“Hope it is all for your good that you are going,” wished Canby.
“Same here,” added “Daring Dan.”
A ride of twenty minutes in a closed carriage, and the boys stepped out in front of a large and lofty gate, the principal entrance to the grounds of a palace, which, with its buildings, pavilions, gardens and groves, occupied a large space.
“Pinch me and see if I’m awake,” urged Billy, under his breath, and Henri was equally stranded in his wonder.
Their guide seemed to grow in serious mien, and his attitude was one of new importance. With bent head he led a long march through magnificent halls, decorated more in European than oriental style, and finally a splendid stairway with crystal balustrade was ascended to the second floor of the palace, where the boys were ushered into a small, plainly furnished private parlor, in marked contrast to its surroundings.
Seated on a divan, near a grate in which a cheerful fire was crackling, and with several uniformed officers standing near, was a keen-eyed man, wearing lightly a weight of years, and otherwise the conventional red calpac or fez of Turkey, a low white collar, gray cravat, blue serge suit and black shoes of comfortable cut, but no jewelry of any sort.
The officer standing nearest the divan, evidently of high rank, turned to look at the boys, who, just inside of the door and nervously fingering their caps, awaited some word that would set them straight.
The mentioned official, who was doing the looking over, also acted as spokesman.
“These are the flying boys?” was the question he put to the guide.
The individual behind the lads nodded assent. He gently pushed his charges closer to the questioner.