Figures of men in gandourahs came forward respectfully, and the King of the Beggars bade me welcome. He offered a brass bowl of rose-water in which to dip my fingers, and as he himself dried them with a lace-trimmed napkin he spoke in English.
"I am grateful," he said, "for your trust. You shall not regret it." Then he went on, without giving me time to answer, "I am a beggar by day, and the beggars' king at night, as you see. This is my existence. It has its adventures, its pleasures; this meeting is one of the highest. It reminds me that I have English blood in my veins. Besides, if I help you I shall help myself to revenge. My father was English, but turned Mohammedan for the love of my mother. English was the first language I learned to speak. In the days of Ismail I was in his army—an officer. I was proud of my English blood and I promised my aid to an Englishman—an officer, too, named Annesley—aid against one of my own religion. I helped him to run away with a beautiful woman. He escaped with her. I was caught, wounded, and cruelly punished. My career was at an end—my money gone. Lame and penniless, I had no power to take revenge. Many years have passed. I was young then. Now, I am old. The man who broke me is dead, but his children live—twins, a son and a daughter. They have come home from some country far away, to their father's house. I saw them come—I, the lame beggar lying in the street, a Thing that does not count! Two women were with Essain, his sister and another who was ill—perhaps unconscious—lying upon a litter on camel back. The embroidery you saw, with the English words which I, too, could read—came from his house. It was brought by a negro, to-day, to the shop of Said ben Hassan, and put in his window an hour before you rode into Hathor Set. But Ben Hassan is afraid of Essain Pasha, the man I speak of, and he would never have told you anything about his house: he would only have lied and sent you off on a false track in repayment for your money. As for me, I can tell all you wish to know: and when you have honoured me by eating my food, I can show you the house. It is not more than a mile distant from the town. If you wish to injure Essain, so much the better. Because of what his father did to me, and because of your kindness, I should like to help you do it."
"For God's sake, come with me now," I broke in at last. "You asked me here to dine, but a girl's life may be hanging in the balance. Her name is Madeleine Annesley. She must be the granddaughter of the man who was your friend, and the woman you helped him take. You speak of revenge! It is for revenge she has been brought here by the man you call Essain and his sister who is as wicked as himself. I never knew till I heard your story what that woman was to him, or why they worked together. But now I understand all—or nearly all. I love Madeleine Annesley, and I know she's in danger of her life."
"I thought," said Haroun, "there might be some such matter afoot, and that is why I asked my friends to be here. They are ready to obey my orders, for they count me as their king; and I have chosen them from among others for their strength and courage. I am the only one who is old and lame, but I am strong enough for this work. When it is done, we can feast, and we will not break our fast till then. Essain has no fear of an attack in force. His house, though it is the great one of the place, is guarded but by a few negroes, the servants who have kept it in his absence. There are orange gardens which surround the house. Without noise we will break open a little gate I remember, and once inside, with fifteen strong men at our service, the surprise will be complete—the house and all in it, male and female, at our mercy."
Not a man of the fifteen but had a weapon of some sort, an old-fashioned pistol or a long knife, and some had both.
We started in the blue, moony dusk, walking in groups that we might not be noticed as a band: and it was astonishing how fast the lame beggar could go. We led—he and I—and such was the greedy haste with which his limping legs covered the distance that he kept pace with me at my best.
Soon we were out of the huddled town, walking beside the rocky bed of the oued or river; and never leaving the oasis we came at last to a high white wall.
"This is Essain's garden," Haroun whispered. "And here is the little gate I spoke of. Listen! I thought I heard voices. But no. It may have been the wind rustling among the leaves."
"It wasn't the wind," I said. "There are people talking in the garden. Don't try to break the gate. You may make a noise. I'll get over the wall and open the gate from inside."
"The wall is high," said Haroun, measuring it with his eyes.