"You're quite right, Fred," he said quietly.

Then there came suddenly from out the darkness a yell for help in
English that brought three of us to our feet. Fred brushed his fierce
mustaches upward with an air of satisfaction, and sat still.

"There's somebody down there quite wrong, and in line at last to
find out why!" he said. "I've been waiting for this. Sit down."

We obeyed him, though the yells continued. There came blows suggestive
of a woman on the housetops beating carpets.

"D'you recollect the man I mentioned at the consulate--the biped
Peter Measel, missionary on his own account, who keeps a diary and
libels ladies in it? Well, he's foul of a thalukdar* from Rajputana,
and of a Prussian contractor, recruiting men for work on the Baghdad
railway. I wasn't allowed to murder him. I see why now--finger
of justice--I'd have been too quick. Sit down, you idiots! You've
no idea what he wrote about Miss Vanderman. Let him scream, I like it!"

---------------
* Punjabi Word--landholder.
---------------

"Come along," said Monty. "If he were a bad-house keeper he has
had enough!"

But Will had gone before us, headlong down the stairs with the speed
off the mark that they taught him on the playing field at Bowdoin.
When we caught up he was standing astride a prostrate being who sobbed