"Willingly, Mustapha. Let us lose no time, I beg of you!"
"Then, monsieur, come!"
As he passes the clerk that worthy bends forward to say:
"Does monsieur know these people who have come from the steamer?"
John sees a list of names under his own.
Professor Sharpe and wife.
Lady Ruth Stanhope.
Colonel Lionel Blunt.
Miss Pauline Potter.
There they are, all present, and he hears the voice of Aunt Gwen in the dining-room, even at the moment of his reading her name, gently chiding a waiter for not serving the professor more promptly, always in a hurry, but generally good-natured withal.
"They are friends of mine," he says, and then follows his Arab guide.
Once on the street John observes what is passing around him, and the scene on the grand square is certainly lively enough, with the garrison band discoursing sweet music, the numerous lights from cafe and magasius de nouveautes, and crowds moving about.
Presently they come to a bazaar, where every article known to oriental ingenuity, from Zanzibar carpets, embroideries of Tunis, Damascus cutlery, and odd jewelry to modern novelties can be found.