It was near the time that the voice of the Mueddin, from the summit of the village mosque, announced that the hour of evening prayer had arrived, and called on the faithful to worship Allah, when we entered the village. Without halting, we rode at once up to the entrance-gate of the great man's abode. Cool confidence afforded us the best chance of success. We were brought up at a porch, with a closed gate, in a high wall which ran round the mansion. We knocked loudly, and after a time the gate was opened by a slave, who salaamed low as he demanded our business. "To see your great, powerful, and most illustrious master, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera," said Mr Vernon, in Arabic. "Tell him that I have come to treat with him about a matter of great importance." The slave on this disappeared, keeping us outside, though he shortly returned, with two or three more slaves and a couple of armed men. Two of the slaves taking our steeds, the first signed us to advance, and led the way through a garden full of sweet-scented plants, the verbena, the jessamine, and rose, and shaded by luxuriant vines, trailed on bamboo trellice-work over head, the fruit hanging down in tempting bunches within our reach. In front of an alcove, or summer-house, on a rich carpet, sat a stout old man, in flowing robes, and long white beard, which hung down over his breast. We bowed low, and then stood still before him, for he did not offer us cushions to sit on; while Mr Vernon, paying the fullest compliments his knowledge of the language could command, opened his business. "I do not understand clearly what all this is about," said the old Sheikh, in reply. "Jewels to sell and jewels to buy. Perhaps to-morrow I may understand better. Come again in the forenoon, and show me your wares, and we will see what is to be done."