“That is, she thought that man was watching her; but she was not sure of it.” “She was pretty sure. He was a Turk, and you know what happened to her in Damascus.” “Which, therefore, will not happen again. Don’t be foolish, old man.” “You remember that other man—the one we saw join the Turk on Citadel Hill?” “Yes.” “I dreamed about him last night, Dick.” “Did you?” “Sure; and it was a bad dream. I thought you and I were walking along a dark street, in a strange city, when that other man came up behind us suddenly. I turned just in time to see him drive a knife into your back, but not in time to check him. You fell! Then I sprang on your murderer and flung him to the ground. I had him by the throat and I dragged him to a corner, where there was a light. When I had pulled him into the light I discovered that he was Chester Arlington.” “Well, you see how foolish dreams are, Brad. Chet Arlington is at Fardale, thousands of miles away.” “That’s all right. I don’t opine the chap we saw was Arlington; but somehow I have the idea that he’s an enemy to you, and just as dangerous an enemy as Chet Arlington.” “If you take stock in dreams, you’ll be calling on fortune tellers, next.” “Oh, you laugh! You wait and see! That dream meant something.” Brad relapsed into silence, and Dick went on with his writing. Ten minutes later they heard the sound of running feet on the stairs and outside their door. The door was burst open, and Dunbar Budthorne, ghastly white and shaking in every limb, reeled in. Buckhart made a great leap and seized the fellow. “For Heaven’s sake, Budthorne, what has happened?” he hoarsely demanded. “Nadia!” gasped the agitated young man, seeming barely able to utter the word. “Nadia!” grated Brad. “Something has happened to her? Speak, man!” “We were walking——” “Go on!” “Suddenly several men sprang out on us. They tried to seize Nadia. I—I did my best. I sought to protect her. One fellow snatched her from me. Another hit me on the head and knocked me down. But I saw the one who seized her—saw him face to face! I knew him. It was Miguel Bunol!” Brad fell back as if struck in the face. Dick uttered an exclamation of incredulity. “You’re crazy, Budthorne!” he palpitated. “Your eyes deceived you! Bunol cannot be here, for the Bedouins carried him away to sell him into slavery in Arabia.” “I don’t care about that,” declared Budthorne, positively; “Bunol was with those men who attacked us—he seized Nadia. I know him! I cannot be deceived!” “But Nadia,” questioned Brad; “what became of her?”