"There's
nothing in it for you. Feisul isn't on the make; I don't believe he
cares ten cents who is to be the nominal ruler of the Arabs, provided
they get their promised independence. He'd rather retire and live
privately. But he only considers himself in so far as he can serve the
Arab cause. Now, you've risked Mabel's life a score of times in order
to help sick men in mining camps, and malaria victims and Lord knows
what else. Here's a chance to do the biggest thing of all--"
"Of course, if you put it that way..." said Ticknor, hesitating.
"Just your style too. Nobody will know. No bouquets. You won't have
to stammer a speech at any dinner given in your honor."
"D'you want to do it, Mabel?" asked Ticknor, looking at her keenly
across the table.
"Of course I do!"
"All right, girl. Only, hurry back."
He looked hard at Grim again, then into my eyes and then Jeremy's.
"She's in your hands. I don't want to see any of you three chaps alive
again unless she comes back safe. Is that clear?"
"Clear and clean!" exploded Jeremy. "It's a bet, doc. Half a mo', you
chaps; that's my mine at Abu Kem, isn't it? I've agreed to give the
thing to Feisul and make what terms I can with him.
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