"What do you want?" she said, in Italian, and the Arab silently
indicated a closed vehicle drawn up close to the curb in front of the
hotel. Thinking there was some visitor inside who did not wish to
alight, she went forward without hesitation. The dim, smoke-laden
street was unusually crowded, she thought, but she gave no attention to
the passers-by, as the Arab had opened the door of the dingy-looking
vehicle, and she expected to find an occupant peering out at her.
The conveyance was empty!
"There is some mistake," she said, glancing from the dark interior to a
Somali driver, and then back to the silent messenger. Suddenly she had
an unnerving consciousness that several other white-sheeted figures had
crept stealthily between her and the doorway. With a little cry of
alarm, she turned and strove to re-enter the hotel. Instantly she was
swept off her feet, a coarse hand closed on her mouth, and she was
dragged with brutal force into the carriage. She saw spring into
existence what seemed to be a murderous _fracas_ among a dozen men.
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