He called his brother in from the front, and explained to him who this strange visitor was and what he wanted.
"I have money," Angus said, "and am prepared to pay well for my accommodation. I have a servant with me, he is the son of a door-keeper at the embassy, and is altogether faithful and trustworthy. Unfortunately, I do not speak the Afghan tongue."
"That will matter little in the town; the majority of the people still speak Persian, although they may know Pushtoo. It is the same with many of the fugitives who have come in from the plain. You will have difficulty in seeing the prince. He is old and feeble, and for the greater part of his time he is drunk. Everything is therefore in the hands of the wuzeer, who is one of the worst of men—cruel, avaricious, and unscrupulous. We have had many tyrants, but he is the worst; and I can assure you that the success of the Persians would fill all but the Afghan portion of the population with the deepest joy. It will be necessary for you to see him first before you see Shah Kamran. The hour is getting late, and I shall close my shop shortly. If you will go round with my brother to his house I will join you there presently. We all love and respect the English. They have always been our good friends, and glad indeed should we be were they masters here as they are in India; for I have been there, and know how just is their rule—how they oppress no one, and will not suffer others to do so. This would be a happy city indeed if your people were our masters."
A short walk brought Angus and Azim to the house of the carpet-weaver. It was of some size, but bore a neglected and poverty-stricken aspect, which was not belied by its appearance when they entered. The doors stood open, and it could be seen that looms stood idle now in all the rooms. The man led the way upstairs, and unlocking a door there entered the family apartments. The contrast between these and the floor below was great indeed. Afghan carpets covered the passages and floors, well-stuffed divans ran round the rooms, and although there were no signs of wealth, everything pointed to comfort. The Armenian led them into a room, where his wife and two daughters were seated. They rose in some surprise at seeing him enter accompanied by an Afghan peasant. Azim had remained in the passage without.
"Do not be surprised," the trader said; "this person is not what he looks, but is an English effendi, the bearer of a letter from his minister at Teheran to Shah Kamran. He is going to do us the honour to lodge here for a time. He speaks our language as well as Persian."
"He is welcome," his wife said courteously; "and indeed his presence here will afford us a protection which we shall need more than ever when the passions of the people are excited by the siege."
"As you are accustomed to our ways," the husband said, "you will not be surprised at my bringing you in here or at seeing the women unveiled. As a rule, everywhere in the East we adopt the customs of the country so far that our women veil when they go out, and my wife and daughters would do the same here if they were to walk through the streets. But my daughters have not left the house since they were children; my wife has not done so since we took up our abode here twenty-three years ago."
Angus uttered an exclamation of surprise.
"You would not be astonished if you knew the lawlessness that prevails here. No young woman can venture safely into the streets, for as soon as a report that she was good-looking reached Kamran she would be seized and carried off to his harem even in broad daylight. No respectable woman would think of going out save with an armed escort."