“See here, take this and be content.” Hassan doubled the sum given.
“It will serve, perhaps,” said Muhammed, with a shrug. “Come, follow me.” But he continued to grumble in an undertone.
Though the gate was left ostentatiously open behind them, Shibli felt imprisoned. Too late, he repented of his rashness in aspiring to vie with brave men. As they followed the soldier across the yard, he kept close to Hassan Agha for protection.
Their guide unlocked a heavy door. He struck a match and, shielding the flame with his hand, showed them steps leading down to a vault.
“Deign to enter. Ennoble these Frankish matches.”
“May thy house be destroyed! We need more light than those provide,” objected Hassan testily.
“Cut thy life!” retorted Muhammed in anger. “Didst think I would carry a lantern hither through the common yard, to show any man our business who may happen to be awake and looking out? By Allah, you expect much, and give mighty little!”
“Aha, is it the smallness of the gift, my brother? Thou shalt have more, much more, when we come forth with the rifles.”