Sit tight, all, here he comes!" The Frenchman returned with a smiling, olive-complexioned Syrian in tow -- a round-faced fellow with blue jaws as dark as his serge uniform.

The Frenchman stood aside and the Syrian announced rather awkwardly that regulations compelled him to submit Mabel and me to the inconvenience of search.
"For what ?" said I.
"For gold," he answered.

"It is against the law to smuggle it across the border." "I've only one gold coin," I said, showing him a U.S.

twenty-dollar piece, and his yellow eyes shone at sight of it.

"If it will save trouble you may have it." I put it into his open palm with the Frenchman looking on, and it was immediately clear that that particular Syrian official was no longer amenable to international intrigue.