But anchor was let go at last, right in front of the charmingly-kept gardens of the British Consul, and master, with Antonio and other officers, went on shore to visit him.
That night the Consul himself came off to our little ship, and master confided to him—for he was a kindly man—the whole story of Beebee, and sought his advice.
This was willingly given.
“It seems strange, however,” said Mr Wilson, the consul, “that she should have been sent to Bagdad.”
“This was no doubt for safety,” said Antonio, “although the visit was said to have been recommended by the Persian doctor for health’s sake, and she is as strictly guarded here as she would be in her own country.”
“Well,” said Mr Wilson, “any assistance that is in my power to give you, you may depend upon. Meanwhile, I think that your plan of getting Miss Morgan and her maid away by stealth affords the best chance for the safety and perhaps the lives of both.”
Two days after this all was arranged, and Antonio, dressed as a travelling merchant of Persia, and accompanied by myself, dropped down stream in a hired boat.
But little did I know then the important part I was to play in the delivery of my poor mistress from the fate that threatened her.