was in and out of the Transport Office door while Miss Brindley and
Jo were being followed around the streets by a jeering crowd of
children, who seemed to think that Miss Brindley's india-rubber boot-top
leggings and Jo's corrugated stockings and safety-pinned-up skirt out of
place. We bought some bags from a woman we afterwards heard was
suspected of being an Austrian spy.

Poor old Prenk Bib Doda was in our hotel. He was Prince of the
Miridites. As a boy he had been kidnapped by the Turks and haled off to
Constantinople. Grown to a middle-aged man in captivity, he was restored
to his tribes during the Young Turk Revolution, only to be abducted by
the Montenegrins, and to be kept practically a prisoner in Cettinje. We
don't know if he disliked it, possibly not, for his walk in life seems
to be that of a professional hostage, if one may say so. His ideals of
comfort were certainly nearer to the cabarets in Berlin, than to the
wild orgies of his own subjects. In fact he was civilized.

A passage across the Adriatic seemed problematic. The Transport Minister
hoped we might catch a ship that had tried to leave Scutari three times,
but had always been thrown on the beach by storms. The great difficulty
was crossing the lake of Scutari. One steamer had been mysteriously sunk
and another damaged. He promised to arrange a motor for us directly he
should be able to put his hand on a boat to take us across the lake.

Jan and Jo simultaneously began to wish they had not eaten sardines at
Rieka. The attack was very violent, and next day Jo stayed in bed,
refusing the page boy's efforts to tempt her with lunch.

"See," he said, bearing in a third dish, "English, your i _rissh_kew."

Jo pretended to be pleased, and made Jan eat the Irish stew after his
lunch, so that the page boy's feelings should not be hurt.

Suddenly word came from the Transport Minister that a carriage was
coming for us. We were to go to Pod, and pick up the others. So Jo
stopped tying herself into knots and had to get up and go. We arrived at
Pod to find everybody ill. Two days' sedentary life and Turkish delight
were responsible for this. We suggested castor oil. One had just missed
pleurisy--Whatmough had acted as nurse.

The professor had been trying to pump Stajitch as to our future plans,
as he was again alone and rudderless. Stajitch said--

"Mr. and Mrs. Gordon alone know, and they are in Cettinje."

"Now that's not kind to keep a fellow country