She nodded.
“Then go, my father; and may Allah guide your hand!”
Slowly he turned and without further word left the room. The passage was dark, and he stumbled along, feeling his way, until he came to the draperies that hid his own chamber. Having thrust these aside he entered to find the room well lighted but deserted by even his slaves.
Thoughtfully the old vizier sat at his table and pondered well the scene just enacted within his daughter’s boudoir. While in her presence he had seemed convinced of her innocence; but now the old doubts assailed him anew.
Presently his brow cleared. He reached out his hand and touched a soft-toned gong, and immediately the tall, dark figure of a Moor entered and made obeisance.
“Yamou,” said the vizier, “David the Jew was here this morning. He had a secret to sell. He swears that my daughter meets the young American infidel in my own garden, entering by the Gate of the Griffins.”
The black stood as if made of stone, not a muscle of his face moving.
“Have you known of this, Yamou?”
“No, my master.”
“It may not be true. David declared they will meet tonight—just before the midnight hour. You will take three of the most trusted slaves and at once hide yourselves in the shrubbery at the end of the garden. Remain there until daybreak, unless the infidel should indeed come.”