For a time Willie could see no way to proceed. Then, as he was thinking the matter over one day, he suddenly remembered the handkerchief in the can of pistachio-nuts. At once the incident took on a new meaning. He had wondered, at the time, why the merchant seemed so flustered over the matter. Now he believed that he knew. The handkerchief was smuggled. Likely it had been brought into the country in the can of pistachio-nuts and the merchant had overlooked it. Here was something to work on. Here was a tangible clue. If one handkerchief was smuggled through in nut cans, why might not others be? That evening Willie walked into the store where he had bought the pistachio-nuts. He had been in several times, and the merchant knew him. He nodded in a friendly way as Willie entered, and stepped behind the counter to serve him. Willie priced a number of things and explained that when he earned more money he would buy some of them. The merchant grinned. “I’ll take some of these nuts,” said Willie, and he laid down a dime. “Ten cent worth?” asked the shopkeeper. “Yes,” said Willie. The man put a weight on his scales and poured the nuts out of a small can. There were just enough nuts in it to fill the order. The man set the empty can on the counter, while he dumped the nuts from his scales into a paper sack. Willie picked up the can. He could not read the label on it. The characters were strange. He did not know whether they were Greek or Turkish or what they were. “They’re good,” said Willie, picking up the nuts. “Where do they come from? Armenia?” “No understand,” replied the merchant. “Where from?” asked Willie again, holding up the bag of nuts. “Home?” “No understand,” said the merchant, again. Just then his wife came into the shop. She could speak English more readily. “What you want know?” she inquired. Willie smiled. “Where these good nuts come from?” he said. “Habib Mahaleb,” said the woman. Instantly her husband frowned and angrily muttered something in his own tongue. The woman seemed distressed. “No, no,” said Willie, with quick intuition. “What country do they come from? Turkey?” The smile came back to the woman’s face. “Syria,” she said. “Good!” said Willie. “Fine country, Syria.” The woman smiled more broadly than ever. “My home,” she said. “Fine country.” “When I get enough money saved,” said Willie, “I am going to buy a lace collar for my mother.” “Fine laces. Cheap!” said the woman. “Mother like lace?” “Round her neck,” said Willie. “So,” and he drew his fingers along the lapels of his coat. The woman laughed, showing her pearly teeth. “Very good,” she said. “How long did it take you to make that scarf?” asked Willie, picking up a beautiful lace head-dress. “Me no make. Buy.” “Where? Syria?” The woman shrugged her shoulders and made no reply. In his mind Willie replied for her. “Habib Mahaleb, I’ll bet,” he thought.