We had just pulled our coins out, and the engineer was backing the train
in order to get her started, when Yussuf Dakmar arrived at our door,
carrying his belongings, and claimed a seat on the strength of a lie
about there being no room elsewhere.

There's something about a compartment on a train that makes whoever gets
in first regard the rest of the world as intruders. Nobody would have
been welcome, but we would have preferred a pig to Yussuf Dakmar.
Jeremy, democrat of democrats, who had slept without complaining between
the legs of a dead horse on a rain-swept battlefield, with a lousy
Turkish prisoner hugging him close to share the blanket, was up in arms
at once.

"Imshi!" he ordered bluntly.

But Yussuf Dakmar was delighted. The reception convinced him, if
anything were needed to do that, that one of us really was guarding the
secret letter; and he was one of those hogs, anyhow, who glory in
snouting in where they are plainly not wanted. He took the corner seat
opposite Jeremy, tucked his legs up under him, produced a cigarette and
smiled offensively. I'll concede this, though: I think the smile was
meant to be ingratiating.

He pulled out a package wrapped in newspaper and began to eat before the
train had run a mile. And, you know, more men get killed because of how
they eat than by the stuff they devour. If you don't believe that, try
living in camp for a week or two with a man who chews meat with his
mouth open. You'll feel the promptings of a murderer. I know a
scientist who swears that the real secret of the Cain and Abel story is
that Abel sucked his gums at mealtime.