All was hushed.
The bearded official looked at the pasha, who nodded.
Then drawing his sword, he signed to two of his men, and Nat Cringle, looking dreadfully frightened, was bustled off behind a curtain which had been rigged up across the saloon, just at the pasha's back.
"What are they going to do?" asked the orphan, his teeth chattering in alarm.
Captain Deering was so much affected at this stage of the proceedings that he covered his face with his pocket-handkerchief.
"Poor Nat!"
"What is it?" faltered Mr. Figgins, faintly.
"Did you not see the cord taken away with Nat?" demanded the captain, in a funereal bass.
"Ye-es."
"Then hark."