The Spaniard smiled in a satisfied manner.
“I think the information I furnished led to their being warned to leave the city,” he bowed. “Let me go on. Knowing a number of Turkish gentlemen of rank, I was able to impress old Ali Beha, the chief of the Bedouins, who had been commanded to sell me into slavery. I saw my only hope was to bribe and frighten the ignorant old chief into releasing me. That was no simple matter, for Ali Beha feared the sheik, Ras al Had. However, all the wires I worked as best I knew how. I talked to Ali Beha and told him how, if my Turkish friends ever learned what had happened, they would be furious and seek to have him punished. I told him that Ras al Had was now an outcast, having slain Hafsa Pasha. I told him he was aiding the accomplices of Ras al Had to escape, which would enrage the sultan when he learned what had taken place. I offered bribes and made promises. Ali Beha seemed immovable, and I was in despair.
“Think of me, a helpless captive, believing I was doomed to slavery in burning Arabia! The thought of such a fate maddened me. I nearly lost my reason. At times I raved and prayed. But through it all I kept saying I would live to be revenged on Dick Merriwell.”
“It was the fate you first devised for him,” said the girl, “and your suffering was your punishment.”
Bunol snapped his fingers.
“Whenever I recovered from those fits of despair,” he continued, “something seemed to whisper in my ear that there was yet hope and that I would not become a slave. I did not know Ali Beha had sent two of his men on fleet horses to Damascus to investigate my statements; but this was what he had done. He waited for those men to return. They came back in time, and they informed him that it was true that Ras al Had had become an outcast, having slain Hafsa Pasha on account of an old score. They also told the sheik that they had found I was known to the Turks I had claimed as my friends.
“Then Ali Beha’s manner toward me underwent a change. I was no longer a captive. He escorted me to the nearest village and set me free. From that village I made all haste to reach the port of Akka, believing Merriwell would take flight from Syria as soon as he could. I did hope he would be detained; but at Akka I soon discovered he had found a way to get off in a steamer for Alexandria. Fortunately for him, news travels slowly in Syria, and the officials had not learned that he was suspected of having something to do with the murder of Hafsa Pasha. Either that was the case, or the Turks, knowing he had not really committed the crime, were willing that he should get away. The latter supposition may be the truth. I confess that I am half inclined to so regard it. Later I will explain why.
“Well, I followed to Alexandria, and from that port I traced Merriwell to Cairo. Arriving at Cairo, I met Medjid Bey. He had been cruising in his own yacht, on which we now are. It happened that I had met Medjid Bey before in Syria, where I did him a special favor, which he had not forgotten. I lost no time in telling him all that had happened in Syria. He was interested. I could not keep watch of you and your friends without running great risks of detection. He agreed to watch you.”
“And he is the man who annoyed me so much!”
“Exactly, my dear. He informed me that you had observed him and grown suspicious of him. While he was watching you we had sent word to Damascus that Merriwell and Buckhart, the two American boys who were present when Hafsa Pasha was slain, had been located in Cairo. We waited for Turkish officials to come to arrest them.