"Didn't Mrs. Dumps tell you last night?"
"Yes. But how she recognised you without the criss-cross mark I cannot say," replied Clarice, quietly.
"Oh, trust a woman to jump to conclusions," said Osip, coolly. "It might have been my lean figure, or the shape of my head, or my general air, that she knew me by. But I certainly congratulate Mrs. Dumps on her cleverness. But you are wrong in saying that you do not know me by sight. You saw me in the High Street of Crumel."
Clarice suddenly recollected that Ferdy had noticed the man in grey, and had told Jerce about him. "It was only a passing glance," she protested. "I should never have remembered you."
"Ah, you are not a woman," said Osip, thoroughly imposed upon by her disguise and manly bearing. "But we cannot speak here; someone might overhear, and I have to be careful," he ended with a slight laugh.
"Ugh!" said Clarice, and shuddered.
"Why do you do that?" asked Osip, suddenly and curiously. "Granted that I am--what I am. Are you any better, Mr. Baird?"
Clarice felt as though cold water was running through her veins. "What do you mean?" she faltered.
"I think you know what I mean," retorted Osip, "but we will camp in the Desert, where there will be a wide space round us, and no one can come within ear-shot without being seen. Come."
He led the way towards the sandy track, beckoning to a picturesquely attired waiter to follow. Clarice cast a look in the direction of Anthony, who was watching at his tent door, and followed. In a short space of time, the sham Arab attendant--he was a Bavarian--had spread a carpet, and had arranged pillows. He also placed a Turkish stool in the middle, and waited for orders. The scarred man reclined on one set of pillows, and signalled to Clarice that she should recline on the other, which she did. "Will you have some Turkish coffee and a narghile?" he asked; "we must be strictly Eastern here, you know."