He showed me a flashlight, well hidden in a corner of that dilapidated office, which would send out its news of “safety” when every Englishman had left the town, and he, my friend, had followed them in a boat with its oars muffled—if he were able to get away. If not, well, he had done his duty!
But I remained unmoved. “Do not worry about me. I have made all my plans, and shall start to-morrow for Angora. I know the risks, and I know, too, that all will be well for me.”
At first, evidently, his official mind suspected that I was playing with his nerves, idly boasting of what no one would seriously attempt. When convinced, however, that I really meant what I said, he banged his fist on the table and just shouted:
“By Jove, if you belonged to me, you should not go.”
How I hoped he had lost his temper! But no, in another moment he was again all quiet concern, courteously persuasive.
“But,” said I, “I have reached here against long odds. I have come entirely on my own responsibility, and at my own expense. The Turks who met me here will take care of me, not my family nor my Government. Even war will not stop me.”
“And when there is war,” he replied, with a note of almost despairing entreaty, “for as there is a God above, it will come this time. Think of it! A woman absolutely alone among the Turks; not a European to help her. Six months, at least, in a concentration camp, illness, perhaps torture. God knows what will happen to you!”
“I shall not be put into a concentration camp, for there will be no war. I am going to stop it!”
I was smiling now, which only added to his distress.
“My dear young lady,” he cried, “keep your courage for some wiser, finer cause. Britain needs you.... Seriously, you are not going, are you?—And the war!”