When he had finished you could actually physically feel the suspicion directed at me.  It was like a cold wind.  Anazeh was just as conscious of it, and muttered something about its being time to go.  Abdul Ali got up and asked indignantly why the Ichwan from so far away should have such an important voice; he himself stood there ready to answer all questions.  Suliman ben Saoud retorted sourly that he proposed to question the Damascene in public after privately interrogating me.

“They shall not interfere with you!  You are in my charge,” Anazeh growled in my ear.  “I will summon my men at the first excuse.”

“Jimgrim says, ‘Be quiet!’” I answered.

There was another uproar.  Ali Shah al Khassib openly took the part of Abdul Ali.  A dozen men demanded to know how much he had been paid to do it.  Finally, Suliman ben Saoud beckoned me.  I got up, and with Mahommed ben Hamza at my heels I followed him to a narrow door in a side wall that opened on a stone stairway leading to the ramparts.  Anazeh’ came too, growling like a hungry bear, and after a couple of blood-curdling threats hurled at Suliman ben Saoud’s back he took up position in the open door, facing the crowd, and dared any one to try to follow.  He seemed to have confidence in Mahommed ben Hamza’s ability to protect me, if necessary, on the roof.

The roof and ramparts appeared deserted.  They were in the ruinous state to which the Turks reduce everything by sheer neglect, and in which Arabs, blaming the Turks, seemed quite disposed to leave things.  The Ichwan led the way to the southwest corner, peering about him to make sure no guards were in hiding, or asleep behind projecting buttresses.  Overhead the kites were wheeling against a pure blue sky.  The Dead Sea lay and smiled below us, with the gorgeous, treeless Judean Hills beyond.  Through the broken window of the hall came the clamour of arguing men.

“O, Jimgrim!” grinned Mahommed ben Hamza when we reached the corner.

Grim turned and faced us with folded arms, leaning his back against the parapet.

Ben Hamza continued:  “You are a very prince of dare-devils!  One word from me—­one little word, and they would fling you down into the moat for the vultures to feed on!”

“I remember a time,” Grim answered, “when a word from me saved you from hanging.”

“True, father of good fortune!  But a man must laugh.  I will hold my tongue in El-Kerak like a tomb that has not been plundered!”

“You’d better!  You’ve work to do.  Where are your men?”

“All where I can find them.”

“Good.  You’ll get turned out of the mejlis presently.  Look down into the moat now.”

We all peered over.  The lower ramp of the wall sloped steeply, but all the way up the sharp southwest corner the stones were broken out, and a goat, or a very active man could find foothold.

“Could you climb that?”