The other turned paler still.
“Seven hundred rupees?” he exclaimed, holding up his hands. “What should a poor mûllah do with such a sum?”
“Thou hast said it, my father. What indeed?” sneered Umar Khan. “What indeed, save as alms for the poor, and the debtors and the insolvent, as enjoins the holy Korân? And such thou seest before thee. Wherefore we will receive them, father, and pray the blessing of Allah, and a rich place in the seventh heaven for thee and thine.”
“Do ye not fear God, O impious ones, that ye would rob His servant?” said the mûllah, waxing wroth in his desperation.
“We fear nobody,” returned Umar Khan, with an evil sneer. “Yet, my father, delay not any longer, lest this gun should go off by accident.”
“Wah—wah!” sighed the mûllah. “Be content my children—it may be ye are poorer than I. Receive this packet, and the blessing of a servant of the Prophet go with it. And now I will proceed upon my way.”
“Wait but a few moments,” replied Umar Khan, receiving the bag which the other tendered him, and which he immediately handed to Ihalil with one word—“Count!”
“It may not be, for the hour of evening prayer draws near. Peace be with you, my children.” And he made as though to move on.
“We will say it together then,” replied Umar Khan, barring the way. “What is this? Two hundred and fifty rupees? Two more packets hast thou forgotten, my father, and—delay not, for the hour of evening prayer draws near.”
There was a grim, fell significance in the speaker’s tone and countenance. The mûllah no longer hesitated. With almost trembling alacrity he drew forth the remaining bags, which being counted, were found to contain the exact sum named.