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Boyd Anniston lounged at the entrance to Abood Wali's Opium Den in the Bazaar of the Holy Eunuch in, idly smoking a Turkish cigarette and gazing listlessly at his surroundings. Here and there a huge Kurd, from the mountains of Northern Persia, strode savagely about, in striking contrast to the slow-moving, peaceful Armenians who shuffled aimlessly in and out of the fruit-stalls and coffee-houses, smoking and chattering idly among themselves in scarcely audible whispers.

He finished his cigarette, emitted a rather characteristic yawn, stretched his arms several times, and then, turning, set off at a brisk pace up one of the many narrow, crooked alleys of the town. Ever and anon, he stumbled over heaps of filth and garbage which are as plentiful in Kishm as sand in the Sahara. A short distance ahead he could hear the rabble of many infuriated voices. Soon he came to the main square of the town and beheld the cause of the disturbance. A Jew, small of stature, pale and anemic from malaria and fright combined, was suspended, head downward, by his feet from a rudely constructed Berenice of Constantine