“The dragoman, your highness, is a traitor,” said the man.
Kāra’s nervousness suddenly subsided. He became composed in demeanor and his voice grew soft.
“Explain, if you please,” said he.
The man bowed.
“Arriving at the hotel, Tadros sent away your excellency’s carriage—”
“Where is it now?”
“I do not know. Then he engaged another equipage—that of the Arab named Effta Marada, bearing the number of ninety-three. Tadros brought the young lady down and placed her in Effta’s carriage, ordering him to drive to the opera house. I sprang up behind and accompanied them. Tadros soon got rid of Effta by sending him on an errand and then drove quickly away. He crossed the Nile to the west embankment and drove down the river to a point opposite the island of Roda, where your dragoman placed the lady on board a dahabeah.”
“Yes; go on.”
“When the boat steamed away up the river, I took the deserted carriage and drove here as rapidly as possible. That is all, your excellency.”
“Whose dahabeah was it?”