Ajeeb bore a terrible reputation for cruelty among those who knew him best. It even struck Stolburst as odd that right in the great city of New York this fellow could carry out his practises.
The prisoner believed himself doomed. Ajeeb’s cold, cruel, and crafty features seemed to enchant him. Try as Stolburst might, he could not keep his gaze off the man.
The Abyssinian wore a rich silken cloak wound around the upper portion of the body, leaving his arms and legs naked. In his hand he held a simitar, studded with jewels.
Stolburst was a brave man, but he certainly felt a fluttering at the heart. His prospects of leaving that place alive were dim. He did not suspect Barry of being the knowing tool of Ajeeb. Instead, he condemned Zulima for his being in his then position.
“Have you nothing to say?” remarked the Abyssinian, after a pause.
“Only this—I haven’t that which you seek,” replied Stolburst.
“Dog of a liar, did you not carry it away with you?”
Stolburst hesitated. What answer should he make?
That was, just then, a momentous question with him.
“Yes,” he finally said.