So they made the ascent, Daubeney leading in his capacity of guide, though he was quite breathless when they reached the top of the steps.
Edith followed him, and to her alarm perceived that he was purple in the face. He tried to smile, and indicated by a gesture that he would recover in a minute. Meanwhile he was speechless.
Fairholme was the next up. He had hardly set foot on the roof before he exclaimed—
"Well, I'm d——d!"
Edith turned round quickly.
"What on earth is the matter?" she cried. "Why are you using such horrid language? Mr. Daubeney only hurried a little too fast, that is all."
Fairholme dropped his voice to a whisper.
"Look," he said, indicating with his eyes a distant corner.
Edith followed his glance, and instantly comprehended the cause of his startled exclamation. For in that quiet spot, far removed from watchful police or inquisitive hotel servants, stood four men, whom she could not fail to recognize as Gros Jean, Hussein-ul-Mulk, and the other two Turks, although, of course, until this moment she had never previously set eyes on them.