Now--what next ?" "You come with me," I answered.
He felt better now that the message was on its way; second thought convinced him of my connection with the French.

There is no more profitless delusion than to suppose that a country's secret agents are always its own nationals.

They are almost always not.
If the French used only Frenchmen, Germany used none but Germans, Great Britain only Englishmen, and so on, it might be prettier and easier for the police, but intelligence departments would starve.

So there was nothing about an obvious American doing spy-work for the French that should stick in his craw; and that being so, the more cheerfully he aided me the better it would likely be for him.
So he called for the servant again, and proved himself a good campaigner by superintending the packing of a big basket with provisions--bread and butter, cold chicken, wine, olives, and hot coffee in a thermos bottle.
"The French will be in Damascus by noon tomorrow," he said.

"Ha-ha! Those French and their hungry Algerians! We do well to take a good provision with us--enough for two days at least.