The Veiled Lady

"Oh, awful close, awful close! I tell you--but not here. Come, we go 'way--we go now--not stay here any more. If that officer see the lady with us the Pasha send me to black mosque for five year and you find yourself board ship on way to Tripoli. Here come Yusuf--damn him! You tell him you no like view of mosque from here--say you find another place to-morrow--you do this quick. Hornstog never lie."

On my way across the Galata Bridge to my quarters in Pera that same afternoon Joe followed until Yusuf had made his kotow and we had made ours, the three ending in a triple flight of fingers--waited until the guard was well on his way back to the Pasha's office--it was but a short way from the Stamboul end of the Galata--and drawing me into one of the small cafes overlooking the waters of the Golden Horn, seated me at the far end near a window where we could talk without being overheard. Here Joe ordered coffee and laid a package of cigarettes on the table.

"My! but that was like the razor at the th