John reads human nature fairly well, and he believes he sees a man who can be depended on.
"This, monsieur, is Mustapha Cadi.

You can depend upon him always," and the clerk goes to his regular work.
The Arab makes the ordinary salutation, crossing his hands over his breast, and bowing.
These people are very ceremonious, never entering a room or being seated before a guest.
"You speak English ?" asks John.
"Oh, yes!" smiling.
"I want to engage you in my service for some days, Mustapha Cadi." "I have just come with a party from the wine caves of Chateau Hydra and the cemetery on Bouzareah.

I am now free, and in monsieur's service." "Good! Your terms ?" "Two duros a day." "I will make it four." "Great is Allah, and Mohammed is his prophet.

I shall not complain." "There is a condition." "Name it." "I am very anxious to see some one whom I have reason to believe is in this city." "Of course." "You must take me to him to-night." Mustapha Cadi looks a little anxious.
"Does this illustrious person live in new or old Al Jezira ?" "I cannot say, it is for you to tell." "His name ?" "Ben Taleb." The Arab shrugs his shoulders, a French trick that follows their conquests, and is so very suggestive.
"The Moorish doctor; he lives in the heart of the old town." "But many Europeans visit him, he has a reputation abroad." "They never dare go at night." "I am willing to take the risk." Mustapha Cadi looks at the young man admiringly--curiously, for he cannot imagine what would cause such haste.

He sees a specimen of healthy manhood, so that it can hardly be for medical advice he takes such chances to see the old Moor.
"Monsieur, I consent." "It is well." "I, too, have conditions." "Ah! that may alter the case," suspiciously.
"My reputation is dear to me." "Naturally." "It is my means of earning much money.