"Some poor man, whom no one has seen or spoken to—every man who tells you the fairy-tale has heard it from his trusted friend, from a reliable source. I never believe in these trusted friends, or any reliable source but my own eyes. And even then, with the wise, seeing isn't always believing."
Michael stole an unseen glance at Abdul. His face was as expressionless as a death-mask. The report appeared to him to be beneath contempt. He politely warned his master that the sun was not so high in the heavens; they had many hours to travel.
When they were out of hearing and all the polite good-byes had been spoken—a proceeding which is always a trying one to the impatient traveller—Michael and Abdul talked together in low accents and in English. What had the Omdeh's news really meant?
In Abdul's heart there was little doubt as to who had found it, if there was any truth in the rumour. Even if they divided the wealth of the treasure by a hundred, and made all due allowances for native exaggeration, it still seemed as though the treasure was one of unusual importance.
"Then you believe there is truth in the report that the treasure has been found, Abdul?"
"Who but the spy of Madam could have known of it, Effendi? and certainly this rumour is disturbing."
"Some natives might have hit upon it by accident. Such things have happened before."
"Aiwah, Effendi." Abdul smiled his unbelieving, unpleasant smile. "Just at this particular time, after all these thousands of years, the coincidence would indeed be strange."
"Then you believe, Abdul, that Madam has anticipated us? that she has secured the treasure?"
"Aiwah, Effendi, I do, if there is any truth in the story. And if there is not, it is very strange that such a rumour should have been started at this moment."