The Turk turned pale.
“What’s that?” he gasped.
“I have an idea it is Ras al Had,” said Dick. “Stop! Stand in your tracks! Try to leave the room and I’ll drop you!”
The noise ended in one great crash. Then came the soft shuffle of many unbooted feet.
“Hither, sheik!” cried Dick.
There was a struggle outside, smothered cries, a fall. Then Ras al Had, backed by several black men, together with Brad Buckhart and Dunbar Budthorne, appeared at the door.
“Still safe, boy?” said the old Arab. “I dared not wait. I had located the maiden’s prison, and I sent one of my servants to bring her friends from the hotel. Then the carriage came, and I saw you enter, accompanied by him. I feared longer delay would be fatal for you. We broke down the door. It seems that we entered just in time.”
Hafsa Pasha was yellow with rage.
“You old scum of the desert!” he cried. “You are behind it all! It is your trick!”
“I have not forgotten the fate of my brother, Pasha. His blood still cries aloud for vengeance.”