“Then there is the British consul. Surely he will act if we call on him.” “I doubt if he has the power,” said Professor Gunn. “We are in a terrible predicament. I fear the horror of 1860 is about to be repeated.” “What happened in 1860?” asked Dunbar. “Six thousand unarmed and unoffending Christians and foreigners were massacred in Damascus, and nearly twice as many more outside the city, in Syria.” “Oh, dreadful!” gasped Nadia, growing faint and being assisted to a chair by Buckhart. “What if it happens again? Oh, I believe it is going to happen!” At this juncture a fiercer outburst of noise rose from the street, and again Dick Merriwell looked out of the window, the others pressing close behind him. It seemed that some one from the hotel had ventured to step outside to address the crowd. Instantly his words were drowned by howls, and shrieks, and curses, while a shower of missiles drove him back to shelter. Then some one espied the little group in the upper window and called attention to it. Instantly the crowd began shouting insults at our friends and shaking their fists at them. “Take Nadia back from the window, Brad,” advised Dick, in a low tone. “Keep her mind distracted as much as possible from this.” Again Buckhart conducted the girl to a chair. “Better all get back,” said Professor Gunn. “We’re just adding to their fury by standing in the window and watching them.” They moved back a little, but the mob continued to rage and snarl, like a pack of infuriated wild animals. “Was no one punished for the other massacre?” asked Dick. “The powers of Europe finally interfered,” answered the professor. “The Turkish government was compelled to punish some one, so Ahmad Pasha, the governor, lost his head. That was about the extent of the punishing.” “Well the present governor ought to remember Ahmad Pasha. If he isn’t careful he may lose his head.” The whole hotel was in a state of great excitement, as Dick learned by stepping outside the room, and listening. Women were weeping and wailing, while white-faced men hurried hither and thither, up and down, without seeming able to decide on anything. He heard two men talking, and one was telling the other that already the mob had murdered a man in the open street. “It’s pretty serious,” Dick decided. “Once let a mob like that get a taste of blood, and there is no telling where the affair will end. I fear this will be a bloody day for Damascus. If they begin killing, the odds are against any one of us escaping with his life.” One of the men below was speaking again. “They say this thing started over the unwarranted murder of an exiled Pasha.” “That’s the report, and I was told a few minutes ago that the mob declares the murderers of the Pasha are in this very hotel. That is why it has been singled out as the first point of attack.”