His comrades, knowing the cause of his melancholy, forbore to intrude on him. They had just finished their supper, and were preparing to set the watch for the night, when Abdslem joined them. He was in high spirits, and exhibited a handsome embroidered silk scarf, which he unwound from his head, for their admiration.
"Look at this," he said; "I received it this morning from the Sultan's own hands; may he be exalted; I told you I should not be long in disgrace."
"It is beautiful," said Mehedin, while it passed round; "but what great thing have you done to merit it?"
"Not a small exploit. Did I not seize an Arab spy with my own hand; and who do you think he turned out to be? Why, no other than that dare-devil Sheik, Ali el Bezz!" and Abdslem twirled the scarf round his head in a handsome turban above his ugly face.
Mahmoud, who had at first paid little attention to the speaker, sprang forward at the electrical sound of that name.
"Who?" he said; "repeat that name," laying his hand on Abdslem's shoulder, while his features worked, his eyes glared, and his whole frame trembled.
Abdslem looked at him, half doubting his sanity.
"I tell you," he repeated, "I have seized the notorious robber Ali el Bezz; and he is now as safely lodged as walls and chains can keep him."
"Thanks be to God!" exclaimed Mahmoud, grinding his teeth, and raising his clenched hands, while a satanic smile overspread his countenance; "he is in my power; my revenge is sure!" and gathering up his cloak, he rushed out of the gate.