Reaching Piccadilly, Gray stood for a time on the corner, indifferent
to the jostling of passers-by. Finally he crossed, walked along to the
Prince's Restaurant, and entered the lobby. He glanced at his wrist-
watch. It registered the hour of seven-twenty-five.
He cancelled his order for a table and was standing staring moodily
towards the entrance when the doors swung open and a man entered who
stepped straight up to him, hand extended, and:
"Glad to see you, Gray," he said. "What's the trouble?"
Quentin Gray stared as if incredulous at the speaker, and it was with
an unmistakable note of welcome in his voice that he replied:
"Seton! Seton Pasha!"
The frown disappeared from Gray's forehead, and he gripped the other's
hand in hearty greeting. But:
"Stick to plain Seton!" said the new-comer, glancing rapidly about
him. "Ottoman titles are not fashionable."
The speaker was a man of arresting personality. Above medium height,
well but leanly built, the face of Seton "Pasha" was burned to a
deeper shade than England's wintry sun is capable of producing. He
wore a close-trimmed beard and moustache, and the bronze on his cheeks
enhanced the brightness of his grey eyes and rendered very noticeable
a slight frosting of the dark hair above his temples.
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