“I have been awaiting an opportunity of speech with you, Kernaby Pasha,” he said, in his flawless, musical English, “upon a matter in which I hope you will consent to aid me.”
Since this mysterious man, variously known as “the imám” and “the Magician,” but whom I knew to be some kind of secret agent of the Egyptian Government, had recently saved me from assassination, to decline to aid him was out of the question. We seated ourselves in the arbor.
“I should welcome an opportunity of serving you, my friend,” I assured him, “since your services to me can never be repaid.”
His lips moved slightly in the curiously tender smile which a poor physiognomist might have mistaken for evidence of effeminacy, bending towards me with a cautious glance about.
“You are staying at this hotel throughout the Christmas festivities?” he asked.
“Yes; I have temporarily deserted Shepheard’s in order to accept the hospitality of Sir Bertram Collis, a very old friend. I shall probably return on the Tuesday following Christmas Day.”
“There is to be a carnival and masquerade ball here to-morrow. You shall be present?”
“I hope so,” I replied in surprise. “To what does all this tend?”
Abû Tabâh bent yet closer.