In consequence I went into a minute description of the fussy old Greek, to which Rayne listened most interestedly.
“Yes,” he said at last. “But tell me one thing. Did you notice if he had any deformity?”
“Well—he walked with a distinct limp.”
“And his hand?”
“The little finger on his left hand was deformed,” I replied. “I now remember it.”
“Ah!” he cried in instant anger. “As I thought! It was old Boukaris—the sly old devil. How, I wonder, did he know that I had sent you to Sofia? He, no doubt, saved you by putting that mark on your hand, Hargreave; but the brutes have been one too many for me, and have done me down!”