The Snake Stone

100

George Compston picked up the note and turned it over in his hands. He walked through the embassy tapping it against his teeth, looking for Fizerly.

He found him with his feet up on a desk, rubbing olive oil onto his mustache. He started when he saw Compston.

“Got a note,” Compston said carelessly.

Fizerly swung his legs to the ground. “Is she pretty?”

Compston opened the note, read it quickly, and blushed.

“I’m afraid that’s between me and these four walls, old man,” he said rather thickly.

Fizerly shrugged. It was so infernally hot.

Compston read the note again. He’d lit a spark there! A Turkish Byron enthusiast-whatever next?

It was from that eunuch, Yashim.