“Yes, yes,” Grim interrupted.  “Will you play the man now, if I give you the chance?”

“If you will accord me opportunity, at least I will do my best.”

“Understand; you’ll not be allowed to live here afterward.  You’ll be repatriated to Austria, or wherever you come from.  All you’re offered is a chance to clean your slate morally before you go.”

“I shall be grateful.”

“Will you obey?”

“Absolutely—­to the limit of my power, that is to say.  I am not an athlete—­not a man of active habits.”

“Very well.  Listen.”  Grim turned to me again

“Take Scharnhoff to his house.  You know the way.  When afternoon comes, set a table in the garden and let him sit at it.  He may as well read.  If nothing happens before dark, take him out a lamp and some food.  He mustn’t move away.  He’d better change into his proper clothes first.  Your job will be to keep an eye on him until I come.  You’d better keep out of sight as much as possible, especially after dark.  Better watch him through the window.  And, by the way, take this pistol.  If Scharnhoff disobeys you, shoot him.”

He turned again on Scharnhoff.

“I hope you’re not fooling yourself.  I should say the chance is two or three to one that you’ll come out of this alive.  If you’re killed, you may flatter yourself that’s a mighty sight cleaner than hanging.  If you come out with a whole skin, you shall leave the country without even going to jail.  Time to go now.”

I slipped the heavy pistol into my pocket and led the way without saying a word.  Scharnhoff followed me, rather drearily, and we walked side by side toward the German Colony, he looking exactly like one of those respectable and devout educated Arabs of the old style, who teach from commentaries on the Koran.  We excited no comment whatever.

“What will he do?  What is his purpose?” Scharnhoff asked me after a while.  “If a man is in danger of death, he likes to know the reason—­the purpose of it.”

I had a better than faint glimmering of Grim’s purpose, but saw no necessity to air my views on the subject.

“I’m amused,” said I, “at the strictly unofficial status of all this.  You see, I’m no more connected with this administration than you are.  I’m as alien as you.  You might say, I’m a stranger in Jerusalem.  Yet, here I am, with a perfectly official pistol, loaded with official cartridges, under unofficial orders to shoot you at the first sign of disobedience.  And—­strictly unofficially, between you and me—­I shan’t hesitate to do it!”

He contrived a smile out of the depths of his despondency.

“I wonder—­should you shoot me—­what they would do to you afterwards.”

“Something unofficial,” I suggested.  “But we’ll leave that up to them.  The point is—­”

“Oh, don’t worry!  You shall have no trouble from me.”  It took a long time to reach his house, for the poor old chap was suffering from lack of sleep, and physical weariness, as well as disappointment, and I had to let him sit down by the wayside once or twice.  Being in hard condition, and not much more than half his age, I had almost forgotten that I had not slept the night before.  Keen curiosity as to what might happen between now and midnight was keeping me going.