"I have no option. I dare not refuse."
"Dare not!"
At that a groan escaped from the man's lips, and he threw out his hands with a gesture of despair.
"You do not understand," he cried. "In London that man was in my power, but in this wild country I am at his mercy; for there is one with him who is pitiless and terrible, who carries his crimes as a jester jangles his bells."
"Whom do you mean?" asked Harry.
"I mean the Arab sheikh. That man is a demon. There is nothing he would not do for money. There were times when I travelled with them when I thought that they meant to kill me. When I fell asleep at the camp-fire, I could see in my dreams the cruel, piercing eyes of the sheikh fixed upon me; they were like coals of living fire. Fool that I was to come here!" he broke out in despair. "Why did I not stay where I was safe?"
Fernando, turning to Harry, cut short the man's whining words.
"I must know the truth," said he. "How did that letter come here? Who wrote it?"
"It was written by my cousin," said Harry, "the man whom we follow; but whether he himself brought it here or the rascal who serves him, I am quite unable to say. At any rate," he added, with a smile, "your hiding-place has been discovered."
The half-caste returned to the fire, where he sat down, holding out his hands to warm them. He remained thus for some time, seemingly deep in thought; then he returned to Harry.