"I knew you'd make an offer like that, Hugh," said Nikka simply. "It's like you. And don't you worry about Wasso Mikali. I'll take care of him and his tribe with my share. It wouldn't do them any good to make them grossly rich. They'd leave their old ways of life, contract tuberculosis or dissipate themselves to death. Let them be. They live an idyllic life, a life good enough for me, anyway.
"But I'm not going to protest against the corruption of Tokalji, if you believe you can make anything out of it. What is your idea?"
"Have him in," answered Hugh. "I'll show you."
Wasso Mikali brought in the brigand chief, his broken arm in a sling, a sour glint of hatred in his eye.
"Now," said Hugh, "ask him, Nikka, if he'd like to be so rich he wouldn't need to steal again, except to indulge his sportin' tastes?"
Tokalji evidently considered he was being spoofed, and he drew himself haughtily erect.
"He says any man would answer that one way," replied Nikka. "But that you seek to annoy him."
"Tell him," returned Hugh, "that I'll give him £100,000 Turkish if he'll come over to our side, and back us up against Mahkouf Pasha. Explain to him about Mahkouf Pasha."
The change in Tokalji's manner was ridiculous.
"He says," translated Nikka, "that he will kill the Sultan for you for £100,000 Turkish. But he wants to see the money.'