"I did not say it should be money."
"Then take my life—anything you wish."
"What I want of you is neither gold nor your life. I know who you are, and the position you occupy in your country. Your countrymen have confidence in you, and I—"
"Go on—go on," urged Monte-Cristo.
"Have patience. Come here and write."
Maldar went toward a table upon which were writing materials, and, pressing a pen in Monte-Cristo's hand, he shoved a piece of paper toward him.
The count was silent, and seated himself at the table.
"I, the Count of Monte-Cristo," the Arabian began to dictate, "inform the Governor of Themcen that I am at Uargla, and have won the confidence of the Sultan Maldar. More than one hundred French prisoners are in the Kiobeh. The Khouans are not numerous and do not anticipate an attack. The defile of Bab-el-Zhur is easy to reach and only poorly defended. A force of bold soldiers could secure possession of the city in an easy manner. Success is certain."
Monte-Cristo, without hesitation, had written the words down, and the Arabian, looking sharply at him, continued:
"Put your name under what you have just written—"