Cross-legged on the great divan of the room he had left, his less pious visitors, unable to turn their thoughts from the dark business on which they had come, smoked their cigarettes, talking to each other in tones so low as would not have been heard by a European, and with apparent listlessness.
Their manner would not have indicated that they were weighing matters of life and death, of treason and infamy, of massacre and national shame. Only the sombre, smouldering fire of their eyes was evidence of the lighted fuse of conspiracy burning towards the magazine. One look of surprise had been exchanged when Harrik Pasha left them suddenly—time was short for what they meant to do; but they were Muslims, and they resigned themselves.
“The Inglesi must be the first to go; shall a Christian dog rule over us?”
It was Achmet the Ropemaker who spoke, his yellow face wrinkling with malice, though his voice but murmured hoarsely.
“Nahoum will kill him.” Higli Pasha laughed low—it was like the gurgle of water in the narghileh—a voice of good nature and persuasiveness from a heart that knew no virtue. “Bismillah! Who shall read the meaning of it? Why has he not already killed?”
“Nahoum would choose his own time—after he has saved his life by the white carrion. Kaid will give him his life if the Inglesi asks. The Inglesi, he is mad. If he were not mad, he would see to it that Nahoum was now drying his bones in the sands.”
“What each has failed to do for the other shall be done for them,” answered Achmet, a hateful leer on his immobile features. “To-night many things shall be made right. To-morrow there will be places empty and places filled. Egypt shall begin again to-morrow.”
“Kaid?”
Achmet stopped smoking for a moment. “When the khamsin comes, when the camels stampede, and the children of the storm fall upon the caravan, can it be foretold in what way Fate shall do her work? So but the end be the same—malaish! We shall be content tomorrow.”
Now he turned and looked at his companion as though his mind had chanced on a discovery. “To him who first brings word to a prince who inherits, that the reigning prince is dead, belong honour and place,” he said.