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Page 78
He had suddenly scented the perfume of Zulannah the courtesan.
He looked to right, to left and all about him, eyed with disfavour the
dirty woman so close to him, who stood crookedly, with an evil leer to
one eye; frowned and walked away to the platform from which the train
starts for Luxor. All stations in the East are invariably and most
uncomfortably crowded with natives who either stray hopelessly after
the manner of lost sheep, or stand stock-still, as hopelessly incapable
of movement, or rush pell-mell hither-thither at the sound of clanging
bell, or shriek from locomotive; but the station was unduly crowded
this evening, owing to the return of hundreds of pilgrims from a visit
to a certain shrine in the countryside and an influx of their friends
and relations from the bazaar to greet them.
The strong electric lights were blazing, intensifying the vivid colours
and modifying the dirt upon what was intended to be the white portions
of the natives' picturesque raiment; they shone down also upon the
disfigured woman who, with a certain amount of satisfaction in her
heart, brought about by the grim look on Ben Kelham's face, was limping
towards the exit. She had just reached it when her veil was caught on
the rough wicker of a basket containing hens which was being carried on
the back of a man whose mean hovel--which yet had been his home--had
been razed to the ground to allow of the building of the courtesan's
house.
He had stood the best part of the day, with heart full of vengeance,
amongst the little knots of people loitering outside the courtesan's
gate, and had only been induced to leave the spot to go and claim the
poultry waiting for him at the station.
Just as the veil caught in the wicker he moved a little to one side to
escape a group of laughing, joyous pilgrims; swung right round to shout
them a greeting and in so doing pulled the struggling woman in front of
him, tearing off her veil and exposing the right side of her face
which, having escaped injury, was still wonderfully beautiful, in spite
of the dirt. The basket of hens crashed, to the ground and, bursting,
liberated the birds, as, with a yell of "Zulannah!" the man leapt
straight at the woman, who dived under a porter's arm and disappeared
through the exit.
There was a sudden mad rush to the exit by the inhabitants of the
bazaar, who, jamming together in a shouting, yelling pack, gave the
woman a few moments' grace.
"Stand on one side, sir. Come back, miss!" ordered the station-master,
seizing the arm of an indignant Britisher. "It's no use trying to stop
them; they go like this sometimes, quite mad, generally when they've
sighted a thief or somebody against whom they have some grudge. Let
them pass, sir; let them pass."
The station-yard was packed with vehicles, motors, omnibuses, and
scores of rattling, racketing native carts.
Straight into the middle of them fled the woman, terror lending her an
incredible speed which agonising physical pain augmented. She dived
under horses, she squeezed through vehicles, she twisted and turned,
caring naught for the native drivers, who, indifferent to the daily
sufferings of their wretched little horses, lashed at her with their
whips, with shouts of "_Shima-lak_!" "_U'a-u'a_!" "_Riglak, riglak_!"
"_U'a-u'a_!" and peals of derisive laughter.
Headed by the man who had carried the hens, their eyes blazing,
helpless victims of the indescribable blood-lust which sometimes seizes
the mob, the inhabitants of the bazaar, with those who, understanding
nothing of the cause of the tumult, had joined in merely for the sport,
were after the woman like a pack of hounds.
If it had not been for the limp caused by the shortening of one leg,
and which became more noticeable the more she ran, she might have
escaped in the crowd in the Place Rameses and been alive to-day. But
the pack, as they ran, shouted, "A lame dog, a lame dog! Who has seen
a lame dog?" and those who had rushed to door or window to watch the
fun pointed her out with yells of laughter. She found a few moments'
respite when she tripped and fell over the neck of a recumbent camel
indistinguishable in the gloom of the side street into which she had
turned as she headed for her own house.
She had no distinct plan in her head; she was too exhausted to think;
she only knew, as know all wounded animals, that home is the place to
get to when stricken unto death. If she had just sat quite still on
the kerb, pulled a bit of stuff across her face and pointed way down
the street, with peals of laughter, the mob would have swept past her
and she would have been safe; but she blindly ran for home. If she had
stayed where she had fallen, behind the camel which lurched to its feet
as the pack ran by, she would even then have been safe, but she lay,
face down in the filth, only long enough to regain her breath, which
sounded like a whistle as it shrilled through the twisted mouth. With
breath regained she was up and away, with the secret door in the
wall--which had been discovered in her absence--as her goal, just as
the human hounds, doubling on their tracks, tore into the street, to
see the fluttering end of her dress disappear round a corner.
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