Hilmi Bey bowed us out, his smirk more tigerish than ever. It seemed to us that he had a perfect right to enjoy our departure. We felt that we had come off distinctly second-best.
"Score for them," remarked Hugh, as we shook the dust of the Rue Midhat Pasha from our shoes. "We're chivvied, dished."
"They won't do it," I objected. "And if they did, it wouldn't get them anywhere."
"You're right," assented Hugh. "But there's the delay. This is expensive, Jack, and we can't hang on forever. If we could wear them out, why—"
"You are both wrong!" exclaimed Nikka energetically. "You must remember that you are in Constantinople. Things don't happen here as they do in Europe."
"Constantinople is in Europe," I objected—and promptly felt like the fool the remark demonstrated me to be.
Nikka favored me with a withering glance of contempt.
"We are not talking in terms of geography, but of human nature," he said. "This is the Orient. You ought to realize that, Jack, after what you have seen with me. And in the Orient, and especially in Turkey, such a graft deal as Hilyer made with Mahkouf Pasha would not excite any interest, much less condemnation. It's the regular thing."
"You forget the Allied High Commissioners," interjected King.
"No, I don't. They can go only just so far. Their position is delicate enough, without imperiling their prestige by interfering in what would be strictly a question of Turkish internal government. They'd know that a windfall such as this treasure would be used simply to further Pan-Islamic intrigue and bolster the coffers of the Nationalist Government at Angora. But for that very reason they wouldn't be able to interfere. I tell you, it would be the height of bad luck for us if the struggle for the treasure took on a political tinge. It would be fatal. We might as well pack up, and go home."