His narrative was as follows: On the preceding day he had accidentally passed by a café situated near the Bab-en-Nasr (the Gate of Victory), when he heard a voice within, which he thought he recognised as that of Osman Bey, in conversation with another man, and he distinguished plainly the names of Mohammed Ali, Delì Pasha, and that of the Kiahia, mentioned in rapid and eager tones. In conclusion the one speaker said to the other—
“It must be done quickly: meet me here again to-night, two hours after sunset, and bring the others with you.”
Murad felt an irresistible curiosity to learn the subject of this evening conference, and he did not anticipate much difficulty in doing so, as he was well known to the keeper of the coffee-shop, a bluff old Arnàout, who had often allowed the friendless and mutilated child to earn or beg a few coppers at his door before the kindness of Hassan and Amina had placed him beyond the reach of absolute want.
Hastening home, Murad took out of his box an old and ragged dress, which he had not worn for a twelvemonth, and having put it on, hung round his neck a tablet with which he had formerly solicited the assistance of the charitable, and on which was written in Turkish and Arabic, “Give a few paras to the deaf and dumb for the love of Allah!”
He sallied forth about an hour after sunset, and made his way to the café. Old Arnàout, on noticing him, said, “Murad, poor little fellow, it is long since I have seen you; where have you been?” Receiving no reply, he added, “I forgot that he can neither hear nor answer me”; so saying, he dropped one or two copper coins into his hand, which Murad put into a little tin box which was slung beside his tablet. He then entered the café, as had been his custom of old, assisting the urchin who waited on the guests in carrying them lighted coals for their pipes or taking away empty finjâns of coffee. But the guests were few, for the café was in an unfrequented part of the town, and the weather was cold.
The last of them were just retiring when Osman Bey entered, accompanied by three or four other men, all of whom, like himself, were wrapped in large cloaks. It was evident that they were desirous of preserving an incognito, for they had brought with them neither servants nor pipes: they sipped, however, some coffee, and smoked the rude chibouques of the café.
After a short time they were joined by another party, consisting also of four or five men, in the foremost of whom Murad recognised Ali Bey, the colonel of the regiment of Bashi-Bazouks who were on duty at the Esbekiah, and guarded Mohammed Ali’s palace in that quarter. For some time they conversed on indifferent subjects, but ere long they called for arrack, which seemed to loosen their tongues, while Murad went about among them renewing their pipes.
“Who is this youngster?” said Ali Bey, catching him by the arm, while he addressed the coffee-house-keeper.
“He is a poor child whom I have known for several years,” replied the Arnàout. “He comes here sometimes to earn or beg a few paras; he is deaf and dumb.”
“Is he?” replied Ali Bey, drawing the boy towards him and reading the tablet on his breast; “then he is just the boy for us. Send out those lads of yours, and Wallah! if we catch one of them coming within earshot we will clip their ears for them; we want to talk over our private affairs.” He added a few words in Greek which Murad did not understand, to which the Arnàout replied by a wink and disappeared.