Perhaps you do not know that I am very rich. Any price you may ask I am prepared to give for my father's life and freedom, for the lives and freedom of my English friends who are also your prisoners, and for my own. The ransom will be paid to you in gold. All you will have to do will be to mention the sum you want, and allow me to send a message through to my bank in England.
Pansy Langham Barclay."
The note was put into an envelope, sealed, addressed and taken out to Edouard.
On handing it over, however, Pansy suddenly recollected that the Sultan, for all his wealth and power, might be ignorant of the arts of reading and writing.
"Can he read French?" she asked.
An amused look came to the doctor's face.
"If he can't make it out, I'll read it to him," he replied.
It was evening before Le Breton got the note. Le Breton again as Pansy knew him, in khaki riding-suit, just as he had returned from a ride on her old race-horse, that had been brought to his camp the day of her capture, and was now in the palace stables.
The note was lying on his desk, with the name that Pansy now hated—the Sultan Casim Ammeh—written on the envelope in her pretty hand.
A tender look hovered about his mouth as he picked up the letter and read it. Again the girl was "doing her best" for some helpless creatures—his prisoners. Although the fact filled him with an even greater admiration for Pansy, it did not lessen his hatred for her father.