mournful, rusty, and out of the picture, even when
plastered over with jewelled stars.

Few Turkish officials and officers were present, but the disquieting
sight of German officers in Turkish uniforms was not uncommon. And the
Count d'Eblis, Senator of France, noted this phenomenon with lively
curiosity, and mentioned it to his companion, Ferez Bey.

Ferez Bey, lounging in a corner with Adolf Gerhardt, for whom he had
procured an invitation, and flanked by the Count d'Eblis, likewise a
guest aboard the rich German-American banker's yacht, was very much in
his element as friend and mentor.

For Ferez Bey knew everybody in the Orient--knew when to cringe, when
to be patronising, when to fawn, when to assert himself, when to be
servile, when impudent.

He was as impudent to Adolf Gerhardt as he dared be, the banker not
knowing the subtler shades and differences; he was on an equality with
the French senator, Monsieur le Comte d'Eblis because he knew that
d'Eblis dared not resent his familiarity.

Otherwise, in that brilliant company, Ferez Bey was a jackal--and he
knew it perfectly--but a valuable jackal; and he also knew that.

So when the German Ambassador spoke pleasantly to him, his attitude
was just sufficiently servile, but not overdone; and when Von-der-Hohe
Pasha, in the uniform of a Turkish General of Division, graciously
exchanged a polite word with him during a moment's easy gossip with
the Count d'Eblis, Ferez Bey writhed moderately under the honour, but
did not exactly squirm.

To Conrad von Heimholz he ventured to present his German-American
patron, Adolf Gerhardt, and the thin young military attache
condescended in his Prussian way to notice the introduction.

"Saw your yacht in the harbour," he admitted stiffly. "It is
astonishing how you Americans permit no bounds to your somewhat
noticeable magnificence."

"She's a good boat, the _Mirage_," rumbled Gerhardt, in his bushy red
beard, "but there are plenty in America finer than mine."

"Not many, Adolf," insisted Ferez, in his flat, Eurasian voice--"not
ver' many anyw'ere so fine like your _Mirage_."

"I saw none finer at Kiel," said the attache, staring at Gerhardt
through his monocle, with the habitual insolence and disapproval of
the Prussian junker. "To me it exhibits bad taste"--he turned to the
Count d'Eblis--"particularly when the _Meteor_ is there."

"Where?" asked the Count.

"At Kiel. I speak of Kiel and the ostentation of certain