of Cairo, before the tide flowed to the modern Isma'iliya quarter), and
after a few intricate turnings plunged into a still, twilight region.
The streets through which we passed were so narrow, and the old houses
so far overhung the path that the strip of sky at the top of the dark
canyon was a mere line of inlaid blue enamel flecked with gold. The
splendid mushrbiyeh windows thrust out toward each other big and little
bays, across the ten or twelve feet of distance which parted them, as
if to whisper secrets; yet the delicate wooden carvings skilfully hid
all that they wished to hide, and only suggested their secrets.

"Now we'll soon be coming to the House of the Crocodile," said Allen.
"By Jove, it's a joke on us, and a smart one, if it's been turned into
a hasheesh den, under our noses. But it must be something new, or we
should have got onto it. The Chief thinks already he can guess who's at
the bottom of the business and who has put the money up: a certain Bey,
in whose service the caretaker was--a rich old Johnny, very old
fashioned, who lives not far off in a beautiful house of the best
Cairene period. He's keen on antiquities, and has been of service to
the government in several ways, though he's a reformed smuggler; and
his only son, dead now, was a hopeless hashash; that's what they call
slaves of the hasheesh habit. I suppose you've read all about the
'Hashashseyn' of the Crusaders' days, whom we speak of as Assassins?
Well, ever since then the Hashasheyn have had a bad reputation; but
this old man I speak of has been pitied for his son's failings, which
he pretends to think a 'judgment for his own past, repented sins.' Now,
Lord Ernest, saunter, please, as if you were a tourist in my charge,
admiring the old doorways."

Two native workmen appeared in front of us, with pickaxes on their
shoulders. Stopping, they threw down their tools. One produced a cord