“Pasha,” he said to Nahoum, “may thy bones never return to dust, nor the light of thine eyes darken! There is danger.”
Nahoum nodded, but did not speak.
“Shall I speak, then?” He paused and made low salutation to David, saying, “Excellency, I am thine ox to be slain.”
“Speak, son of the flowering oak,” said Nahoum, with a sneer in his voice. “What blessing dost thou bring?”
“The Effendina has sent for thee.”
Nahoum’s eyes flashed. “By thee, lion of Abdin?” The lean, ghastly being smiled. “He has sent a company of soldiers and Achmet Pasha.”
“Achmet! Is it so? They are here, Mizraim, watcher of the morning?”
“They are at thy palace—I am here, light of Egypt.”
“How knewest thou I was here?”
Mizraim salaamed. “A watch was set upon thee this morning early. The watcher was of my slaves. He brought the word to me that thou wast here now. A watcher also was set upon thee, Excellency”—he turned to David. “He also was of my slaves. Word was delivered to his Highness that thou”—he turned to Nahoum again—“wast in thy palace, and Achmet Pasha went thither. He found thee not. Now the city is full of watchers, and Achmet goes from bazaar to bazaar, from house to house which thou was wont to frequent—and thou art here.”