“You don’t know!” cried the uneasy jeweller. “Why, where did you start from this afternoon?”
His Beatitude considered a moment.
“With Kyrio Anastass,” he replied, and he looked around him as if to discover the whereabouts of that personage.
“No, he is not here!” exclaimed the jeweller. “He said he would be back in twenty minutes, and he has been gone three hours. But where did he bring you from this afternoon?”
Again His Beatitude considered.
“It was up,” he answered, lifting his hand. “Upon the hill. Below was water. And I saw the little Pipina!” he added triumphantly.
“The little Pipina!” burst out the distracted jeweller. “I thought it was the Grand Vizier. Excuse me a moment while I speak to the coachman.”
Bowing himself out he hurried to the door. It was as he said. The other coachman had returned and seemed to be having some discussion with the one who had waited.
“Look at me!” called the jeweller imperiously.
Both men turned.
“Where did you bring these effendis from this afternoon?”
“From Top-Haneh, Effendim,” they answered in concert.
“Top-Haneh, eh? And what street?”
“From the quay,” they chorused again. “They came in a boat.”
“In a boat!” The jeweller’s heart became as lead within him. But he looked at the new-comer. “And where did you drive the three young ones from here? The two and the cavass?”
“First they said the Ottoman Bank,” replied the man, “but then they changed their minds and told me to drive down to the Galata Quay”
“The quay!” cried Monsieur Karaghieuze, turning pale.
“Yes. They said they had to catch a steamer.”
“A steamer!” almost shrieked the jeweller. “What steamer?”
The man shrugged his shoulders:
“Who knows? There are a thousand. They went out in a sandal. They told the boatman to row for his soul. But they threw me back a lira!” Rising a moment he reached into his pocket and held up the glittering gold piece with a grin. “I just happened to pass, and Mahmoud here told me that he hasn’t got his yet!”
“A-a-ah!” uttered the jeweller slowly, between his teeth. Then he wheeled in a flash. “If I don’t tear out by the root every hair of that goat’s beard of his!” he cried. And he ran back like a tiger into the little red cabinet where lay His Beatitude.
