“Of that there is no doubt. Come, Effendi awaits us.”
The caravan started.
More than thirty camels were in procession; twelve of them carried baggage, tents, and provisions, the other eighteen bore upon their backs the bodyguard of Sherif el Habib.
Max and Girzilla, still unconscious, were on the same camel, being fastened to basket paniers, one on either side of the animal.
As the caravan moved across the sandy plain we will take the opportunity of more fully introducing the party to our readers.
Sherif el Habib was a Persian. In Khorassan he was known as the most prosperous shawl manufacturer of all Persia.
He gave employment to over a hundred men, and Sherif el Habib’s Persian shawls had been worn by the empresses and queens of the world.
Sherif el Habib became a widower in a peculiar way. According to the custom of his land, he had several wives.
In the palace of the Sherif—for this shawl manufacturer was ranked as a prince—every contrivance had been resorted to to render the happiness of the ladies complete.
Among other things was a large marble bath, fifty feet long by thirty feet wide, and capable of holding fifteen feet of water in depth.