"I'm not in office."
"You're the power behind the throne, you're—"
"I'm helpless—worse than helpless, Yankee. I've spent years of my life here. I've tried to be of some use, and play a good game for England; and keep a conscience too, but it's been no real good. I've only staved off the crash. I'm helpless, now. That's why I'm here."
He leaned forward, and looked out of the minaret and down towards the great locked gates of the empty mosque.
Renshaw put his hand on Dicky's shoulder. "It's the man in white yonder you're after?"
Dicky nodded. "It was no use as long as she lived. But she's dead—her face was under that old Persian shawl—and I'm going to try it on."
"Try what on?"
"Last night I heard she was sick. I heard at noon to-day that she was gone; and then I got you to come out and see the view!"
"What are you going to do with him?"
"Make him come back."