"The Onbashee (corporal)," said the proprietor in a cringing tone, springing to his feet; and seizing several soldiers who were asleep on a bench, he rolled them on to the floor, thus making room for the new arrival. The latter, a dumpy-looking man, with a fez on his head, red regimental trousers, and a short yellow dressing-gown, sat down on the bench, and beckoned to me to sit by his side. The occupants of the room by this time were thoroughly aroused. A small boy, the exact counterpart of the proprietor minus the scar and wen, speedily made some coffee. The fragrant beverage was duly handed first to the Onbashee and myself, and then to Osman and Radford, the head of the latter being in close proximity to the ceiling of the establishment.
I addressed the corporal, and told him that I was an English traveller, who wanted a night's lodging.
"English!" he cried, then springing to his feet he respectfully saluted, and said, "I thought, Effendi, that you were an Italian or a countryman of the Greek here," pointing to the proprietor of the place. "Come along, sir," leaving the building, he led me to a small building, apparently a guard-house, for in the room below there were ten soldiers, some rifles and accoutrements being suspended on a rack on the wall. Ascending a few rickety stairs, I entered a small lobby. It was about ten feet square, and had no furniture save a wooden ledge.
"This is my room," said the Onbashee. "You and the other Englishman can sleep here. I will sleep downstairs with the men." Then bringing two blankets he threw them down on the ledge, saluted in a military fashion, and disappeared.
"Queer place, sir," said Radford, looking round. "However, it is better than the hole downstairs. Shall I sleep here, sir, or in the stable?"
"On the floor," I replied. "Go and look after the horses, and then bring up some rugs."
At daybreak Osman started for Scutari in search of the lost horse. A few hours later I took my gun, and went to see if I could find any snipe in a marsh near the town. About six p.m. Osman returned. It was easy to see from his crestfallen face that he had heard no news of the lost Obadiah.
"At Gitdi! The horse has gone, Effendi," he said. "I have been to every farm-house near here, and no one has seen a black gelding with his tail cut short. Praise be to Allah that I cut all the horses' tails before starting; our animal will be different from the others in the neighbourhood, and will be easily distinguished."
"I went to the Pacha at Scutari," he added, "he has given orders to the police to search for the horse. When he is found, he will be sent after the Effendi by train to Ismid."
Gitdi (it has gone), I began to hate that word. Later on, if our tea had been stolen, Osman invariably greeted me with gitdi. It is the first word which a traveller in Turkey hears, he is kept in mind of it during his entire journey. There was nothing to be done but to hire another baggage-horse, and give orders for a start at daybreak.