"I must have that rug, effendi. There are two reasons why: it is holy, and the loss of it means my head."
"Good riddance!" thought Ryanne, a sympathetic look upon his face.
"What have you to suggest in the way of a plan?" asked Mahomed.
Ryanne felt a tingle of jubilation. He saw nothing but plain-sailing into port. But Mahomed had arranged to guide his craft into the whirlpool. Unto himself he kept up a ceaseless reiteration of—"Patience, patience, patience!"
Said Ryanne: "You do not care how you get the rug, so long as you do get it?"
"No, effendi." Mahomed smiled.
"A little rough work wouldn't disturb you?"
"No, it would not."
"Well, then, listen to me. Suppose you arrange to take my friend Jones into the desert for a little trip. Be his dragoman for a while. In fact, kidnap him, abduct him, steal him. You can hold him in ransom for the rug and a nice little sum of money besides."