Greenmantle - John Buchan

I told him in a hectic sentence, for I was beginning to feel badly rattled
myself.
'You've never been in greater danger in your life,' said the voice. 'Great God,
man, what brought you wandering here today of all days?'
You can imagine that I was pretty scared, for Sandy was the last man to put a
case too high. And the next second I felt worse, for he clutched my arm and
dragged me in a bound to the side of the road. I could see nothing, but I felt that
his head was screwed round, and mine followed suit. And there, a dozen yards
off, were the acetylene lights of a big motor-car.
It came along very slowly, purring like a great cat, while we pressed into the
bushes. The headlights seemed to spread a fan far to either side, showing the full
width of the drive and its borders, and about half the height of the over-arching
trees. There was a figure in uniform sitting beside the chauffeur, whom I saw
dimly in the reflex glow, but the body of the car was dark.
It crept towards us, passed, and my mind was just getting easy again when it
stopped. A switch was snapped within, and the limousine was brightly lit up.
Inside I saw a woman's figure.
The servant had got out and opened the door and a voice came from within—
a clear soft voice speaking in some tongue I didn't understand. Sandy had started
forward at the sound of it, and I followed him. It would never do for me to be
caught skulking in the bushes.
I was so dazzled by the suddenness of the glare that at first I blinked and saw
nothing. Then my eyes cleared and I found myself looking at the inside of a car
upholstered in some soft dove-coloured fabric, and beautifully finished off in
ivory and silver. The woman who sat in it had a mantilla of black lace over her
head and shoulders, and with one slender jewelled hand she kept its fold over the
greater part of her face. I saw only a pair of pale grey-blue eyes—these and the
slim fingers.
I remember that Sandy was standing very upright with his hands on his hips,
by no means like a servant in the presence of his mistress. He was a fine figure
of a man at all times, but in those wild clothes, with his head thrown back and
his dark brows drawn below his skull-cap, he looked like some savage king out
of an older world. He was speaking Turkish, and glancing at me now and then as