The great white moonlit courtyard was empty.  Not a soul stirred in it.  Not a shadow moved.  Because of the hour there were not even any guides lurking around the mosque.  The only shape that came to life as we approached the main entrance of the mosque was the man who takes care of the slippers for a small fee.

Grim, since he was in military dress, allowed the attendant to tie on over his shoes the great straw slippers they keep there for that purpose.  Suliman had nothing on his feet.  I kicked off the red Damascus slippers I was wearing, and we entered the octagonal building by passing under a curtain at the rear of the deep, vaulted entrance.

Nobody took any notice of us at first.  It was difficult to see, for one thing; the light of the lamps that hung on chains from the arches overhead was dimmed by coloured lenses and did little more than beautify the gloom.  But in the dimness in the midst you could see the rock of Abraham, surrounded by a railing to preserve it from profane feet.  Little by little the shadows took shape of men praying, or sleeping, or conversing in low tones.

The place was not crowded.  There were perhaps a hundred men in there, some of whom doubtless intended to spend the night.  All of them, though they gave us a cursory glance, seemed disposed to mind their own business.  It looked for a minute as if we were going to remain in there unquestioned.  But the two spies who had come with us saw a chance to confirm or else disprove our bona fides, and while one of them stayed and watched us the other went to fetch the Sheikh of the Mosque.

He came presently, waddling very actively for such a stout man—­a big, burly, gray-bearded intellectual, with eyes that beamed intelligent good-humour through gold-rimmed glasses.  He did not seem at all pleased to have been disturbed, until he drew near enough to scan our faces.  Then his change of expression, as soon as he had looked once into Grim’s eyes, gave me cold chills all down the back.  I could have sworn he was going to denounce us.

Instead, he turned on the two spies.  He tongue-lashed them in Arabic.  I could not follow it word for word.  I gathered that they had hinted some suspicion as to the genuineness of Grim’s pretension to be Staff-Captain Ali Mirza.  He was rebuking them for it.  They slunk away.  One went and sat near the door we had entered by.  The other vanished completely.

“Jimgrim!  What do you do here at this hour?” asked the sheikh as soon as we stood alone.

“Talk French,” Grim answered.  “We can’t afford to be overheard.”

“True, O Jimgrim!  It is all your life and my position is worth for you to be detected in here in that disguise at such an hour!  And who are these with you?”

“It is all your life and mosque are worth to turn us out!” Grim answered.  “When was I ever your enemy?”

“Never yet, but—­what does this mean?”