“My God, stop!” he begged.
“Is your master in Iskanderia?”
A cry of rage trembled on his lips and was forced back.
“No,” he snapped, throwing open the door.
I stepped inside and followed him along the hall. At the entrance to a well-stocked library he turned to me with a hoarse whisper:—“Damn you! Why for you ring bell? I make you full of holes—”
A light step sounded in the passage and a grey-haired English lady stepped towards us.
“Yes, sir,” continued the Arab, without a pause, “master see you right away, sir. Step inside, please, sir.”
“Maghmoód,” said the lady, “who was ringing the door bell so long?”
“Think button get stuck, lady, when gentleman push,” replied the Arab, beaming upon me, “Shall I bring chocolate, lady?”
I sat down in the library and was joined almost at once by a sturdy, well-groomed old gentleman—a Briton by every token.