"You'll see to the medical examination, M'William, won't you?" continued the Inspector genially, turning to the Senior Medical Officer. 66 Certainly, sir, if you wish it," answered that gentleman, with almost insubordinate politeness. Bimbashi William M'William was not accustomed to having his medical arrangements criticised, and he returned to his quarters after the inspection in a state of mind quite at variance with his usual cheerful tolerance. He felt an active dislike for the new Inspector; he was an interloper, an ass, a disturber of the peace. Why couldn't he wait until the Governor came back before he started his infernal reforms? Things were running quite smoothly; there was no urgent need for any change; why all the hurry? Certainly the filter at the soda-water factory was cracked-it hadn't been inspected for a couple of months "Oh," commented Parkinson-Smythe, smiling happily. "He keeps a list, does he? I think we can improve on that, Abdulla Effendi. We but, after all, most of the can't have every diseased loafer people drank well-water without employed as a butcher just any boiling or filtration, so because he happens to be a why worry. And as to having friend of the sheik. Let us the butchers medically examget this thing on a proper ined and registered-it was footing. Have all these fellows You weren't going to paraded at the hospital and eat uncooked meat, and anymedically examined, and then way you couldn't examine all the ones that are all right must the servants who handled it be registered at your office before it reached the table. and given a badge. That will put the matter on an efficient basis; eh, Abdulla Effendi ? "Splendid, Excellence! cried the Mamur, with every appearance of admiration. rot! When he had breakfasted and smoked a pipe he felt better. After all, the fellow wasn't so bad. The things that he had suggested were all right in their way-rather desirable, in fact-but a confounded nuisance all the same. In any case it was no good worrying about trifles. He mounted his pony and rode over to the civil hospital, to make arrangements for the examination of the candidates for licensed butcher. Abdulla Effendi Tantowi, the Mamur, was an excellent official; never sick; always tactful; a master of compromise. Possibly, at times, he may have resembled the gentleman in the parable who said "I go, sir"-and went not, but, if he did, there was always some good excuse presented in a manner calculated to disarm the most justifiable indignation. In person he was large and fat, with a jolly brown face and sparkling black eyes. He got through an amazing amount of work with the least possible exertion; appeared to know everything, and if there were dark undercurrents in his life as no doubt there were he kept them carefully concealed from his superior officers. curse on all dogs! Pushing his tarboosh back from his forehead he wiped away the perspiration and called for the sergeant-major of police. The thing must be done; let the sergeant-major do it. Three days later the gathering in the open space outside the Zabtieh, or local town hall, was larger than usual at 10 A.M. There was always a crowd in front of the Zabtieh at this hour, when litigants, officeseekers, contractors and others came to interview the local magistrate, but on this particular day the numbers were augmented by butchers bearing aloft medical certificates, and by dog-owners of all ages, each leading at the end of a rope some nondescript member of the canine race. It was an orderly crowd. The men, in white garments, with white turbans on their heads, squatted in the centre. The women, in blue tobes, and unveiled, as is the custom of the lower orders in the Sudan, sat in a group at some distance from their lords. The children and dogs wandered in and out among the groups. The children were quiet and wide-eyed with interest; the dogs looked depressed, as well they might with the threat of a rope round their necks. Twenty-five years service in the army and Civil Administration had taught him that a British Bimbashi must be handled with discretion. Senior officers were all right, their weaknesses were common knowledge, but with a Bimbashi you never could tell. To register butchers-yes, that was good, the registration would be in his gift and might be useful, but dogs. As a good Mohammedan he cleared his throat noisily and spat. A butchers ... Everything was going beautifully. Batches of applicants, summoned by the police, would rise, disappear into the Zabtieh and emerge a few minutes later, the later, the licensed wearing red embroi dered armlets (a nice touch of bard from the top of the symbolism), the dogs with cir- steps where he had deposited cular tin badges hanging from it when he entered the office their ropes. Over all brooded and, slinging it over his the hot stillness of an April shoulder, pushed his way morning. From the distant through the crowd. Idly the barracks came the discordant stranger accosted him as he notes of the battalion buglers, passed. each man practising a different call with maddening perseverance. Somewhere in the town a tom - tom thudded rhythmically. Presently, drawn by curiosity, a young and smartly dressed Arab strolled across the square and joined the group. His handsome effeminate face betrayed no trace of baser blood. His new red shoes and carefully folded turban proclaimed the dandy, while the long rhinoceros-hide whip hanging from his wrist showed that he was a mounted man. Leaning at ease upon a staff, he glanced with cynical amusement at the crowd. Brazenly he appraised the qualities of the unveiled women, quite conscious of their interest in his finery. A dog with a bright new metal tag came down the steps, towing a small boy in his wake. The stranger glanced at them contemptuously. And then there emerged Mansur, the ill favoured cause of all the trouble. Mansur with a clean bandage round his ankle and a scarlet badge badge upon his sleeve. He scowled as he came out. He had paid five milliemes to have his leg dressed, and now five piastres for his registration. He picked up his sword in its red leather scab 66 'Ho, my brother," he said, "what's all this about? Mansur glowered at him. "They are registering butchers," he growled, and indicated the badge upon his They scattered before him like leaves before an autumnal gale. At this moment, round the corner of the Zabtich, 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 situation, acted with great promptitude 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, immediately 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 Parkinson-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 down. him 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 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 sud denly 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 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. 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 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. 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. I'll 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 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. 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 |