The castle wall sloped down steeply into the moat, suggesting ample space within for dungeons and underground passages; but there was nothing else there of much interest to see, only dead donkeys, a dying camel with the vultures already beginning on him, some dead dogs, heaps of refuse, and a lot more vultures too gorged to fly--the usual Arab scheme of sanitation.
I asked one of my bodyguard to shoot the camel and he obliged me, with the air of a keeper making concessions to a lunatic.

Nobody took any notice of the rifle going off.
It was when we turned back into the town again that the first inkling of Grim's presence in the place turned up.

A bulky- looking Arab in a sheepskin coat that stank of sweat so vilely that you could hardly bear the man near you, came up and stood in my way.

Barring the smell, he was a winning-looking rascal-- truculent, swaggering, but possessed of a good-natured smile that seemed to say: "Sure, I'm a rogue and a liar, but what else did you expect!" He spoke perfectly good English.

He said he wished to speak to me alone.