“Better the English than this present anarchy,” another murmured. “Already the whole land is overrun by gangs of brigands. The streets here in the capital grow dangerous. There is no order kept except among the soldiers. All trade, all enterprise is at a standstill, and every public undertaking goes to ruin. Already all the people hate Arâbi.”

“The Lord deliver us,” said Yûsuf, “from him and from the English both. A dreadful quandary!”

When he went forth to his carriage, still in waiting, he told his slave to have his pistols ready, and himself examined the revolver which he carried. He wrapped a shawl about his face to pass unrecognized and, thus protected and disguised, drove through the darkling streets, where every wayfarer betrayed the like anxiety. Only the street-dogs went about their work as usual, prowling along the walls in search of offal.

At his own door a man accosted him. It was one of his paid spies. He led the way across the hall into his private room.