"It shall be as you desire."
Renwick went up the stairs into the room where he and Goritz had met, recapitulating briefly in his mind the sequence of events which had led to his own downfall. If he had only shot the man when he had stood there a fair mark, defenseless! It had not been the sporting thing, but if he had known what was to follow, he would have done it nevertheless. At least he thought so now. The fateful armor had been restored to its place in the corner, and while he anxiously awaited Yeva's return he examined it casually with the rather morbid interest which one might display in the inspection of one's coffin. It was dented upon the sides with the marks of bullets which had glanced aside, but three neatly drilled holes, two in the breastplate and one in the helmet, reminded him again how narrow had been his escape from death. "Close shooting, that," he muttered to himself. "Emptied clip and not one miss."
Yeva, who had gone with Zubeydeh into the Harim, now returned (discreetly veiled) and with an air of restraint made a sign to the Englishman to be seated while Zubeydeh brought refreshments.
He heard Yeva speaking gently at his ear.
"Allah is good. Excellency, they told me that you were dead—that they would bury you. They took your body and that of the other man in a cart to the hills above the city. But someone came, and they were forced to go away."
"You saw her go with him?"
"Yes. She had fainted. I helped to carry her down through the selamlik to the street at the back of the house. Then an automobile came, and they took her away."
"There have been no inquiries here?"
"None. And you will say nothing?" she asked anxiously.
"Not a word. Would you have me deliver myself into the hands of my enemies?"