We caught the sound of a flute played wistfully in an upper room by some Jew returned from the West to take up anew the thread of ancient history.
Grim nudged me sharply in one shadowy place, where the street went down in twenty-foot-long steps between the high walls of windowless harems.

Another narrow street crossed ours thirty feet ahead of us, and our two guides were hurrying, only glancing back at intervals to make sure we had not given them the slip.
The cross-street was between us and them, and as Grim nudged me two men--a bulky, bearded big one and one of rather less than middle height, both in Arab dress--passed in front of us.

There was no chance of being overheard, and Grim spoke in a low voice: "Do you recognize them ?" "I shook my head.
"Scharnhoff and Noureddin Ali!" I don't see now how he recognized them.

But I suppose a man who works long enough at Grim's business acquires a sixth sense.
They were walking swiftly, arguing in low tones, much too busy with their own affairs to pay attention to us.

Our two guides glanced back a moment later, but they had vanished by then into the gloom of the cross-street.
There was a dim lamp at one corner of that crossing.