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32
THE RHINOCEROS WHIP

him by a miscreant—a wicked cabman. His lord will kill him if he fails to find it.’

Seized with interest, I shouldered my way forward. There was Rashîd against the wall of a large mosque, beating himself against that wall with a most fearful outcry. A group of high-fezzed soldiers, the policemen of the city, hung round him in compassion, questioning. Happily, I wore a fez, and so was inconspicuous.

‘Fifty Turkish pounds!’ he yelled. ‘A hundred would not buy its brother! My master, the tremendous Count of all the English—their chief prince, by Allah !—loves it as his soul. He will pluck out and devour my heart and liver. O High Protector! O Almighty Lord!’

‘What like was this said cabman?’ asked a sergeant of the watch.

Rashîd, with sobs and many pious interjections, described the cabman rather neatly as ‘a one-eyed man, full-bearded, of a form as if inflated in the lower half. His name, he told me, was Habîb; but Allah knows!’

‘The man is known!’ exclaimed the sergeant, eagerly. ‘His dwelling is close by. Come, O thou

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