"I think, Mr. Fakrash," he said, "that, in common fairness, I have a right to know what offence I have committed."
"To recite thy misdeeds," replied the Jinnee, "would occupy much time."
"I don't mind that," said Horace, affably. "I can give you as long as you like. I'm in no sort of a hurry."
"With me it is otherwise," retorted Fakrash, making a stride towards him. "Therefore court not life, for thy death hath become unavoidable.'
"Before we part," said Horace, "you won't refuse to answer one or two questions?"
"Didst thou not undertake never to ask any further favour of me? Moreover, it will avail thee nought. For I am positively determined to slay thee."
"I demand it," said Horace, "in the most great name of the Lord Mayor (on whom be peace!)"
It was a desperate shot—but it took effect. The Jinnee quailed visibly.
"Ask, then," he said; "but briefly, for the time groweth short."