The hotel stands close by the Jaffa Gate, and there the crowd was densest, for the outgoing swarm was met by another tide, of city-folk returning.  In the mouth of the hotel arcade stood an officer whom I knew well enough by sight—­Colonel Goodenough, commander of the Sikhs, a quiet, gray little man with a monocle, and that air of knowing his own mind that is the real key to control of Indian troops.  Up a side-street there were a dozen troop-horses standing, and a British subaltern was making himself as inconspicuous as he could in the doorway of a store.  It did not need much discernment to judge that those in authority were ready to deal swiftly with any kind of trouble.

But the only glimpse I had of any mob-spirit stirring was when three obvious Zionist Jews were rather roughly hustled by some Hebron men, who pride themselves on their willingness to brawl with any one.  Two Sikhs interfered at once, and Goodenough, who was watching, never batted an eyelash.

I was tired, wanted a whiskey and soda and a bath more than anything else I could imagine at the moment.  I was eager to get to my room in the hotel.  Suliman, being not much more than a baby after all, wanted to go to sleep.  We went past Goodenough, who eyed me sharply but took no further notice, and we entered the hotel door.  But there we were met by Cerberus in the shape of an Arab porter, who cursed our religion and ordered us out again, threatening violence if we did not make haste.

Suliman argued with him in vain, and even whimpered.  There was nothing for it but to return to the arcade, where I sat down on a step, from which a native policeman drove me away officiously.  I had about made up my mind to go and speak to Goodenough in English, when Grim appeared.  Not even Goodenough recognized him, his Syrian stride was so well acted.  He saluted, and the salute was returned punctiliously but with that reserve toward a foreigner that the Englishman puts on unconsciously.  When Grim spoke to him in Arabic Goodenough answered in the same language.  I did not hear what was said at first, but as I drew closer I heard the sequel, for Grim changed suddenly to English.

“If you can’t recognize me through that magnifying-glass of yours, colonel, I must be one leopard who can really change his spots.  I’m Grim.  Don’t change your expression.  Quick:  look around and tell me if I’m followed.”

“Hard to say.  Such a crowd here.  There’s a Syrian over the way with a bulbous nose, who came along after you; he’s leaning with his back to the wall now, watching us.”

“He’s the boy.”

“I see Narayan Singh has left his post.  Did you give him orders?”

“Yes.  Told him to follow any one who followed me.  I don’t want that fellow interfered with.  He may stay there, or more likely he’ll call others to take his place; they’ll watch all night, if they’re allowed to; let them.  Wish you’d give orders they’re to be left alone.  Then, please let Narayan Singh go off duty and get some sleep; I’m going to want him all day tomorrow.”