“May your heart never be harder than it is, pasha, and when I left the Saadat an hour ago, he did not know. His messenger hadn’t a steamer like Higli Pasha there. But he was coming to see you; and that’s why I’m here. I’ve been brushing the flies off this sore on the hump of Egypt while waiting.” He glanced with disdain at Higli.
A smile rose like liquid in the eye of Nahoum and subsided, then he turned to Higli inquiringly.
“I have come on business, Excellency; the railway to Rosetta, and—”
“To-morrow—or the next day,” responded Nahoum irritably, and turned again to Lacey.
As Higli’s huge frame disappeared through a gateway, Nahoum motioned Lacey to a divan, and summoned a slave for cooling drinks. Lacey’s eyes now watched him with an innocence nearly as childlike as his own. Lacey well knew that here was a foe worthy of the best steel. That he was a foe, and a malignant foe, he had no doubt whatever; he had settled the point in his mind long ago; and two letters he had received from Lady Eglington, in which she had said in so many words, “Watch Nahoum!” had made him vigilant and intuitive. He knew, meanwhile, that he was following the trail of a master-hunter who covered up his tracks. Lacey was as certain as though he had the book of Nahoum’s mind open in his hand, that David’s work had been torn down again—and this time with dire effect—by this Armenian, whom David trusted like a brother. But the black doors that closed on the truth on every side only made him more determined to unlock them; and, when he faltered as to his own powers, he trusted Mahommed Hassan, whose devotion to David had given him eyes that pierced dark places.
“Surely the God of Israel has smitten Claridge Pasha sorely. My heart will mourn to look upon his face. The day is insulting in its brightness,” continued Nahoum with a sigh, his eyes bent upon Lacey, dejection in his shoulders.
Lacey started. “The God of Israel!” How blasphemous it sounded from the lips of Nahoum, Oriental of Orientals, Christian though he was also!
“I think, perhaps, you’ll get over it, pasha. Man is born to trouble, and you’ve got a lot of courage. I guess you could see other people bear a pile of suffering, and never flinch.”
Nahoum appeared not to notice the gibe. “It is a land of suffering, effendi,” he sighed, “and one sees what one sees.”
“Have you any idea, any real sensible idea, how those cotton-mills got afire?” Lacey’s eyes were fixed on Nahoum’s face.