"And to you, a thousand," returned the sultan, as he rose to greet his old friend.
The darvish declined the honor of sharing the sultan's seat.
"Hard rocks are my cushions, saidi," he protested, as he squatted, cross-legged, at the sultan's feet. But he accepted the stem of the nargileh and solemnly inhaled its white fumes.
Amru set out fresh wine and withdrew; for that grimy wanderer from the mountains was closer to the sultan even than an old and trusted wazir.
"I summoned you last night to help me devise a quiet and effective way of dealing with my brother's son. Need I say that since Maksoud is a friend of the Resident, I need help?"
"Therefore," replied the darvish, "you put me to the trouble of stealing by night through the lines of the mountaineers." Then, smiling a crooked smile, he continued, "And I am an old man, saidi——"
"And I," retorted the sultan, "am by this day's work an old woman! That dog of an infidel! That friend of the rebels! The white-haired companions of the Old Tiger pity the mockery that his son has become."
"It is indeed vain in these evil days to be a king," observed Ismeddin. "Yet even a sultan should have his vengeance. And even Residents have their limitations."
Ismeddin smiled thinly, and fingered the hilt of the Ladder to Heaven.
"It is beyond any sword, Ismeddin," mourned the sultan. "In the old days one rode out of the mountains with a troop of horse. But now a Resident stands behind my throne. Look what has happened to my old enemy the Rajah of Lacra-kai, on whom be peace!"