I saw them standing near the Frank lord and his servant in Pera this morning," said one of the spies.
"What of that?" shouted Tokalji angrily. "It is true they followed the Franks—which was more than you could do, Petko—and robbed them."
"No, the Franks followed them," protested Zlacho, the other spy.
"You lie, you dog!" bellowed Tokalji. "You think to discredit them because they will do the work you bungled."
Vassilievich pushed in front of the newcomers.
"Is it my imagination," he inquired softly, "or does the stocky one bear a resemblance to the Americansky, Nash?"
"By jove, I think you're right!" exclaimed Hilyer, speaking for the first time.