A little company of exiles
On one side of him sat the Vali's steward, a young man
with Rudolf Valentino looks, white teeth, soft brilliant eyes,
a slim figure, and most untrustworthy expression, under a
large turban. On the other side was the Philosopher's uncle,
the village headman, a shrewd and wrinkled peasant face,
benevolent while no one contradicted him. Mahmud the
cousin sat a little aloof, with heavy sleepy eyes and drooping
moustache, a regular Lur type, and with the air of one waiting
to act while others did the talking.
There was a great deal of talking, and I began to feel very
dubious about the whole adventure. Crime, I decided, is
not amusing. Danger is interesting and necessary to the
human spirit, but to do something that will be generally
disapproved of, if found out, must be humiliating unless one
is so hardened that other people's opinions can have no
influence at all. Only a fanatic can be happily a criminal.
I thought by contrast of the pleasant dangers of mountaineer-
ing, or of exploring when there is no secret motive to weigh
upon you, and decided to leave hidden treasures alone for the
future.
The guests had gone away, the Philosopher was already
asleep, rolled in a quilt like a cocoon on the cobble stones, and
Mahmud was busy with his toilet for the night. The most
important part of this was the arrangement of his gun, which
he loaded and then laid under a flap of his rug at the foot of
a palm tree: another rug was put on top to serve him for a
pillow: he unwound his turban and wound it up again more
tightly but less ornamentally than for the day: took a drink
from the goatskin hanging on a tree, and lay down to sleep.
Thieves were around after dates, which hung in moonlit
clusters on the palm trees, and Mahmud would wake at the
slightest noise and go prowling round. But as a matter of
fact there was little enough chance of sleep for anyone, for tie
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