“Highness, I have an invitation for Kingsley Bey to dine at the British Consulate to-night. You can spare his presence?”
“My table is not despicable. Is he not comfortable here?”
“Is a mud floor, with bread and water and a sleeping-mat, comfortable?”
“He is lodged like a friend.”
“He is lodged like a slave—in a cell.”
“They were not my orders.”
“Effendina, the orders were mine.”
“Excellency!”
“Because there were no orders and Foulik Pasha was sleepless with anxiety lest the prisoner should escape, fearing your Highness’s anger, I gave orders and trusted your Highness to approve.”
Ismail saw a mystery in the words, and knew that it was all to be part of Dicky’s argument in the end. “So be it, Excellency,” he said, “thou hast breathed the air of knowledge, thine actions shine. In what quarter of the palace rests he? And Foulik Pasha?”