“And if he comes?”
“Kill him, Yamou!” said the old man, with sudden passion. “And if Maie goes to meet him kill her also. I’ll harbor no toy of an infidel dog in my household, even though it be my own daughter!”
Yamou bowed and touched the cimeter at his belt.
“You shall be obeyed, my master.”
Agahr glanced at the brutal visage of the Moor and hesitated, repenting already his command. But Maie had protested her innocence in no uncertain words. He would believe her. Should she prove false, the fate that would overtake her would be her own fault, and not to be laid at his door. But there! she was innocent, without a doubt. Her ambitions were too great to permit her to descend to so unnatural and foolish an intrigue. It would do no harm to wash the blemish of David’s lying tales from his daughter’s fair name by hiding the slaves in the shrubbery. If proof were needed, there would be the proof.
“You may go, Yamou.”
The slave salamed again, and noiselessly withdrew.
Left alone, Agahr drew a black cloak over his dress, arranging the folds to conceal his face and beard. Then he crept through an ante-room and along a short passage to a secret door that led into a small garden. Crossing this open space he unlocked a gate in the wall and so let himself into a lane that ran past the grounds of his mansion.
The streets seemed deserted and the night was very dark, for a storm was threatening. But Agahr knew every inch of his way and without hesitation threaded the narrow streets until he finally reached the west wall of the city.
Above the gate a dim light shone through the windows of the watch tower, and the vizier mounted the steep stone steps and pushed open the door.