His wife shrugged her pretty shoulders.
“There is something that I have to tell you, which I suppose you will also refuse to believe,” she said, with mock indignation. “You remember the Arabs whom we saw at the exhibition in London?”
Graham started.
“The gentlemen who were advertised as ‘chiefs from the Arabian Desert’? I remember one in particular.”
“That is the one I mean,” said Eileen.
Her husband looked at her curiously.
“Your explanation is delightfully lucid, dear!” he said jocularly. “My memories of the gentleman known as El-Suleym, I believe, are not pleasant; his memories of me must be equally unfavourable. He illustrated the fact that savages should never be introduced into civilised society, however fascinating they may be personally. Mrs. Marstham was silly enough to take the man up, and because of the way he looked at you, I was wise enough to knock him down! What then?”
“Only this—I saw him, to-day!”
“Eileen!” There was alarm in Graham’s voice. “Where? Here, or in Cairo?”
“As we were driving away from the mosque of the Whirling Dervishes. He was one of a group who stood by the bridge.”