CHAPTER Seventeen.
"Poor old Scharnhoff's in the soup." We ate a scratch dinner with the Daveys in their room and started forth.

Grim as usual had his nerve with him.

He led me and Suliman straight up to the three spies who were squatting against the wall, and asked whether there were any special regulations that would prevent my being left for the night in the famous mosque.

On top of that he asked one of the men to show him the shortest way.

So two of them elected to come with us, walking just ahead, and the third man stayed where he was, presumably in case Noureddin Ali should send to make enquiries.
You must walk through Jerusalem by night, with the moon just rising, if you want really to get the glamour of eastern tales and understand how true to life those stories are of old Haroun- al-Raschid.