The bishop and I looked at each other. We began to see the drift of Edmund’s diplomacy; to detach Jakoub from Van Ermengen was decidedly a gain.
“I don’t suppose you do care for him,” Edmund said, “and yet you are trying to play his game, knowing he will swindle you in the end.”
“But without him I could not have come here,” Jakoub pointed out with another smile of cool effrontery.
“I could stay no more in Egypt,” he added, “so I use Van Ermengen to find you and Captain Ringrose, and the effendi here. It is you who have gone with my property—you are the thieves, and you will give back my share, or come with me to the prison.”
“You might get us into prison, Jakoub, but you could not get us hanged. Do you know,” he asked suddenly, taking a step towards Jakoub and standing over him in a threatening attitude, “do you know that we can have you hanged? Do you know that we found Achmed in Marseilles and he told us all that happened in that house at Damanhour where the merchant was murdered two years ago? We know where to find Achmed whenever we want him.”
Jakoub’s face was distorted with the spasm of sudden terror, like that of a man who suddenly sees some unsuspected object close by him in the dark. His right hand made a movement towards the unaccustomed breast pocket, but Edmund seized his wrist in a flash. His grasp brought a cry from Jakoub.
“Effendi! You break my arm! Let me go.”
“Hand over your weapon first.”
“I have none. I swear it. Search me, effendi!”
Edmund slowly relinquished his grasp. I thought of the knife I had seen in Jakoub’s hand that night at Alexandria when I was awakened by the brushing of that hand along my bedroom wall. But I was paralysed by the sudden violence of this scene in my quiet study. I saw the bishop sitting tense, braced for sudden action. But Edmund did not trouble to search Jakoub; he lounged back to the mantelpiece and it seemed that a crisis had ended.