"It is true, Master. Save that he sent more; nearly two hundred thousand miskals. He also sent eighty Coptic and Greek artists to carve and gild the mosques.
"One Greek sculptured a hog on the Mosque of Omar, trying to make it into a kanisah (unclean idol-house). My people discovered the sacrilege, and"—he added with intent—"gave that Greek the bowstring, then quartered the body and threw it to the vultures."
"That is of no importance whatever, Rrisa," answered the Master with an odd smile. "What thy people do to the unbeliever, if they capture him, is nothing to me. For—dost thou see?—they must first make the capture. What I would most like to know is this: where is all that treasure, now?"
"I cannot tell you, Master."
"At Mecca?"
"No, Master, not at Mecca."
"Then where?"
"M'almé! My lips are sealed as the Forbidden Books!"
"Not against the commands of thy sheik—and I am thy sheik!"
Rrisa's lips twitched. The inner struggle of his soul reflected itself in his lean, brown face. At last he aroused himself to make answer: