"Monsieur, your reverend father, must surely have told you stories

about the destruction of the Gallipoli school, mademoiselle," he

insisted.

"Yes. It happened a year before the mission at Trebizond was destroyed

by the Turks." I said maliciously.

"So I have heard. What a pity! Our Osmanli--our peasantry are so

stupid! And it was such a fine school. A German engineer was killed

there, I believe."

"Yes, my father said so."

"A certain Herr Conrad Wilner, was it not?"

"Yes. How did you hear of him, Colonel Izzet?"

"It was known in Stamboul. He perished by mistake, I believe--at

Gallipoli."

"Yes; my father said that Herr Wilner was the only man hurt. He went

out all alone into the mob and began to cut them with his riding whip.

My father tried to save him, but they killed Herr Wilner with

stones."

"Exactly." He spread his beautifully jewelled hands deprecatingly and

seemed greatly grieved.

"And Herr Wilner's--property?" he inquired. "Did you ever hear what

became of it?"

"Oh, yes," I said. "My father took charge of it."

"Oh! It was supposed at the time that all of Herr Wilner's personal

property was destroyed when the school and compound burned. Do you

happen to know just what was saved, mademoiselle?"

Of course I immediately thought of the bronze demon, the box of

instruments, and the photographs and papers at home with which I used

to play as a child. I remembered my father had said that these things

were taken on board the Oneida when he, my mother, and I were

rescued by marines and sailors from our guard vessel which came

through the Bosporus to the Black Sea, and which escorted us to the

Oneida. And I was just going to tell this to Izzet Bey when I also

remembered what the Princess had just told me about giving any

information to Ahmed Pasha. So I merely opened my eyes very innocently

and gazed at Colonel Izzet and shook my head as though I did not

understand his question.

The next instant the Princess came in to see what I was about so long,

and she looked at Izzet Bey with a funny sort of smile, as though she

had surprised him in mischief and was not angry, only amused. And when

Colonel Izzet bowed, I saw how red his face had grown--as red as his

fez.

The Princess laughed and said in French: "That is the difference

between professional and amateur--between Nizam and Redif--between

Ahmed Pasha and our esteemed but very youthful attaché--who has much

yet to learn about that endless war called Peace!"




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