An inspiration was given me by the sight of W.'s bald head. W., although a second lieutenant, was a very old man--in the neighbourhood of forty, I believe. He looked venerable enough to be a temperance lecturer, although as a matter of fact he was a first-rate fellow. Knowing the Turkish reverence for the higher military ranks, I pointed to the bald patch on his head and said, "kaimakam!" (colonel), then indicated the unpleasant surroundings as if in protest against the indignity of putting a colonel in such a place. The policeman, already in fear of H.'s violence, was obviously of opinion that a _kaimakam_, even an English one, should have better quarters. With a "_haidee-git!_" to the guards he led us back into the rain, and so to the gendarmerie. There he woke the police officer and explained our presence. Fortunately the officer was too drowsy to read our papers for proof of the presence of a _kaimakam_. Finally, at his orders, the gendarme took us to a room on the first floor of a two-story mud building. It was dirty and utterly bare; but there, at any rate, we had privacy. We laid out claims to floor-space and fell asleep, while Alfonso remained on guard by the door. That little room in a mud hut was the home for ten days of seven British officers and two Turkish guards. Side by side, and with bodies touching each other, there was just space enough for eight people to lie on the floor. Already, when we arrived, one could sense the presence of Cuthbert and Alfonso without seeing or hearing them; and with each washless day their natural odour became more and more intensive. We had nothing to read, and--worst misfortune of all--somebody had left our pack of playing-cards in the train. We wandered round the walls like beasts in a cage. Nobody in the village knew or cared why we were there, or what was to happen to us. We could only surmise that this was the punishment for the plot to escape from Damascus. Cuthbert took our papers into the village on the morning after arrival, but returned at midday with no information and many shoulder shrugs. Although none of us knew Turkish we understood enough to realize that if the matter of obtaining instructions were left to this stupid illiterate we might stay in the village for ever. A council of war decided that I, as being the linguist, and W., as being the most imposing of us, with his bald head, his bushy moustache, and his South African ribbons, should drag Cuthbert into the presence of whatever officials we could find, and make ourselves a pluperfect nuisance until we were sent away. "Commandant!" I said, going toward the door, this word being common to most languages. "_Yassak!_" (forbidden) said Cuthbert, barring the way. "Commandant! Come!" I insisted, brushing him aside.