“Let him go,” replied the Khan, without turning.
Kasam flushed at the tone of indifference. It seemed to him that he was being treated like a child.
“The sirdar is old and wise,” he exclaimed, angrily, “and the Khan of Mekran is young and foolish. Elai! the die is cast. I will go.”
With this he strode from the room, and none hindered. The slaves and attendants in the outer chamber made no interference with his retreat. Although he had a vague fear that the Khan’s words were insincere he traversed the halls, passed through the courtyard, and so left the palace.
A solitary attendant was leading his horse back and forth, as if awaiting him. Kasam was amused. The Khan needed a few lessons from his warlike sirdars if he wished to remain secure in his throne. The Prince mounted his horse and, filled with exultant thoughts, galloped away to the house of Agahr the Vizier.
Night had fallen by this time, and as Kasam approached he found Agahr’s house dark and silent. The lamp that usually swung in the archway was unlighted; there were no slaves at the door. Kasam was seized with sudden misgivings. What if, in spite of Ahmed’s assurances, the plotting vizier had fallen under the new khan’s displeasure? Much depended upon Agahr, for all of Kasam’s interests were in his keeping. Scarce a day had passed since Ahmed Khan had come into power; but much may happen in a day; indeed, much had happened, as he was soon to discover.
Answering his imperative summons a slave cautiously unbolted the door and, after a stealthy inspection of the visitor, admitted him with alacrity.
“Is my uncle here?” demanded Kasam.
The slave nodded, caught up a torch and turned to lead the way down a passage.