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“That depends on what you consider a long time,” he answered. “When I was in Persia I went with a caravan of pilgrims from Resht to Kerbela, which took some time, and a good part of the way lay through the desert. Of course the pilgrims were not always the most delightful of fellow-travellers, and one couldn’t help objecting very strongly to the companionship of the dead bodies which were carried along slung on mules to be buried at Kerbela. It was rather wearing, too, to have to be on your guard the whole time lest you should betray yourself, for the pilgrims are not particular, and would have torn you to pieces as soon as look at you. But it was great fun, all the same. There was pleasure even in the risk, and then it’s not many Europeans that get the chance of seeing the holy places. All that, and the desert as well.”

“But I don’t understand,” said Cecil. “Do you mean that you pretended to be a Mohammedan?”

“Yes,” answered Charlie, smiling. “I assure you that I am not one really, Miss Anstruther.”