“Well, Albanian,” he allowed. “During the war I fought through the siege of Zeytoun, and then as an irregular under Andranik; and since the war I have pursued Achmed Jzzit Pasha—and to-night I have found him! He has been here in London for some months, but under an assumed name, for he knows that he is marked by the Dashnakists[A] and the Henchakists,[A] and he is afraid. It is my present business to cure him of his fear for ever.” And with a wrench his arms were free of our gently restraining hands and he was off down the square. But Tarlyon was swift, very swift; I panted up just as he was again “intruding himself” on the Armenian.
“You don’t seem to realise,” breathed Tarlyon, “that you can’t enter a house in Brook Street, kill a Pasha, and get away——”
“I don’t care if I get away or not,” the other broke in fiercely. “Besides, my friend who killed Talaat in Berlin was acquitted. And I cannot believe that your English juries are as thick-headed as you would have me think. So will you please excuse me, sir?”
It was marvellous what venom that broken-nosed young man could put into a simple question!
“I’ve taken rather a fancy to you,” murmured Tarlyon, “and I hate to think of your going off murdering Pashas. Come and have a drink instead, there’s a good fellow.”
“If I tell you,” snapped the Armenian, “that there is a girl in that house, and that I must rescue that girl, then you will perhaps see your way to minding your own business.”
“Has the Pasha got your girl?” I asked kindly.
“She is my sister, O fool,” he said wearily. “And do you think I can allow my little sister to stay in that loathsome old creature’s house one night more than I can help?”
“Collar him,” said Tarlyon to me; and I grabbed the young man’s other arm, though I didn’t in the least want to, and again we began hauling him round the square. As I walked close to him I could feel a solid bulky thing in his hip-pocket, and I did not like the feeling.
“Now,” said Tarlyon, very business-like, “what’s all this about your sister?”