“Take it! Take it!” they yelled. “Take it, Zarah the Beautiful. Let it not be said that an infidel could show thee a path.”
“The stakes?”
“Ralph Trenchard’s life against my locket, which hangs around your neck!”
“They are both mine!”
“The locket is mine, his life is God’s, in your keeping for a little while.”
“You, Helen R-r-aynor, you sign his death warrant? He cannot win against my slave!”
“Will you take the bet?”
The Arabian unfastened the chain and, laughing, flung the locket at Helen’s feet as the two men moved.
The Nubian put forth all the strength of his mighty muscle. Ralph Trenchard, one of the finest exponents of jiu-jitsu to be found anywhere, took advantage of the movement to slip his hand an inch or two, and to move his foot an inch or so. For a second he stood quite still, then, as the Nubian moved, with a movement too quick and too fine to be described, lifted the gigantic man and flung him so that he struck his head against the dais and lay still at his mistress’s feet.
In the uproar which followed Helen was down the steps like a bird, and, laughing happily in her complete misunderstanding of the Oriental mind, was in her lover’s arms.