His eyes did not miss an old Turk with a tray of sweetmeats on his head, Dervishes in white turbans and long dark caftans and Turkish Officers in their red fezzes trotting by on their well bred horses.

He moved on, taking no notice of those who solicited him as he passed and tried to tempt him with bales of Eastern wool, Bulgarian embroidered satins, Persian carpets woven wholly in silk, delicate silks from Broussa in every hue and texture.

He was just beginning to think he must have lost his way and forgotten where the shop he sought was situated, when suddenly there was a noise and confusion ahead.

The cry of shrill voices gradually became a roar of crying, hooting and shrieking.

Those around Lord Castleford looked apprehensively in the direction from which the noise was coming and even the most lethargic were suddenly alert.

A number of men came running down the narrow thoroughfare, many of them carrying sticks and apparently dragging with them someone or something that was for the moment indistinguishable.

Hastily Lord Castleford moved his horse as near as possible to an adjacent wall and the street-sellers pulled as many of their goods as they could within the confines of their tiny cavern-like shops.

But already vegetables were being upset, fruit rolled on the ground and the noise made by the invaders was magnified by the protestations and recriminations of those whose wares were being damaged.

Lord Castleford’s horse pricked his ears and fidgeted a little, but he was too well trained to be frightened by the din or even the sticks of those advancing upon them.

His Lordship edged him forward a little to where the street seemed wider.

Then he saw standing immediately at his side there was a European woman in a white gown.

Obviously frightened she was standing with her back against the side of the shop.

She had climbed onto a narrow step to be out of the way and standing in front of her was a Turk who was clearly her servant.

Lord Castleford was well aware that no lady would go shopping without having a servant in attendance and even so few women ventured into the Bazaar.

She was very quietly dressed and, although her skirts were full, she was not wearing a fashionable crinoline. But she had, he could see, a very elegant figure, small, slim and obviously very young.

As the crowd reached them surging around, shrieking and yelling, the noise was deafening and now Lord Castleford could hear what they were saying,

“Kill him! Destroy him! Torture him! An informer – a spy – he must die!”

It was then he could see in the centre of the crowd a man being dragged along by his arms, his legs, his clothing and his hair.

His face was running with blood and his eyes were half-closed.