Ibrahim gave it to him in a way the wretch never expected.
In a fit of anger at the revelation made, Ibrahim, with one blow, severed the savage’s head from his body.
The blood ran over the belt, and the Persian sickened at the sight.
Wiping the belt clean, he kissed it many times, for had it not encircled the waist of the one he loved?
When Mohammed heard the story he looked sad, but with the fatalists’ philosophy, he only said:
“If Allah willed it, who am I to repine?”
Later, however, he called Ibrahim and Max to one side and told them that he did not believe the man’s story. He thought he should please them by telling it, and how was he to know that there were people who would be horrified at the idea of murder?
Ibrahim, however, looked on the blackest side, and was fully convinced that his uncle and Girzilla had been converted into juicy steaks or luscious pot roasts, and had served to provide a feast to the tribe of cannibals at whose hands they had fallen.
He was inconsolable, and had it not been for the high spirits of Max, who made Ibrahim smile in spite of his misery, the young Persian might never have lived to inherit his uncle’s great property.
Mohammed was determined to set the matter of Sherif’s fate at rest, and so continued the journey.