He made no obeisance, but stood facing Monty eye to eye. The words, as he rolled them out, were like an order given to a thousand men. One almost heard the swish of sabers as the squadrons came to the general salute.
"I knew you, Rustum Khan, the minute I set eyes on you. Why were you beating this man?"
"Sahib bahadur, because he wrote in his book that people in France should pray for me in church, naming my honorable name, because, says he—but I will not repeat what he says. It is not seemly."
"How do you know what is in his diary?" Monty asked.
"That German read it out to me. We were sitting, he and I, discussing how the Turks intend to butcher the Armenians, as all the world knows is written. They say it shall happen soon. Said he to me—the German said to me—'I know another,' said he, 'who if I had my way should suffer first in that event.' Saying which he showed the written book that he had found, and read me parts of it. The German was for denouncing the fellow as a friend of Armenians, but I was for beating him at once, and I had my way."
"Where is the book?" demanded Monty.
"The German has it."
"The German has no right to it."
"I will bring it."
Rustum Khan strode off into the night, and Monty bent over the sobbing form of the self-appointed missionary. We were all alone in the midst of the courtyard, not even watched from behind the wheels of arabas, for a fight or a thrashing in the khans of Asia Minor is strictly the affair of him who gets the worst of it.
