“Poison?”
“There was no sign, Effendina.”
“Diamond-dust?”
“Impossible, Effendina. There was not time. He was alive and well here at the Palace at eleven, and—” Kaid made an impatient gesture. “By the stone in the Kaabah, but it is not reasonable that Foorgat should die in his bed like a babe and sleep himself into heaven! Fate meant him for a violent end; but ere that came there was work to do for me. He had a gift for scenting treason—and he had treasure.” His eyes shut and opened again with a look not pleasant to see. “But since it was that he must die so soon, then the loan he promised must now be a gift from the dead, if he be dead, if he be not shamming. Foorgat was a dire jester.”
“But now it is no jest, Effendina. He is in his grave.”
“In his grave! Bismillah! In his grave, dost thou say?”
High’s voice quavered. “Yesterday before sunset, Effendina. By Nahoum’s orders.”
“I ordered the burial for to-day. By the gates of hell, but who shall disobey me!”
“He was already buried when the Effendina’s orders came,” High pleaded anxiously.
“Nahoum should have been taken yesterday,” he rejoined, with malice in his eyes.