“Well?” I said.  “What does the old grouch want?”

“He thinks that you should be presented to the assembled notables at noon today.  In fact, he demands that they should catechize you regarding your ideas about a school.”

“I have no objection.”

“But, I am sorry to have to add this:  it is probable the notables will insist on your remaining in El-Kerak until after that shall have taken place which they have been summoned to decide on.  They will not risk your returning before the—­”

“Before what?”

“The—­ah—­they contemplate a raid!”

“So I’m a prisoner?”

“No, no!  Mon dieu, what do you think of me!  Even the fanatical Suliman ben Saoud saw the force of the argument when I spoke of the sanctity of any guest here on my invitation.  But he thinks—­ and I agree with him, that as a precaution you should first call on Sheikh Abdul Ali.  You will find him a very agreeable man, who will receive you with proper courtesy.  He is here from Damascus, and exercises a great influence.  Once his mind is at ease about you, he will satisfy all the others.  Are you agreeable?”

“Why not?”

So we smoked a cigarette together after the coffee, and then set forth on foot, for the distance was not great, preceded and surrounded by armed retainers.  I imagine the armed men were more for the sake of appearance than protection.  Ben Nazir seemed popular.  But the escort drove other pedestrians out of the way as roughly as they did the unspeakable dogs that infested every offal-heap.  The street that we followed was, of course, the open sewer for the houses on either hand, and its condition was a credit to the mangy curs that so resented our intrusion.

Abdul Ali’s house, if his it was, was a fairly big square building near the middle of the town.  It did not look unlike one of the old-time New York precinct stations, with its big windows protected by iron grilles, and a flight of stone steps leading up to a door exactly in the middle of the front wall.

There were thirty or forty capable-looking men hanging about the place.  Abdul Ali owned more than one camel caravan, and every man connected with the business looked on himself as a member of one big feudal family.  They were all armed.  Most of them had modern rifles.

We were admitted into a room that faced on the street, furnished entirely in the eastern style, except for two gilt chairs against the wall.  The walls were hung with carpets and the floor was covered with Bokhara rugs three deep.

No doubt in order to emphasize his own importance, Abdul Ali kept us waiting in that room for ten minutes before he condescended to enter.  But when he did come at last he was at pains to seem agreeable, which was not quite his natural attitude.