“Quite easy. The hakim’s ointments seem to be effective. But I’m getting very tired of this.”
“What will happen if we don’t wait for the Pasha?”
“We shall have some trouble to get out of the city. They will immediately jump to the conclusion that we are shady characters. The Pasha’s exeat is necessary. The worst of it is that if he has set his heart on this ridiculous race we shall have to waste more time. Probably he won’t be satisfied with one, but will want to keep us racing for hours.”
“Well get over that,” said George, laughing. “I’ve had an idea.”
And then he told his brother of the notion which had occurred to him as he cleaned the engines.
“A very happy thought,” said Maurice. “I’ll question our host and see how the land lies.”
Evening came, but still no Pasha; and at sunset, there being nothing else to do, the Bucklands turned in, expecting to be honoured by a visit in the morning. They had not been long asleep, however, when they were roused by the sound of shots in the street. They sprang up and ran to the hole in the floor, from which the ladder had been removed to secure their privacy. More shots were fired outside; there was a loud banging at the door and a hullabaloo of voices.
By the dim light of a small lamp the guests saw the hanji hurry to the door and throw it open. Instantly he fell forward in an attitude of supplication, to receive a cuff on the head from one of the Pasha’s guard, who entered, followed by the Pasha himself.
“Where are the Inglese effendis?” said the great man. “Acquaint them that I am come to pay them a visit.”
“Great Scott!” ejaculated George, when Maurice told him what was happening. “What a time to come! We can’t receive him here.”