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They scattered before him like
leaves before an autumnal gale.
At this moment, round the
corner of the Zabtieh, rode
Bimbashi Parkinson-Smythe, a
lighted cigarette between his
lips and perfect self-satisfaction
in his bearing.

It cannot be denied that
Parkinson-Smythe, confronted
with this very unpleasant situa-
tion, acted with great prompti-
tude and presence of mind.
He had no idea what it was
all about. What he saw was
a panic-stricken crowd fleeing
in all directions while, im-
mediately in his path, a leaping
figure flourished a dripping
sword and cried aloud of God.
The Inspector had been out to
examine a new well which was
being dug in a neighbouring
village, and he was returning to
his office with his mind full of
schemes for the future. To be
brought face to face with sudden
death in the midst of daily
routine is very upsetting. The
instinct of self-preservation is
strong in most of us, and
perhaps the thought of flight
may have flashed across Par-
kinson-Smythe's mind, but if
so he did not act upon it. All
unarmed as he was he did not
hesitate an instant, but, giving
his pony the spurs, he charged
the fanatic to ride him
down.

and came to rest between the numnah and the pony's back.

He

Mansur, in his madness, did not wait to be attacked. rushed forward to meet the new arrival. Swinging back his sword he aimed a whistling back-hand cut at the rider's body, leaping aside as he struck. It was at this instant that the pony felt the first sharp stab of pain from the burning cigarette. He checked suddenly and reared. The movement could not have been better timed. The hissing sword-blade shore through reins and martingale, grazing the pony's off-shoulder but doing no further harm. Like George II. at Dettingen, Bimbashi Parkinson-Smythe was carried, swift as an arrow, from the stricken field.

After one disappointed glance in the direction of the flying pony, Mansur turned again to his grim work. The crowd had The had scattered and, for a moment, he was at a loss to know which line to follow, but, as he hesitated, he saw that a large group of the fugitives was seeking refuge in the police guard-room across the square. With a shout of triumph he gave chase.

Such courage ought to have succeeded. Perhaps it would have done SO but for the cigarette which, falling from the Bimbashi's lips in the first shock of his astonishment, rolled under the peak of the saddle

The only occupant of the guard-room at this crisis was an ancient black policeman, an old soldier whose service dated from the days when Gordon was Governor of the Sudan. This veteran was engaged in adjusting his puttees to his shrunken shanks, when through the doorway burst the

had to acknowledge that the filter had been installed originally as a safeguard and that, as a safeguard, it was now worse than useless. He took immediate steps to remedy the defect, but, when this was done, he had still to deal with the wound which had been inflicted on his self-esteem. He determined that he must do penance.

leaders of the terrified mob. danger as much as possible, he Falling over each other in their eagerness to escape, they brushed the aged man aside. His foot was knocked from the stool on which it had been resting. The end of his puttee fell from his hand and, unwinding slowly, settled in untidy loops about his ankle. He stood, a helpless figure, in the middle of the hut, while the frightened disturbers of his peace tore and pushed at each other in their efforts to escape through a small door at the back. And then in through the entrance from the square dashed the wild-eyed Mansur, his sword athirst for slaughter. The old soldier glared at him. This was more than he could stand.

I'll

He

"What's this? he burst out furiously. "Don't you know that this is the guardroom? We can't have this sort of thing in here. put you under arrest." took a firm pace forward and seized the fanatic roughly by the arm. "Bringing your sword in here too! Don't you know any better than that Wallahi, the ignorance of these civilians! . . .”

Mansur looked down, abashed. In the presence of this unquestioned authority he felt like a guilty child. Meekly he allowed himself to be disarmed.

The leaking filter at the soda water factory had shaken M'William more than he cared to admit, even to himself. While minimising the

For some months the desirability of having a field day with the bearer section of his Field Hospital had lain heavy upon him. First one thing and then another had interfered. His officers were sick; mules for transport were not available; or a serious case demanded his immediate care, and it became apparent that the effort necessary to overcome this suspicious inertia would soon outweigh the desirability of the training. Now that the weather had turned hot there was every reason for a further postponement until after the rains, but no-he wouldn't do it; here was a chance to recover his self-respect and, at the same time, shake the orderlies out of the rut of their daily routine.

On the afternoon of the day before Mansur's outburst the Medical Corps Detachment paraded in full marching order and tramped out into the desert, where they settled down for the night. M'William and his officers accompanied them, leaving the civil doctor in temporary charge of the station. And

now, under the hot glare of his unaccustomed sword with a flourish and, in a terrific voice, shouted out "Zinhar" (Attention.)

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The reaction was instantaneous. A long line of orderlies sprang from the ground like jacks from so many boxes. The pony, with a suddenness made possible by years of training on the polo field, stopped in his stride and bounded to the left. The rider shot forward from the saddle, and landed with a crash on the point of his shoulder ten feet in front of the nearest stretcher.

