“You think you will.”
“I know. I have bought these dirty Arabs, and they are ready to do my bidding. I shall take great pleasure in having you stripped and whipped until your back is cut into ribbons. This before I bid you a last farewell and return to look for Nadia Budthorne, who shall become mine.”
“So that is the revenge you have planned. I thought——”
“You thought—what? That I meant to have you carried back to Damascus?”
“I fancied you might.”
“Ha, ha! You do not know me. I shall take no chances that my revenge may miscarry. Were you taken back to Damascus, you would appeal to the American consul, and he might save you, for, though you were present when Hafsa Pasha was slain, I know you well enough to know you took no part in that. You haven’t the blood in you to kill a man outright!”
The Spaniard uttered these final words with a sneer.
“Do you think so?” said Dick, and Bunol failed to note the deadly gleam in the dark eyes of the trapped boy.
“I know it,” nodded Miguel. “So I shall give you no chance to escape. You shall meet a fate worse than death. After I have seen you cut up with whips, I shall leave you to that fate. Do you not suspect what it is?”
“No.”