I guess it's some old Buzzard's harem.' Buzzard was his own private peculiar name for the Turk, for he said he had had as a boy a natural history book with a picture of a bird called the turkey-buzzard, and couldn't get out of the habit of applying it to the Ottoman people.
I wasn't convinced, so I tried to mark down the place.

It seemed to be about three miles out from the city, at the end of a steep lane on the inland side of the hill coming from the Bosporus.

I fancied somebody of distinction lived there, for a little farther on we met a big empty motor-car snorting its way up, and I had a notion that the car belonged to the walled villa.
Next day Blenkiron was in grievous trouble with his dyspepsia.

About midday he was compelled to lie down, and having nothing better to do I had out the horses again and took Peter with me.

It was funny to see Peter in a Turkish army-saddle, riding with the long Boer stirrup and the slouch of the backveld.
That afternoon was unfortunate from the start.