u from a roof last night? You'll
find him thereabouts. Sure you know the way? Good-bye. Good
luck! No, you won't need a pass; there'll be nobody to
interfere with you."

Chapter Nineteen

"Dead or alive, sahib."

I did get breakfast nevertheless, but in a strange place. The
city shutters were coming down only under protest, because, just
as in Boston and other hubs of sanctity, shop-looting starts less
than five minutes after the police let go control. There was an
average, that morning, of about ten rumours to the ear. So the
shop-keepers had to be ordered to open up. About the mildest
rumour was that the British had decide to vacate and to leave the
Zionists in charge of things. You couldn't fool an experienced
Jew as to what would happen in that event. There was another
rumour that Mustapha Kemal was on the march. Another that an
Arab army was invading from the direction of El-Kerak. But there
were British officers walking about with memorandum books, and a
fifty-pound fine looked more serious than an outbreak that had
not occurred yet. So they were putting down their shutters.

I had nearly reached the Haram-es-Sheriff, and was passing a
platoon of Sikhs who dozed beside their rifles near a street
corner, when Grim's voice hailed me through the half-open door
behind them. He was back in his favourite disguise as a Bedouin,
squatting on a mat near the entrance of a vaulted room, where he
could see through the door without being seen.

"This is headquarters for the present," he explained. "Soon as
we bag the game we'll run 'em in here quick as lightning. Most
likely keep 'em here all day, so's not to have to parade 'em
through the streets until after dark. A man's coming soon with
coffee and stuff to eat."

"What's become of Suliman?"

"He's shooting craps with two other young villains close to
where you left him last night. I'm hoping he'll get word with
his mother."

Grim looked more nervous than I had ever seen him. There was a
deep frown between his eyes. He talked as if he were doing it to
keep himself from worrying.

"What's eating you?" I asked.

"Noureddin Ali. After all this trouble to bag the whole gang
without any fuss there's a chance he's given us the slip. I
watched all night to make sure he didn't come out of that door.
He didn't. But I've no proof he's in there. Scharnhoff's in
there, and five of the chief conspirators. Noureddin Ali may be.
But a m