The chief and I have risked our jobs by not reporting it.

This visit is strictly unofficial." Feisul handed the letter back to him, and it was Grim who struck a match and burned it, after tearing off the seal for a memento.
"You know what it means, of course ?" Grim trod the ash into the carpet.
"If the French could have come by that letter in Jerusalem, they'd have Dreyfussed you--put you on trial for your life on trumped-up evidence.
They'd send a sworn copy of it to the British to keep them from taking your part." "I am grateful to you for burning it," Feisul answered.
He didn't look helpless, hopeless, or bewildered, but dumb and clinging on; like a man who holds an insecure footing against a hurricane.
"It means that the men all about you are traitors--" Grim went on.
"Not all of them," Feisul interrupted.
"But many of them," answered Grim.

"Your Arabs are loyal hot-heads; some of your Syrians are dogs whom anyone can hire." It was straight speaking.

From a major in foreign service, uninvited, to a king, it sounded near the knuckle.

Feisul took it quite pleasantly.
"I know one from the other, Jimgrim." Grim got up and took a chair opposite Feisul.