Mahommed entered, and came to David. “Where wilt thou sleep, Saadat?” he asked.
“The pasha will sleep yonder,” David replied, pointing to another room. “I will sleep here.” He laid a hand upon the couch where he sat.
Nahoum rose and, salaaming, followed Mahommed to the other room.
In a few moments the house was still, and remained so for hours. Just before dawn the curtain of Nahoum’s room was drawn aside, the Armenian entered stealthily, and moved a step towards the couch where David lay. Suddenly he was stopped by a sound. He glanced towards a corner near David’s feet. There sat Mahommed watching, a neboot of dom-wood across his knees.
Their eyes remained fixed upon each other for a moment. Then Nahoum passed back into his bedroom as stealthily as he had come.
Mahommed looked closely at David. He lay with an arm thrown over his head, resting softly, a moisture on his forehead as on that of a sleeping child.
“Saadat! Saadat!” said Mahommed softly to the sleeping figure, scarcely above his breath, and then with his eyes upon the curtained room opposite, began to whisper words from the Koran:
“In the name of Allah, the Compassionate, the Merciful—”