Marishka hesitated. The price she had mentioned was cheap for her liberty—for freedom from the fear that had all day obsessed her, but it was a large sum, and one which it might be impossible to procure at this time of night.
"He will give you such assurances as you may require. At least he will give you something. I shall write that I need this sum of money, and he will surely do what he can."
"Something—yes," he mused. "Something is, of course, better than nothing at all. But how can I be certain that I shall see him?"
"Ah, but you must, Effendi. It is necessary for you, to find him—and at once."
"But if he should refuse?"
"He will not. Do you consent?"
He salaamed deeply.
"Excellency's wish is my law."
So Marishka sat before the tabourette and wrote:
I have promised the bearer of this note fifteen thousand kroner, as the condition of my liberation. Give him what you can, and arrange for the payment of the balance tomorrow. This is the cry of desperation. Do not come here or attempt to see me. It is dangerous. I will come to you.