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CHAPTER III

THE RHINOCEROS WHIP

‘Where is the whip?’ Rashid cried, suddenly, turning upon me in the gateway of the khan where we had just arrived.

‘Merciful Allah! It is not with me. I must have left it in the carriage.’

Rashid threw down the saddlebags, our customary luggage, which he had been carrying, and started running for his life. The carriage had got half-way down the narrow street half-roofed with awnings. At Rashid’s fierce shout of ‘Wait, O my uncle! We have left our whip!’ the driver turned and glanced behind him, but, instead of stopping, lashed his horses to a gallop. Rashid ran even faster than before. The chase, receding rapidly, soon vanished from my sight. Twilight was coming on. Above the low, flat roofs to westward, the crescent moon hung in the green of sunset behind the minarets of the great mosque. I then

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