long ago, land simply disappeared. There are outlaws everywhere, and it's more than a theory that the public officials are in league with them."
"What a joke if we find the old family castle is a nest of robbers," smiled Monty.
"Still!" corrected Fred.
I was watching the consul's eyes. He was troubled, but the prospect of massacre did not account for all of his expression. There was debate, inspiration against conviction, being fought out under cover of forced calm. Inspiration won the day.
"I was wondering," he said, and lit a fresh cigar while we waited for him to go on.
"I vouch for my friends," said Monty.
"It wasn't that. I've no right to make the proposal—no official right whatever—I'm speaking strictly unofficially—in fact, it's not a proposal at all—merely a notion."
He paused to give himself a last chance, but indiscretion was too strong.
"I was wondering how far you four men would go to save twenty or thirty thousand lives."
"You've no call to wonder about that," said Will. "Suppose you tell us what you've got in mind," suggested Monty, putting his long legs on a chair and producing a cigarette.
The consul knocked out his pipe and sat forward, beginning to talk a little faster, as a man who throws discretion to the winds.
"I've no legal right to interfere. None at all. In case of a massacre of Armenians—men, women, little children—I could do nothing. Make a fuss, of course. Throw open the consulate to refugees. Threaten a lot of things
