Looking round he saw that he had fallen close to the open door of a shop with an Italian name over it; he ran into it. The shop had been completely ransacked, and three bodies, those of the proprietor and two lads, lay on the floor. There was no door leading out behind, and he ran up the stairs. The rooms were littered with the remains of the furniture and belongings. The bedding, curtains, and everything that could be of use to the spoilers were gone, but the European clothes, which could not be worn by them, were still about. The only windows looked into the street. There was no apparent means of escape; the only hope was in disguise. Tearing off his Arab garments and thrusting them into a cupboard, he threw on without a moment's delay, trousers, a coat that buttoned up, and a pair of European shoes, thrust a cap on his head, and then ran downstairs again. Fortunately the column, after defeating its assailants, had paused for two or three minutes, while the soldiers broke into the houses from which they had been fired upon and slew all they found in them, and its head was still a hundred yards away when Edgar looked cautiously out. He had time to throw off his coat and to hastily bandage the wound in his arm, from which the blood had been streaming down; then as he heard the tramp of the advancing column he ran down to the door, and as the troops came up, waved his hand, danced as if for joy, and shouted a welcome in Italian, mingled with a few words of French, pouring at the same time a voluble string of maledictions on the ruffians who had killed his master and his two comrades. A mounted officer riding at the head of the column shouted to him to go in and to remain quiet, saying that there was no fear that he would be molested now. Edgar drew back a little, but remained at the door, sometimes shouting encouragement to the soldiers, sometimes apparently weeping convulsively, and acting as if half out of his mind with relief at his deliverance.