She added as McLean was silent, "He told me that he had some engagement for that evening, so I did not begin to worry until the next day."
"Now just how long ago was this?"
"Two days ago. Day before yesterday afternoon."
She looked anxiously at McLean's face and took alarm at his careful absence of expression.
"Oh, Mr. McLean, do you think—"
He brushed that aside. "And where was it—this reception?"
"At an old palace, forever away on the edge of the city. I don't remember the street—we drove and I had the cab wait. But it belonged to a Turkish general. Hamdi Bey," she brought out triumphantly. "General Hamdi Bey."
McLean did not correct her idea of the title. His expression was more carefully non-committal than ever, while behind its quiet guard his thoughts were breaking out like a revolution.
Hamdi Bey.... A wedding reception.... The daughter of Tewfick Pasha....
In the secret depths of his soul he uttered profane and troubled words. That French girl, again.... So Ryder had not forgotten that affair, although he had kept silent about it of late. He had bided his time and taken that rash means of seeing the girl again—and he had involved this unknowing young American in a risk of scandal and deceived her into believing herself responsible for this caprice while all the time she had been a mere cloak and it had been his own diabolical desire....