r. Winter winked knowingly. "Don't be anxious, sir. He wants to be seen
in my company. He believes I am here for trading purposes, and the
association will be useful to him."

Nevertheless the baronet was glad to find that Mr. Winter's confidence
was not misplaced, when, ten minutes later, he again encountered the
Frenchman and the Turks at the door of the Campo Santo, a cheap and
popular hotel near the square that forms the centre of Palermo.

The detective was eminently suited for the _role_ he now filled.

"Ah, monsoo," he cried with boisterous good humour, "permittez-moi
introducer un friend of mine, Monsoo Smeeth, de Londres, you know. Je ne
savez pas les noms de votre companiongs, but they are tres bons
camarades, je suis certain."

Gros Jean was most complaisant.

"It ees von grand plaisir, m'sieu," he said, whilst the Turks gravely
bowed their acknowledgments.

The upshot of this extraordinary meeting was that when Mr. Winter had
secured a room and the party had ordered dinner, the six men set out
for a stroll through the town.

Sir Hubert strove hard to so manoeuvre their ramble that they should
pass the Hotel de France, and perchance come under the astonished eyes
of Brett and the others.

But this amiable design was frustrated by Gros Jean's eagerness to visit
the post-office, which lay in a different direction.

One of the Turks, none other than Hussein-ul-Mulk, spoke English fairly
well, and it puzzled the old baronet considerably to answer his
questions.

Yet the situation passed off well. Gros Jean came out of the
post-office, apparently without having obtained any missives--a letter,
of course, could not possibly await him--and suggested that they should
wander towards the harbour.

Sir Hubert strongly recommended the spectacular beauty of the street
where the Hotel de France lay, but Gros Jean politely insisted that he
wished to make some inquiries at the shipping office, and Mr. Winter
backed him up, being ignorant of the baronet's real motive.

There was nothing to do but yield gracefully.

They walked along the Corso Vittorio Emmanuele. Sir Hubert, fresh with
memories of his morning's drive with a guide, pointed out the chief
buildings, becoming sadly mixed up in the names of some of them.

Still, this was a safer topic than his previous conversation with
Hussein-ul-Mulk, so he persevered gamely.

They soon reached the quay. Sir Hubert became almost incoherent with
agitation when t