He saw that Shaban, as usual, was trusted more than he. But it was not for him to protest against the ingratitude of masters. He salaamed and backed out of the room.
When he was gone the Pasha turned to Shaban.
'This box, Shaban—you see this box? It has become a trouble to us, and I am going to take it out there.'
The Albanian nodded gravely. He took hold of one of the handles, to judge the weight of the chest. He lifted his eyebrows.
'Can you help me put it on my back?' he asked.
'Don't try to do that, Shaban. We will carry it together.'
The Pasha took hold of the other handle. When they got as far as the outer door he let down his end. It was not light.
'Wait a minute, Shaban. Let us shut up the kiosque, so that no one will notice anything.'
He went back to blow out the candles. Then he thought of the fountain. He caught a last play of broken images in the pool as he turned off the water. When he had put out the lights and groped his way to the door, he found that Shaban was already gone with the chest. A drop of water made a strange echo behind him in the kiosque. He locked the door and hurried after Shaban, who had succeeded in getting the chest on his back. Nor would Shaban let the Pasha help him till they came to the edge of the wood. There, carrying the chest between them, they stumbled through the trees to the place that was ready.
'Now we must be careful,' said the Pasha. 'It might slip or get stuck.'