In the hallway of the villa, in a snowy gibbeh, (and his clean-washed appearance was much in his favor) Hammet Abou waited to talk with the "grandmother" and the excellency. He pressed both his hands to his forehead and his breast as the ladies entered the vestibule. There was a stagnant odor of myrrh and sandalwood in the air. The marble vestibule was cool and dark, the walls hung with high-colored stuffs, the windows drawn to keep out the heat. The Duc de Tremont and Madame de la Maine came out of the salon together. Tremont nodded to the Arab. "I hope you are a little less--" and he touched his forehead smiling, "to-day, my friend." "I am as God made me, Monsieur." "What have you got to-day?" asked Julia Redmond anxiously, fixing her eager eyes upon Hammet. It seemed terrible to her that this man should stand there with a vital secret and that they should not all be at his feet. He glanced boldly around at them. "There are no soldiers here?" "No, no, you may speak freely." The man went forward to Tremont and put a paper in his hands, unfolding it like a chart. "This is what monsieur asked me for--a plan of the battle-field. This is the battle-field, and this is the desert." Tremont took the chart. On the page was simply a round circle, drawn in red ink, with a few Arabian characters and nothing else. Hammet Abou traced the circle with his fingers tipped with henna. "That was the battle, Monsieur." "But this is no chart, Hammet Abou." The other continued, unmoved: "And all the rest is a desert, like this." Tremont, over the man's snowy turban, glanced at the others and shrugged. Every one but Julia Redmond thought he was insane. She came up to him where he stood close to Tremont. She said very slowly in French, compelling the man's dark eyes to meet hers: "You don't wish to tell us, Hammet Abou, anything more. Am I not right? You don't wish us to know the truth." Now it was the American pitted against the Oriental. The Arab, with deference, touched his forehead before her. "If I made a true plan," he said coolly, "your excellency could give it to-morrow to the government." "Just what should be done, Julia," said the Marquise d'Esclignac, in English. "This man should be arrested at once." "_Ma tante_," pleaded Julia Redmond. She felt as though a slender thread was between her fingers, a thread which led her to the door of a labyrinth and which a rude touch might cause her to lose forever. "If you had money would you start out to find Monsieur de Sabron at once?" "It would cost a great deal, Excellency." "You shall have all the money you need. Do you think you would be able to find your way?" "Yes, Excellency." The Duc de Tremont watched the American girl. She was bartering with an Arabian for the salvation of a poor officer. What an enthusiast! He had no idea she had ever seen Sabron more than once or twice in her life. He came forward.