Nobody would have been welcome, but we would have preferred a pig to Yussuf Dakmar.
Jeremy, democrat of democrats, who had slept without complaining between the legs of a dead horse on a rain-swept battlefield, with a lousy Turkish prisoner hugging him close to share the blanket, was up in arms at once.
"Imshi!" he ordered bluntly.
But Yussuf Dakmar was delighted.

The reception convinced him, if anything were needed to do that, that one of us really was guarding the secret letter; and he was one of those hogs, anyhow, who glory in snouting in where they are plainly not wanted.

He took the corner seat opposite Jeremy, tucked his legs up under him, produced a cigarette and smiled offensively.

I'll concede this, though: I think the smile was meant to be ingratiating.
He pulled out a package wrapped in newspaper and began to eat before the train had run a mile.

And, you know, more men get killed because of how they eat than by the stuff they devour.