“Trust Umm ed-Dahak, I have managed everything.”
She had given orders in her lady’s name that the harîm carriage and a eunuch should be ready at a certain hour. She and Barakah were driven to a shop of good repute, famed for its stock of Frankish boots and gloves, of which the harîm ladies were enamoured as showing off their pretty hands and feet.
“Our business here may take some time—an hour, perhaps,” she told the eunuch, who took position sentry-wise beside the entrance. The shop possessed two doors. Making a trifling purchase, they went out unnoticed, and found themselves within a stone’s throw of the public office which the English ruler had appointed for the interview.
The street in blazing sunlight was flowing with a many-coloured crowd, which kept up such a jabber that Barakah could not think clearly. The scene she had rehearsed appeared ridiculous. Seized with panic, she was anxious to turn back; but Umm ed-Dahak at her elbow whispered courage. In a minute she had entered a great doorway leading to a wide stone hall, where soldiers lounged. One of them came forward at a beck from Umm ed-Dahak. Then the old woman went and squatted on the doorstep, and Barakah, half dead with terror, was led on alone.
CHAPTER XXXIX
“You asked for a private interview. It is a little unusual, I believe, in this country; but I granted your request upon the understanding that you have important secrets to communicate, as stated in your letter. Let me see—ah, here it is!”
The English official—a broad-shouldered, fresh-complexioned man inclined to baldness—having studied her appearance through a monocle, let fall that weapon and, disturbing papers on his desk, produced the letter she had written to him, which looked somehow pitiful.