“It is well known in Paris, and has been exposed in _La Patrie_ and other of our so well-informed papers.” “But this is colossal,” said Headingly. “Do you mean to tell me, Monsieur Fardet, that the siege of Khartoum and the death of Gordon and the rest of it was just one great bluff?” “I will not deny that there was an émeute, but it was local, you understand, and now long forgotten. Since then there has been profound peace in the Soudan.” “But I have heard of raids, Monsieur Fardet, and I’ve read of battles, too, when the Arabs tried to invade Egypt. It was only two days ago that we passed Toski, where the dragoman said there had been a fight. Is that all bluff also?” “Pah, my friend, you do not know the English. You look at them as you see them with their pipes and their contented faces, and you say, ‘Now, these are good, simple folk, who will never hurt any one.’ But all the time they are thinking and watching and planning. ‘Here is Egypt weak,’ they cry. ‘_Allons!_’ and down they swoop like a gull upon a crust. ‘You have no right there,’ says the world. ‘Come out of it!’ But England has already begun to tidy everything, just like the good Miss Adams when she forces her way into the house of an Arab. ‘Come out,’ says the world. ‘Certainly,’ says England; ‘just wait one little minute until I have made everything nice and proper.’ So the world waits for a year or so, and then it says once again, ‘Come out.’ ‘Just wait a little,’ says England; ‘there is trouble at Khartoum, and when I have set that all right I shall be very glad to come out.’ So they wait until it is all over, and then again they say, ‘Come out.’ ‘How can I come out,’ says England, ‘when there are still raids and battles going on? If we were to leave, Egypt would be run over.’ ‘But there are no raids,’ says the world. ‘Oh, are there not?’ says England, and then within a week sure enough the papers are full of some new raid of Dervishes. We are not all blind, Mister Headingly. We understand very well how such things can be done. A few Bedouins, a little backsheesh, some blank cartridges, and, behold--a raid!” “Well, well,” said the American, “I’m glad to know the rights of this business, for it has often puzzled me. But what does England get out of it?” “She gets the country, monsieur.” “I see. You mean, for example, that there is a favourable tariff for British goods?” “No, monsieur; it is the same for all.” “Well, then, she gives the contracts to Britishers?” “Precisely, monsieur.” “For example, the railroad that they are building right through the country, the one that runs alongside the river, that would be a valuable contract for the British?” Monsieur Fardet was an honest man, if an imaginative one. “It is a French company, monsieur, which holds the railway contract,” said he. The American was puzzled.