room which was mentioned in the message he simply must have written, and simply hadn't.

Duval sat on a campstool in one corner, more haggard than before. There were many books on the floor beside him, and one lay open in his hand. Ghalil smoked reflectively on a window-sill. The blank stone wall of the next building showed half-a-dozen feet beyond. Only the grayest and gloomiest of light came in the windows. Ghalil looked up and seemed pleased when Coghlan entered.

"I hoped you would come after the boat-trip," he said cordially. "M. Duval and myself are still exchanging mutual assurances of our lunacy."

"Up in the Sea of Marmora," said Coghlan curtly, "somebody tried to kill Mannard. Since that's supposedly a part of this affair, it may be crazy but it's surely serious! Did Headquarters tell you about it?"

"There was no need," said Ghalil mildly. "I was there."

Coghlan stared.

"I have believed Mr. Mannard in danger from the beginning," Ghalil explained apologetically. "I underestimated it, to be sure. But after you told me of the affair of last night--when even he believes he tripped--I have taken every possible precaution to guard him. So of course I went on the yacht."

Coghlan said incredulously, "I didn't see you!"

"It was stifling below-decks," said Ghalil wryly. "But most of the sailors were my men. You must have noticed that they were not skilled seamen?"Coghlan found all his ideas churned up again.
"But--"
"He was in no danger from the bullet," Ghalil assured him. "I was concerned about the luncheon. In Istanbul when we think of an impending murder we think not only of knives and guns, but of poison. I took great pains against poison. The cook on the yacht tasted every item served, and he has a talent for detecting the most minute trace of the commoner poisons. An odd talent to have, eh?"
"But Mannard was shot at!" protested Coghlan.
Lieutenant Ghalil nodded. He puffed tranquilly on his cigarette.
"I am an excellent marksman," he said modestly. "I watched. At the last possible instant--and I am ashamed to say only by accident--it was discovered that his coffee was poisoned."
Coghlan found suspicion and bewilderment battling for primacy in his mind.
"You recall," said Ghalil carefully, "that Mr. Mannard talked absorbedly and at length. When he went to drink his coffee, he found it cold. He sent his cup to be refilled. I am disturbed," he interjected vexedly, 

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