Technically, of course, I had no right to interfere. According to the cold-blooded legalities of the situation, the treatment of Turkish subjects by the Turkish Government was purely a domestic affair; unless it directly affected American lives and American interests it was outside the concern of the American Government. When I first approached Talaat on the subject he called my attention to this fact in no uncertain terms. This interview was one of the most exciting which I had had up to that time. Two missionaries had just called upon me, giving the full details of the frightful happenings at Konia. After listening to their stories I could not restrain myself, and went immediately to the Sublime Porte. I saw at once that Talaat was in one of his most ferocious states of mind. For months he had been attempting to secure the release of two of his closest friends, Ayoub Sabri and Zinnoun, who were held as prisoners by the English at Malta. His failure in this matter was a constant grievance and irritation; he was always talking about it, always making new suggestions for getting his friends back to Turkey, and always appealing to me for help. So furious did the Turkish Boss become when thinking about his absent friends that we usually referred to these manifestations as Talaat in his “Ayoub Sabri moods.” This particular morning the Minister of the Interior was in one of his worst “Ayoub Sabri moods.” Once more he had been working for the release of the exiles, and once more he had failed. As usual, he attempted to preserve outer calm and courtesy to me, but his short, snappy phrases, his bull-dog rigidity, and his wrists planted on the table showed that it was an unfavourable moment to stir him to any sense of pity or remorse. I first spoke to him about a Canadian missionary, Dr. McNaughton, who was receiving harsh treatment in Asia Minor. “The man is an English agent,” he replied, “and we have the evidence for it.” “Let me see it,” I asked. “We’ll do nothing for any Englishman or any Canadian,” he replied, “until they release Ayoub and Zinnoun.” “But you promised to treat English in the employ of Americans as Americans,” I replied. “That may be,” rejoined the Minister, “but a promise is not made to be kept for ever. I withdraw that promise now. There is a time limit on a promise.” “But if a promise is not binding, what is?” I asked. “A guarantee,” Talaat answered quickly. This fine Turkish distinction had a certain metaphysical interest, but I had more practical matters to discuss at that time. So I began to talk about the Armenians at Konia. I had started, when Talaat’s attitude became even more belligerent. His eyes lighted up, he brought his jaws together, leaned over toward me, and snapped out: “Are _they_ Americans?” The implications of this question were hardly diplomatic; it was merely a way of telling me that the matter was none of my business. In a moment Talaat said this in so many words.