"If he had been suddenly taken ill--" Molly murmured.
"But there is no place in which he could have been taken ill which we have not searched," Ferrani reminded her.
"And besides," Holderness intervened, "Sandy was in the very pink of health, and bubbling over with high-spirits."
"One noticed that," Lutchester remarked, a little drily.
"He might almost have been called garrulous," Pamela agreed.
Ferrani took grave leave of them, and Holderness seated himself at the table.
"Well, let's get on with luncheon, anyway," he advised. "It's no good bothering. The best thing we can do is to conclude that the impossible has happened--that Sandy has met with some pals and will be here presently."
"Or possibly," Lutchester suggested, "that he has done what certainly seems the most reasonable thing--gone straight off to the War Office with his formula and forgotten all about us. Let us return the compliment and forget all about him."
They finished their luncheon a little more cheerfully. As the cigarettes were handed round, Pamela's eyes looked longingly at a tray of Turkish coffee which was passing.
"I'm a rotten host," Holderness declared, "but, to tell you the truth, this queer prank of Sandy's has driven everything else out of my mind. Here, Hassan!"
The coloured man in gorgeous oriental livery turned at once with a smile. He approached the table, bowing to each of them in turn. Pamela watched him intently, and, as his eyes met hers, Hassan's hands began to shake.
"The waiter is bringing us ordinary coffee," Holderness explained. "Please countermand it and bring us Turkish coffee for four."
The man had lost his savoir faire. His wonderful smile had turned into something sickly, his bland speech of thanks into a mumble. He turned away almost sheepishly.
"Hassan doesn't seem to like us to-day," Molly remarked.
"I should have said that he was drunk," her brother observed, looking after him curiously.
There was certainly something the matter with Hassan, for it was at least a quarter of an hour before he reappeared and served his specially prepared concoction with the usual ceremony but with more restraint. Molly and the two men, after Hassan had sprinkled the contents of his mysterious little flask into their coffee, gave him their hands for the customary salute. When he came to Pamela he hesitated. She shook her head and he fell back, bowing respectfully, his hand tracing cabalistic signs across his heart. For a moment before he departed, he raised his eyes and glanced at her. It was like the mute appeal of some hurt or frightened animal.