The innkeeper, a middle-aged man of Arab type, stood in the doorway to inspect his guest before admitting him.
"Whither are you bound, stranger?" he asked.
"For Edremit, khanji. I have business with the army: what it is I cannot say: you understand that?"
The khanji looked knowing.
"I am deaf and blind if need be," he said. "You will want a horse. I think I can find one for you--if you can pay."
"Surely I will pay well."
"Enter, then, O honoured guest. I will set before you what is left of a prime chicken, and after, cakes and honey, and whatsoever this khan will afford."
Frank went in. The single guest-chamber, a large apartment, was lit by a couple of saucer-lamps. Three men of the carrier type were eating their supper. The host laid rugs on a sleeping board at one end of the room for Frank, and called to his servant to bring the stranger a bowl of stew.
"What news of the war?" he asked.
"There is little fresh," replied Frank. "The Russians get no further, and the English are beating their heads against the rocks in Gallipoli. Your countrymen the Turks----"