“Let all except twenty men,” said he, “go and rest in those sheds.  If any one asks questions, say only ‘Allah!’ So they will think you are Muhammadans.  If that should not seem sufficient, say ‘Wassmuss!’ But unless questioned many times, say nothing!  As you value your lives, say nothing more than those two words to any one at all!  Rather be thought fools than be hanged before breakfast!”

So all but twenty of the men went and lay down on straw in the three empty sheds, and I took the twenty and followed him into the great shed with closed sides.  Therein, besides many other things, we beheld great baskets filled with loaves of bread,—­not very good bread, nor at all fresh, but staff of life itself to hungry men.  He bade the men count out four loaves for each and every one of us, and then at last, he gave me a little information.

“The Germans in Stamboul,” he said, “talked too loud of this place in my hearing.”  I stood gnawing a loaf already, and I urged him to take one, but he would eat nothing until all the men should have been fed.  “They detrain Dervish troops at this point,” said he, “and march them to the shore to be shipped to Gallipoli, because they riot and make trouble if kept in barracks in Skutari or Stamboul.  This bread was intended for two train-loads of them.”

“Then the Dervishes will riot after all!” said I, and he laughed—­a thing he does seldom.

“The sooner the better!” said he.  “A riot might cover up our tracks even better than this rain.”

“Is there no officer in charge here?” I asked him,

“Aye, a Turkish officer,” said he.  “I heard the Germans complain about his inefficiency.  A day or two later and we might have found a German in his place.  He mistakes us for friends.  What else could we be?” And he laughed again.

“But the telegraph wire?” said I.

“Is down,” he said, “both between here and Skutari, and between here and Inismid.  God sent this storm to favor us, and we will praise God by making use of it.”

“Where is Tugendheim?” said I, but it was some minutes before he answered me, for, since the loaves were counted he went to see them distributed, and I followed him.

“Tugendheim,” he said at last, “has driven the Turkish officer to seek refuge in seclusion!  I used the word ‘Wassmuss,’ and that had effect; but Tugendheim’s insolence was our real passport.  Nobody here doubts that we are in full favor at Stamboul.  Wassmuss can keep for later on.”

“Sahib,” said I, seeing he was in good humor now, “tell me of this Wassmuss.”

“All in good time!” he answered.  And when he has decided it is not yet time to answer, it is wisest to be still.  After fifteen or twenty minutes with the men, I followed him across the yard and entered the station waiting-room—­a pretentious place, with fancy bronze handles on the doors and windows.