"You've begun rather badly," Gordon answered, as he still retreated. "In the Civil Prison your field of investigation will be limited."
The Frenchman took a hasty step toward him, shrugging off the hand one of the soldiers had placed on his shoulder.
"Are you the Prince Kalonay, sir?" he demanded. "But surely not," he added.
"No, I am not the Prince," Gordon answered. "I bid you good-morning, sir."
"Then you are on the other side," the man called after him eagerly, with a tone of great relief. "I have been right from the very first. I see it plainly. It is a double plot, and you are one of that woman's dupes. Listen to me—I beg of you, listen to me—I have a story to tell."
Gordon paused and looked back at the man over his shoulder, doubtfully.
"It's like the Arabian Nights," he said, with a puzzled smile. "There was once a rich merchant of Bagdad and the Sultan was going to execute him, but they put off the execution until he could tell them the story of the Beautiful Countess and the French Envoy. I am sorry," he added, shaking his head, "but I cannot listen now. I must not be seen talking to you at all, and everyone can see us here."
They were as conspicuous figures on the flat surface of the beach as two palms in a desert, and Gordon was most anxious to escape, for he was conscious that he could be observed from every point in the town. A hundred yards away, on the terrace of the hotel, he saw the King, Madame Zara, Barrat, and Erhaupt standing together watching them.
"If the American leaves him now, we are safe," the King was saying. He spoke in a whisper, as though he feared that even at that distance Gordon and the Frenchman could overhear his words. "But if he remains with him he will find out the truth, and that means ruin. He will ruin us."
"Look, he is coming this way," Zara answered. "He is leaving him. The danger is past."