‘Not much, my fine feller! You can have Abdul’s rag all right, all right, but this here document belongs to your auntie.’
The gentle police understood her not. Nicola, the Albanian waiter, attempted to interpret. He spoke a little French, but this was of no avail. The Turk called in a miserable Christian (she must be Christian) who spoke, besides Turkish and Albanian, Bulgarian, Servian, Rumanian, and Greek, but not a word of any kind had he in common with the curious stranger.
‘Of what use are all my tongues!’ he exclaimed piteously, as he was kicked out by the Turk. One of the Russians offered his services. His accomplishments comprised all the languages of Europe, including English. No use. ‘The woman who speaks no human language,’ he called her; and the name clung to her.
Nicola saw that the fearful female belonged to none of the known races, so when she appeared at dinner he seated her with ‘the English.’ She recognised me at once, and Austrians, Russians, Jews, and the Englishman, who hailed from Yorkshire, seeing that I was able to converse with the lady, at once made use of me to present their compliments and make gentle inquiries. The pragmatical Russian subsequently developed his witticism, and dubbed me the superhuman interpreter.
Between meals the unknown prowled the town carrying a small black box with a covered eye, which flapped at every native she met. Tziganes fled madly down the roads, Albanian women took fright, covered their faces and scurried into their houses, and even the Turk of habitual immobility suffered a rude shock to his equipoise.
Now, the potting of a peasant and the hold-up of a native in the crowded streets are episodes which do not disturb the tranquillity of Uskub, but the visit of an apparition from Mars is an event which does not take place every day. The stranger stalked through the covered bazaar, putting the place in a panic for the time being, and climbed the steep hill to the citadel, where the army practised at range-shooting without cartridges—an economy in ammunition. There she marched boldly up in front of the line of soldiers blinking at far-off targets through the sights of empty guns, aimed the eye of her black box at them, and snapped it. The triggers fell with a unison of clicks never before accomplished on the rifle-range. An officer of the garrison, who had been educated in Germany, and was accustomed to strange sights, emerged from the barracks at a pace Turks seldom acquire, and established for ever his reputation for bravery by ejecting the interloper. The artillery barracks was next to receive the spook, who was caught in the act of aiming her spell-box at the cannon. She was taken into custody by the commander himself, the troops refusing to obey orders, and detained until a fast rider could find the Vali and learn from him whether this were not an Austrian spy in disguise.
This was too much for the Turks; business was already at a standstill, and the garrison completely demoralised. The Vali ordered out his state coach forthwith, and with four outriders in the shape of trusty troopers unafraid of man or superman, made his way to the British Consulate. The preliminary compliments were cut unusually short, and in less than ten minutes the governor of Kossovo got to business.
‘It will be shot, O exalted Consul,’ said the Vali, ‘if it roams at large another day. I have assigned police to follow it for its protection, but I fear even they will be powerless to preserve it. Can you not persuade it to depart?’
The Consul tapped his head and rolled his eyes, after the manner best understood of the Moslem, and the Moslem heaved a comprehending sigh, expressed his gratitude, and took his departure.
Next day all Uskub knew that it was mad, and Moslem and Christian alike bowed low in holy reverence as it passed.