"Why has she not flown the place?"
"Effendi, can the broken-winged bird fly!"
"She is ill?" He caught the barber by the arm.
"As a gazelle with an arrow in its breast."
Dicky's small hand tightened like a vice on the barber's thin arm. "And he who sped the arrow, Achmed Hariri?"
Achmed Hariri was silent.
"Shall he not die the death?"
Achmed Hariri shrank back.
Dicky drew from his pocket a paper with seals, and held it up to the barber's eyes. The barber stared, drew back, salaamed, bowed his head, and put a hand upon his turban as a slave to his master.
"Show me the way, Mahommed," said Dicky, and stepped out.