"My God! he's killed!" thought the terrified Aziz, and rushed forward to pick him up.

the morning sun, the bearers were advancing in open order on the town, collecting the casualties supposed to have been left by troops which had preceded them in the assault. Presently the long line of stretchers was halted, and the orderlies knelt down beside them attending to the "casualties " which had been "planted in readiness for their approach. M'William had gone far out on the flank to prepare for the next movement, leaving his youngest officer, Lieutenant Negib Aziz, in command of the centre. Suddenly from the outskirts of the town a grey pony came whirling towards them in a cloud of dust. His rider appeared to be leaning forward at a dangerous angle, his arms outstretched, and clawing helplessly as if trying to grasp the pony's nose. Even in the distance the sounds of his shouting reached the ears of the native officer. Lieutenant Aziz was puzzled. He was newly come from the fraternal atmosphere of the Parkinson-Smythe," he he said American Medical College at quietly, and, motioning the Beyrout, and the unsympathetic others to stand aside, he bent attitude of his senior officers over the prostrate figure. After alarmed him. This horseman a short examination he sat was clearly a British officer. back on his heels. "Stunned, Some action was necessary. and a broken collar-bone," he What ought he to do? The remarked to Lieutenant Aziz. pace of the pony was in- "May possibly be a slight credible. He was almost upon concussion. Bring me a haverthem. The shouts became sack; I think I had better set articulate. They were curses. this myself. Tell the Yuzbashi The officer was angry. Action to close up on the centre. was imperative. Springing to We'll take the Inspector to the his feet, Lieutenant Aziz drew Civil Hospital and leave him

M'William had seen the accident from afar, and now came pounding over the sand to rescue the victim from the danger of too many willing hands. He was always at his best when faced with a professional problem. He dismounted from his pony and handed the reins to one of the orderlies.

"Oh, SO it's Bimbashi

there in the shade until the sun goes down. I don't want to carry him all the way to his quarters in this heat. Never mind about the pony; he will go back to his stable all right."

stead. He did not stop to make inquiries, but pressed on. Inside the compound the crowd was thicker. Many of the people had blood upon their clothing. The civil doctor came running from the office building. He was waving his arms and shouting in French and Arabic and English at the Mamur, Abdulla Effendi Tantowi, who followed in his wake making large soothing gestures. M'William had no idea what it was all about, but he took hold of the situation firmly. Ignoring the excited physician, he addressed himself to the Mamur.

"Abdulla Effendi," he said quietly, "get a few police and clear every one out of the compound. Then put a guard

In a surprisingly short time everything was ready; the unconscious Parkinson-Smythe, secured for the moment against further damage, was lifted carefully on to a stretcher and borne slowly towards the town. The streets on the outskirts seemed strangely deserted, and M'William began, for the first time, to wonder what had made the Inspector's horse bolt. As they approached the marketplace, near which lay the Civil Hospital, the murmur of many voices filled the air. M'William on the gate, and let no one was puzzled. The orderlies in without my permission. It looked apprehensive. Turning seems that we have some the corner they came immedi- casualties here. Well, I have ately upon a vast crowd. The brought my men out for trainwhole town seemed to be ing and, by Gad, they'll get it. gathered in the market square. As soon as you have got this The detachment hesitated and place clear I'll march in the hung back. "Lead on," called Hospital Section and open out out M'William sharply, and for action. And now, sir," rode ahead. The throng opened he finished, turning to the out a lane before him. There agitated Syrian doctor, "if was no sign of disorder-merely you will calm yourself and intense excitement. The arrival attend to business I shall be

of the Medical Detachment greatly obliged."
seemed to have a calming
influence. As he rode between
the lines of people, M'William
heard his own name and God's
combined in many a pious
whisper.

Near the entrance of the hospital compound he overtook four men carrying a bloodstained figure on a native bed

VOL. CCXXII.-NO. MCCCXLI.

as

Some hours later, M'William was putting on his coat to return to the Mess for some food, Abdulla Effendi Tantowi entered the office. All the casualties had been dressed and cared for; the crowd had dispersed, and the men of the Field Hospital Section, after

B 2

their period of intensive training, were packing up and preparing to depart. The Mamur saluted and beamed upon the weary surgeon. "Splendid work, sir," he said in Arabic, "absolutely splendid."

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"Look here, Abdulla Effendi,' asked M'William, what the deuce was it all about? I have been too busy to ask any questions."

The Mamur shot a sly glance towards the hut where Parkinson-Smythe, now conscious and irritable, was awaiting the hour when he might with safety be transferred to his own house.

"It was one of the newly licensed butchers, Excellence," he whispered, speaking for once in English. "Some of these Sudanese are so ignorant! The matter was most carefully explained to him, but nevertheless he must have failed to understand that his licence was for sheep and cattle only."

Abdulla Effendi did not actually wink, but he went very near it.

A few days ago I visited M'William in the dignified consulting-room in Harley Street where he now practises the arts which, in former days, he applied, no less successfully, amidst the makeshifts of tropical Africa. Outside, the sleet was lashing against the

windows, but inside the quiet room a beautiful fire burned brightly in the grate, and all was warmth and comfort. His work was over for the moment, and we sat in deep armchairs on each side of the blaze with middle-aged contentment in our hearts. As my eyes wandered over this new setting for my old friend, a native sword hanging in its red leather scabbard appeared to me to be out of place among the paintings and cabinets by which it was surrounded. I remarked upon it to my host.

"My dear old boy," said Sir William, taking his cigar from between his teeth and puffing out a cloud of fragrant smoke, "don't you remember Mansur, the licensed butcher of Berinnis? Surely you must remember Mansur. That is his sword. The Governor gave it to me as a reward for the efficiency of my medical arrangements. I believe he thought that I had organised the whole thing to give my lads some experience with actual wounds."

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And did you ? I asked.
No," answered Sir William,

"I didn't even think of it. Poor old Parkinson-Smythe ! He was too infernally efficient ! I always keep that sword there as a warning against efficiency."

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