Raynier felt annoyed. He was not altogether unfamiliar with this rabid and aggressive type of fanaticism, though he had found it more among Hindu fakirs than Mahomedans. He answered shortly,—
“I thought but to please thee, old man, but since I offended thee, though I am sorry, it might be good to depart and leave me in peace.”
At this the mullah broke forth into fresh curses—but something of a tumult beneath seemed to interrupt him, for with his head on one side he paused and listened. There was a confused murmur of voices—almost a roar—mingled with the trampling of horses. Of what was going on beneath Raynier could see nothing, nor did he care to turn his back—for longer than the briefest of glances—upon the fanatical mullah.
“In peace!” repeated the latter, echoing his last words. “In peace! Here is he who will give thee peace, O infidel dog. Now will the blood of Allahyar Khan—whom the Prophet console in Paradise—be avenged.”
“I know not of what thou art talking, old man,” returned Raynier, shortly. “Thy curses matter not greatly, but if thou namest me ‘dog’ again I will throw thee over yon parapet even though thou hadst visited the sacred and inviolable Temple thirty times instead of three.”
At these words the other uttered a wild, shrill yell, and turning fled down the stairs crying that the Feringhi dog was insulting the tomb of the Prophet and threatening one who had kissed the sacred Stone—and Raynier began to realise that he had made a grave mistake in losing his temper with this old fool, whom he should have allowed to abuse him till to-morrow morning rather than give him any pretext for raising the fanatical hatred of these fierce and easily-roused tribesmen in whose power he was. It was too late now, for already there was an approaching hubbub on the stairs and several of them rushed in, their fierce countenances blazing with wrath. But that their weapons were undrawn Raynier would have expected to be cut to pieces. As it was they flung themselves upon him, and he was dragged and hustled to the door, and down the stairs—along passages and through doorways, with incredible force and rapidity. Totally unarmed, and weakened by his recent illness, resistance was out of the question. He supposed his time had come and that he was being dragged to his death.
They had halted. He was in a large open courtyard, surrounded by the doors of dwellings built apparently into high walls, except on the further side, which was constituted by a solid cliff face, towering up high overhead. This he took in at a glance, but what was more to the point, the place was full of armed men, and there in the midst was Mushîm Khan.
The Nawab and his brother had just dismounted from horseback, and a follower was leading away their steeds, fine animals showing blood and muscle in every movement. In spite of the rough and undignified treatment of which he had just been a victim Raynier was mindful of the dignity of his high office, and his attitude and tone were not lacking in this when, having waited for the buzz which greeted his appearance to subside, he gave the chief’s the salaam.
To his surprise and inward dismay, neither replied. They stood contemplating him in stern and hostile silence. He felt utterly nonplussed, especially having regard to the good treatment and hospitality which had been extended to him hitherto. Ah! the mullah of course. That was it. He had been stirring up their fanatical animosity, and once touch that you never know where you are with an Oriental. There was the old villain over there, glaring at him with his beady eyes.
“There has been a mistake, Nawab Sahib,” began Raynier, perfectly cool and collected.