He is a Syrian.

It occurred to me that you might prefer to be searched by a European." "Call his bluff!" Grim whispered behind his sleeve, but I intended to do that, anyway.
"Bring along your Syrian," said I, and off he went to do it, treating me to a backward glance over his shoulder that conveyed more than words could have done.
"He'll bluff sky-high," said Grim, "but keep on calling him." "I've been searched at six frontiers," said Mabel.

"If it's a Syrian I don't much mind; you boys all come along, and he'll behave himself.
They're much worse in France and Italy.

Hadn't one of you better take the letter, though?
No! I was forgetting already! I won't part with it.

I'll take my chance with the Syrian; he'll only ask me to empty my pockets and prove that I haven't a bag full of gold under my skirt.