Hamilton was a sort of filter through which it all came to me, and of course it was not undiluted, but colored with his own views. The lady of the _yashmak_, he informed me, was a member of the household of a wealthy Moslem in the neighborhood of Damascus. She was travelling via Port Said, and taking a Khedivial boat from there to Beyrût. He was a perfect mine of information, but his real interest was centered all the time on the party of four Indians. "They are emissaries of the Rajah of Bhotana," he informed me confidentially. "The mystery begins to clear up. You must have read about a month ago that Lola de l'Iris was selling some of her jewelery and devoting the proceeds to the founding of an orphanage or something of the kind; quite a unique advertisement. Well, the famous Indian diamond presented to her by one of the crowned heads of Europe was amongst the bunch which she sold; and after staying in the West for over fifty years, it is again on its way back to the East where it came from." I began to recollect the circumstances, now; the historic Indian diamond--I do not know Hindustanî, but its name translated means "Lure of Souls"--had been in the possession of the dancer for many years, and its sale for such a purpose had turned the limelight upon her most enviably. It was a new idea in advertising, and had proved an admirable success. So the four reticent gentlemen were the guardians of the diamond. Under normal circumstances this might have been interesting, but, as I have tried to make clear, another matter engrossed my attention. In fact, I was living in a dream-world. Of course, my opportunity came, in due course. One evening, as I mooned on the shadowy deck--which was quite deserted, because an extempore dance was taking place on the deck below--_she_ came gliding along towards me. I could see her eyes sparkling in the moonlight. At first I feared that she was going to turn back. She hesitated, in a wildly alluring manner, when first she saw me sitting there watching her. Then, turning her head aside, she came on, and passed me. I never took my eyes off that graceful figure for a moment. Coming to the rail, she leaned and looked out toward the coast of Crete, where silver tracings in the blue marked the mountain peaks; then, shivering slightly, and wrapping her embroidered shawl more closely about her shoulders, she retraced her steps. Not a yard from where I sat, she dropped a little silk handkerchief on the deck! How my heart leapt at that! the rest was a magical whirl; and ten seconds later I was chatting with her. She spoke fluent French, but little English.