“I had to leave it.”
“Unguarded?”
“Yes.”
“Well, we’ll be lucky if we ever see it again. Brad, stay with Nadia and Dunbar, while I go with the professor to look after that baggage.”
Fortunately not a piece of the baggage had been stolen. Dick was clear-headed, and he soon learned what to do with it, although Zenas rendered absolutely no assistance. There was a German hotel in the city, and a representative of the house took charge of all the luggage after it was pointed out, assuring them that it would be taken to the hotel without delay. Another man escorted our friends through the crowd to a carriage that ran to the hotel.
Once in the carriage they breathed easier. Away they were whirled through the narrow streets of the strange, old city, leaving the station and the motley crowd behind.
The houses of Damascus are mainly of sun-dried clay with flat roofs, surrounded by low copings. This roof serves for many purposes. Often it is used as a dining room, while during the hot summer months it serves as a bedroom at night. On warm evenings people sit on the housetops to enjoy the air. When the muezzin appears on the balcony of a minaret hundreds upon hundreds of faithful Moslems mount to their housetops and go through the gymnastic contortions of Mohammedan worship.
But not all the buildings of Damascus are low and flat-roofed. There are some towers, and temples, and minarets, besides a few modern buildings, with roofs of bright corrugated iron, which glisten in the sunshine.
Compared with most American cities, Damascus lacks trees and foliage. Compared with the desert surrounding it, however, it is a perfect bower of shade and rest.
A look of disappointment crept over the face of Brad Buckhart as he gazed around him on the way from the station to the hotel.