“Is the most excellent lord the sheikh within?” shouted Abdul at the top of his voice.
The noise ceased.
“Certainly he is, thou misbegotten son of a pig!” said the frenzied sheikh. “Open this door, or by the beard of the Prophet I will flay thee alive, thou rat.”
“Peace, O sheikh! Dost thou value thy life so little, foolish one?” Abdul was gaining courage; his enemy was on the other side of the door. “Peace, thou kaffir; I spit upon thee. Dost thou think to pass through till it be the good pleasure of those who have captured thy kasbah to permit thee? Know it is I, Abdul ben Cassim, and verily I and the good men with me will cut thee in pieces, first plucking out one by one the hairs of thy beard, if thou showest thy pig’s snout beyond this door.”
This seemed to stagger the sheikh, for his next words were uttered in a milder tone.
“What is thy purpose, O Abdul?”
“Know, thou dog of a dog, that a great sultan, the King of England, hath sent his most trusty wazeer to wrest from thee his servant, whom thou didst treacherously seize and shut in thy stinking dungeon. There now lies at this very door a monstrous bomb which will go off—Allah is great!—the instant this door is opened. Dost thou believe, dog? Verily thou wilt be shattered into as many pieces as there are lies in thy heart if thou dost but move the door the tenth part of an inch. But the King of England is merciful; he will not do you or your folk harm: he knows other ways of avenging the injury his servant has suffered at thy hands. Verily thou art in bad case, thou two-faced dog. Before the growing of a fingernail thou wilt be haled to Marrakesh, and then thou wilt suffer the pangs of Tophet.”
And Abdul went on to revile the sheikh in terms that cannot be rendered in our modest English. His inventiveness was very creditable to his presence of mind, for though the noise in the sheikh’s apartments had ceased, the uproar below was growing moment by moment in intensity. The great gate had been thrown open, the patio was thronged with fierce Moors enraged at the indignity put upon their chief, and it was scarcely possible that the doors below, stout as they were, could long withstand the furious blows with which they were assailed.
Meanwhile Tom had assured himself that his machinery was in order. Sir Mark had already entered the car. Tom was beside him, ready to start the propellers; Schwab was ensconced in the corner furthest from danger.
“Call Abdul, Oliphant,” said Tom.