Suddenly a drapery was pushed aside and he entered a room brilliantly lighted. Agahr sat upon a divan, and beside him, her fair face scarcely concealed by her veil, was Maie. Facing them in a close drawn circle were Zarig, the Sirdar of Raab, a lean priest in a coarse woollen robe, and several men with restless faces that proved to be strangers to Kasam.
All were silent, even when the Prince, finding all eyes turned upon him, slapped his chest rather theatrically and exclaimed: “I am here!”
Maie twisted the rings upon her slender fingers; the vizier nodded gravely to his nephew and stroked his gray beard; the sirdar sprang to his feet and strode back and forth in the narrow confines of the room, pausing anon to cast a shrewd glance into Kasam’s puzzled face. The others merely exchanged nods of understanding, save the priest, who frowned and fixed his eyes upon the floor.
At length the vizier broke the embarrassing silence.
“This,” said he, waving a listless hand toward the new arrival, “is Kasam of Raab.”
“Welcome!” said the sirdar, laconically, and resumed his stride. Without rising the others turned to bow gravely, but seemed to display little real interest.
Although at first both hurt and annoyed by the nonchalence of those assembled, the young prince was quick to decide that the conspirators were doubtless overwhelmed by the sudden death of Burah and the accession of his son Ahmed. It should be his part to instil new courage into their timid hearts.
“I have just come from an interview with the young khan,” he said, seating himself in the sirdar’s vacant chair and looking around the circle to note the effect of his announcement.
The company did not seem especially impressed. Perhaps, he reflected, they were aware that Dirrag had taken him to the palace directly on his arrival.
“Ahmed Khan,” continued Kasam, “has offered to make me his vizier.”