“The ocean liner—England—Italy—Constantinople!” He was beginning to remember.
“Where is Brad? Where is the professor?”
He straightened up, in spite of all the pain it cost him. He shifted until he was on his hands and knees.
The old man, grinning maliciously, again hastened forward and lifted his foot, intending to kick the boy over.
“Stay!”
It was a single word of command, but it was spoken in a tone that caused the man to pause.
Through the crowd strode a man with a dark face and a black beard that was threaded with gray. He was dressed in garments that seemed to proclaim him a person of more than common rank. He advanced and bent over the lad, whom he lifted to a standing position, supporting him with one arm.
“Boy,” he demanded, “what does it mean? Tell me what has happened to thee and to the beautiful maiden.”
“The—the beautiful maiden?” muttered Dick. “You mean—you mean—Nadia?”
Then he remembered, and the shock caused him to straighten up stiffly. He turned and looked into the face of Ras al Had.