On regaining the inn, they found that the only sleeping apartment was a tiny box of a room, approached by a rickety ladder. Here they settled themselves on rugs provided by the genial host, and tumbled off to sleep, unaware that sentries had posted themselves at the door.
Next morning they were awakened by the sound of the ladder being replaced, and rose to see the host and three of his family climbing up, laden with towels and battered wine-pots full of water.
“Good morning, excellencies,” said the smiling hanji. “Knowing your fondness for water, we have brought plenty for the washing. If you will be pleased to step on to the balcony yonder, and lean over, we will pour the water over your heads.”
The travellers good-humouredly accepted the host’s kind attentions. A crazy balcony ran along at the back of the inn. They stepped on to this, removed part of their clothing, and leant over, while the wine-pots were emptied successively over their heads and bare backs. In the courtyard below, two sentries and a dozen idlers watched the performance with grave interest. When it was over, and the assistants had rubbed them dry, they descended to the common room, to eat a breakfast of the same fare as their supper.
Maurice knew that it was impossible to see the Pasha until midday was passed, so George and he spent the morning in wandering about the streets, always closely attended by the sentries. After an early dinner they set off for the Seralio. At the door an official wanted to pull off their boots, but Maurice objected to this, pointing out that it was not the custom of his countrymen, who showed respect by taking off their hats, whereupon the man pulled aside a heavy curtain over the doorway, and gave them admittance.
They found themselves in a long room furnished in European style. The Pasha, a tall, handsome Turk, gorgeous with medals and decorations, was seated at a small table at a window overlooking the city. Rising at their entrance, he motioned them to seat themselves on chairs beside his own, and offered them glasses of a pink syrup.
“I am exceedingly sorry, Messieurs,” he said in French, “that you have been inconvenienced by the action of our police. When they heard of your arrival, they suspected you to be Austrian spies, but no sooner did the Chief of the Police see you, and perceive your noble appearance, than he felt the groundlessness of his suspicions.”
Maurice made suitable acknowledgment of so handsome a compliment, remembering that he was dirty and tattered, and had several days’ growth of bristles on his chin. He then had a short conversation with the Pasha on the state of the country, the last revolution, the reforms of the Young Turks, and finally asked permission to continue his journey eastward.
“You are travelling on some wonderful machine, I am told,” said the Pasha.
“It is novel, excellency,” replied Maurice, “and if you would care to see it, we shall be most happy to show it to you.”