“Shut that door behind them!” thundered Kagig.  “If they come too slowly, shut the laggards out!”

“Who is this who is arrogant?” the German demanded in English.

He was a fine-looking man, dressed in civilian clothes cut as nearly to the military pattern as the tailor could contrive without transgressing law, but with a too small fez perched on his capable-looking head in the manner of the Prussian who would like to make the Turks believe he loves them.  Rustum Khan cursed with keen attention to detail at sight of him.  The man who had entered with him became busy in the shadows trying to find room to stall their horses, but Von Quedlinburg gave his reins to an attendant, and stood alone, akimbo, with the firelight displaying him in half relief.

“I am a man who knows, among other things, the name of him who bribed the kaimakam.* on Chakallu,” Kagig answered slowly, also in English.

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* Kaimakam, headman (Turkish).
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The German laughed.

“Then you know without further argument that I am not to be denied!” he answered.  “What I say to-night the government officials will confirm to-morrow!  Are you Kagig, whom they call the Eye of Zeitoon?”

“I am no jackal,” said Kagig dryly, punning on the name Chakallu, which means “place of jackals.”

The German coughed, set one foot forward, and folded both arms on his breast.  He looked capable and bold in that attitude, and knew it.  I knew at last who he was, and wondered why I had not recognized him sooner—­the contractor who had questioned us near the railway encampment along the way, and had offered us directions; but his manner was as different now from then as a bully’s in and out of school.  Then he had sought to placate, and had almost cringed to Monty.  Everything about him now proclaimed the ungloved upper hand.

His party, finding no room to stall their horses, had begun to turn ours loose, and there was uproar along the gipsy side of the room—­no action yet, but a threatening snarl that promised plenty of it.  Will was half on his feet to interfere, but Monty signed to him to keep cool; and it was Monty’s aggravatingly well-modulated voice that laid the law down.

“Will you be good enough,” be asked blandly, “to call off your men from meddling with our mounts?” He could not be properly said to drawl, because there was a positive subacid crispness in his voice that not even a Prussian or a Turk on a dark night could have over-looked.

The German laughed again.

“Perhaps you did not hear my name,” he said.  “I am Hans von Quedlinburg.  As over-contractor on the Baghdad railway I have the privilege of prior accommodation at all road-houses in this province—­for myself and my attendants.  And in addition there are with me certain Turkish officers, whose rights I dare say you will not dispute.”

Monty did not laugh, although Fred was chuckling in confident enjoyment of the situation.