“True, my lord, and they are many. Mine are but as a handful of sand. His Excellency would not go to fight the Khalifa? It would be mad.”
“A wise man can fight with cunning, and do more than a strong man with his sword and spear.”
The Sheikh was silent, and stood in the semi-darkness with his eyes reflecting the lights of the hotel strangely, as he glanced from one to the other as if trying to read their faces.
“I shall have to tell him all, Frank,” said the professor slowly, in Latin.
“The risk is too great,” replied Frank hurriedly. “We should be putting ourselves in his power, and if he is not true he would destroy all our hopes.”
“We can go no further without his help, Frank,” said the professor gravely. “Tace.”
“His Excellency’s words are dark,” said the Sheikh, in a low, deep voice. “He speaks of dangers, and of the Mahdi’s men, and of fighting with cunning. Will he not fully trust his servant, and make his words and wishes shine with the light of day? Does his Excellency wish to play the spy upon the new Mahdi’s movements?”
“No,” said the professor firmly.
The Sheikh drew a long breath which sounded like a sigh of relief.
“I am glad,” he said softly, “for their lives are dear to my young men. They have their wives and little ones, and the followers of the Mahdi seek blood. What would the learned Englishman who loves the stone writings of the ancient people do amongst the conquering spearmen of the prophet’s chosen one?”