"Odd," said young Ryder thoughtfully. "And your own daughter's name, also, is Aimée.... Two little ones with the same name."
With a slight, vexed laugh, as one despairing of understanding, the pasha turned to McLean. "Your young friend, monsieur, is uninformed that Turkish children have many names.... After the loss of the elder we called the little one by the same name.... I trust I have made everything perfectly clear to you?"
"As crystal," said McLean politely.
"As lightning," said Jack Ryder hotly, striding down the street. "It was a flash of invention, that yarn. When I spoke about the questions raised by his marriage the old fox sniffed the wind and was afraid of trouble—he decided on the instant that no future fortune was worth interference with his plans, and he cut the ground from under our feet.... Lord, what a lie!"
"Masterly, you must admit."
"Oh, I admired the beggar, even while I choked on it. But fever—desert burial—two Aimées! And the sentimental face he pulled—he ought to have had a spot-light and wailing woodwinds."
McLean chuckled.
"I'll believe anything of him now," Ryder rushed on. "I'll bet he murdered Delcassé and kidnapped the mother—and now he is selling their daughter—"
"I fancy murder's a bit beyond our Tewfick. That's too thick. He's probably telling the truth there—he may never have known Delcassé. And as for the widow—she must have been in no end of trouble with a dead man and a wrecked expedition and a baby on her hands, and Tewfick may have offered himself as a grateful solution to her. You'd be surprised at the things I've heard. And if she looked like her picture Tewfick probably laid himself out to be lovely to her.... I rather like the chap, myself."