“What does that matter, if she doesn’t think so?”
“My opinion is she’ll never touch you or your slave-gold with a mile-measure.”
Dicky did not think this, but it was his way of easing his own mind. Inwardly he was studying the situation, and wondering how he could put Kingsley’s business straight.
“She thinks I’m still a ‘slave-driver,’ as she calls it—women are so innocent. You did your part, as well as could be expected, I’m bound to say. I only wish I wasn’t so much trouble to you. I owe you a lot, Dicky Pasha—everything! You got me the golden shillings to start with; you had faith in me; you opened the way to fortune, to the thing that’s more than fortune—to success.”
“I’m not altogether proud of you. You’ve messed things to-day.”
“I’ll set them right to-morrow—with your help. Ismail is going a bit large this time.”
“He is an Oriental. A life or two—think of Sadik Pasha. Your men—”
“Well? You think he’d do it—think he’d dare to do it?”
“Suppose they disappeared? Who could prove that Ismail did it? And if it could be proved—they’re his own subjects, and the Nile is near! Who can say him nay?”
“I fancy you could—and I would.”