“It was indeed fortunate, Kernaby Pasha,” he said, “that I observed you this evening.”
“I am greatly obliged to you,” I replied, “for watching over me with such paternal solicitude. May I inquire what danger I have incurred?”
I was angrily conscious of feeling like a schoolboy suffering reproof.
“A very great danger,” Abû Tabâh assured me, his gentle, musical voice expressing real concern. “Ahmad es-Kebîr is the lover of the dancer called Shejeret ed-Durr, although she who is of the ghawâzi, of Keneh does not return his affections.”
“Ahmad es-Kebîr?—do you refer to a malignant looking person in a black turban?” I inquired.
Abû Tabâh gravely inclined his head.
“He is one of the Rifa’îyeh, the Black Darwîshes. They practise strange rites and are by some accredited with supernatural powers. For you the danger is not so great as for your friend, who seemed to be speaking words of love to the ghazîyeh.”
I laughed shortly.
“You are mistaken, Abû Tabâh,” I replied; “his interest was not of the character which you suppose. He is an artist and merely desired the girl to pose for him.”