There were three men there. Grim was talking to the other two.

"Keep your hands on each other's shoulders! Don't move! I'm going to
search all your pockets again. Now, Mr. Charkian. Ah! That feels like
quite a pretty little weapon; mother o' pearl on the butt? Have you a
permit? Never mind; not having the weapon you won't need a permit,
will you? And papers--Mashallah! What a lot of documents; they must
be highly important ones since you hide them under your shirt. I expect
you planned to sell them, eh? Too bad! Too bad!

"You keep your hands on Mr. Charkian's shoulders, Yussuf Dakmar, or I'll
have to use violence! I'm not sure, Mr. Charkian, that it wouldn't be
kinder to society to send you to jail after all; you need a bath so
badly. It seems a pity that a chief clerk to the Administration
shouldn't have a chance to wash himself, doesn't it? Well, I'll have to
read these papers afterward--after we've usurped the prerogative of
Destiny and mapped out a little of the future. Now--are you both
listening? Do you know who I am?"

There was no answer. "You, Mr. Charkian?"

"I think you are Major Grim."

"Ah! You wish to flatter me, don't you? Never mind; let us pretend
I'm Major Grim disguised as an Arab; only, I'm afraid we must continue
the conversation in Arabic; I might disillusion you if I tried to talk
English. We'll say then that I'm Major Grim, disguised. Let's see
now... What would he do in the circumstances? Here's Yussuf Dakmar,
wanted for murder in the city and known to be plotting a massacre, seen
climbing a wall when the sentry's back was turned, and caught in