He cannot understand what such impetuosity means.
He realizes that he is dealing with one who is different from the usual run of travelers.
"Monsieur does not, perhaps, know the danger involved in the night; foreigners do not often invade the old town after dark." "Pardon me, my business is very important.

Can you procure me a reliable guide, one who speaks English ?" "It can be done.

First, I would recommend that you seal up your watch and valuables in this envelope." "A good idea.

You will keep them in your safe," suiting the action to the word.
"Now; monsieur will write his name." "Done." "Also the address." "Eh?
I don't quite understand." "To which he would have them sent." "Sent ?" "In case we see monsieur no more." "Ah! Now I catch on," with a smile, as he adds the words: "Chicago, Ill., U.S.A." "Chicago, I have heard of it; quite a place," remarks the clerk.
"Rather," dryly.

"The cicerone, please." Then the clerk beckons to a man who has been lounging not far away.
John sweeps his eyes over him.
He sees an Arab gipsy, a swarthy fellow of stalwart build, dressed in the attractive costume of his race.