The Bashi Bazouk salaamed and started away, but Mehemet caught him by the arm. "The Effendi is in a terrible rage about Platonides. Tell the men to go up in twos and threes, and--and--to keep out of mischief." "We are not armed, Effendi," replied the man, smiling grimly, and laying his hand upon the butt of one of the large, old-fashioned pistols in his belt. Besides these weapons, he carried a long Cretan knife in a leathern sheath, tipped with silver. "We are not armed," he repeated, "except for dress." "There will surely be trouble," whined Ben Sabbath, "and these foreigners are our best customers." "What are the Christians doing now?" sneered Kostakes, standing in the door. He had passed into one of those periods of calm which manifest themselves after violent ebullitions of rage, like the fearful silences between thunderclaps. Mehemet pointed. The British troops and the marines were drawn up in front of the custom house. Red jackets and gleaming helmet tips on one side; bare knees in a row, kilts and little caps with frisking tails on the other. Numerous Bashi Bazouks were seen standing among the throng, several of them upon its outer edge. Kostakes caught sight of the hated Platonides in company with a British officer. The guard saluted, and the Cretan raised his hat, as though the military courtesy were intended for him. "If there is a row," chuckled Kostakes, "my men will attend to you. They'll install you!" And he started briskly across the square, accompanied by Mehemet. Ben Sabbath retired into the shop, trembling with fear. "Our best customers," he muttered, "and they never forgive nor forget!" But he could not restrain his curiosity, and so, after another moment, he peeped from the door again. Everything was proceeding quietly and in order. "Bah! There will be no trouble, with all those English there." He tiptoed across the open space in front of the door, ready to scurry back at the least symptom of alarm. He reached the edge of the throng, and forgetting his fear, in the midst of so many friends and neighbors, pushed boldly through, arriving at the farther edge just in time to receive a bullet in his breast. Clutching at the air, he staggered a few steps into the open and fell dead, with one loud cry to Allah for help. Like many another peaceful and inoffensive man he had fallen the first victim in a scene of violence. CHAPTER XXXIV STILL WITH THE ARMY