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* Shapkali--hatted man-foreigner.
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"Let's hope they haven't a spark of honesty!" said Monty cryptically,
watching them canter away.

"Why on earth--?"

"Let's hope they ride back to the consul and swear they haven't received
one piaster of their pay. That would let him know we're clear away!"

"Optimist!" jeered Will. "That consul's a Britisher. He'd take
their lie literally, and deduce we're no good!"

For the moment the girl on the gray stallion had ridden away from
Will and was giving regal orders to the mob of women and shrill children,
who obeyed her as if well used to it. Gregor Jhaere and his men
stood staring at us, Gregor shaking his head as if our letting the
Turks go free had been a bad stroke of policy.

"Aren't you afraid to travel with all that mob of women and cattle?"
asked Monty. "We've heard of robbers on the road."

"We are the robbers, effendi!" said Gregor with an air of modesty.
The others smirked, but he seemed disinclined to over-insist on the
gulf between us.

"Hear him!" growled Rustum Khan. "A thief, who boasts of thieving