“My duty, cousin?” he replied. “It is no man’s duty to murder, even to become khan. But perhaps I misunderstood your words. I am practically a stranger in my own land, and can do little to further my own interests, which naturally include the interests of my friends. If Burah Khan fails to live until his son’s arrival it will be through the will of Allah, and by no act of mine.”
“You are a coward,” said the girl, scornfully.
“Yes,” he answered, coldly; “I am afraid to become a murderer.”
“Peace, both of you!” commanded the vizier, angrily. “You are like a pair of children. Do you think that I, who have been Burah’s faithful officer for thirty years, would countenance treachery or foul play while he lies upon his death-bed? I long to see Prince Kasam seated upon the throne, but it must be through honest diplomacy, and by no assassin’s stroke.”
“Right, my uncle!” cried Kasam, seizing the vizier’s hand in a hearty clasp. “Otherwise, were I khan, you should be no officer of mine.”
Agahr and his daughter exchanged a quick glance, and the girl said, languidly:
“I was doubtless wrong, urged on by the intensity of my feeling and my loyalty to the Tribe of Raab. But a woman’s way is, I think, more direct and effective than a man’s.”
“Even if less honest, cousin?” retorted the young man, playfully pinching her cheek. “Let us bide our time and trust to the will of Allah. This evening I must set out on my return to Quanam. What answer shall I take to my foreign friends who await me?”
“Tell me, Kasam; why do they wish to cross our territory—to visit our villages and spy upon our people?” asked Agahr suspiciously.
“It is as I told you, my uncle. They are people of great wealth, from the far western country of America, and it is their custom to penetrate to every part of the world and lay rails of iron over which chariots may swiftly speed. We have no such rails in Baluchistan.”