“Wallah! Hassan, you spoke the truth,” they replied. “Our only hope is now in you, for you said that if we obeyed you we should have our pay and our pardon.”
“Fear not, I will make my words good. I will go out now alone and speak to the officer in command of these troops in front: I think I should know him.”
Descending from the roof, he walked alone out of the gate and advanced to the front of the column, the Bashi-Bazouks watching his movements from the roof and from the windows with the deepest anxiety.
“Mashallah!” cried one, “what miracle is this? See, Hassan Ebn-el-Heràm is embracing that old officer, who by his uniform must be a Bey or Pasha. He is embracing also another younger officer: see, they are coming this way.”
“I know them well,” cried a soldier beside the first speaker. “The old officer is Dervish Bey the Swordsman, a brave old fellow; I served with him in Arabia: the other is Reschid, khaznadâr of the Kiahia Pasha.”
“Ajaib!” (Wonderful!) exclaimed several voices, “that Hassan the outlaw should be so familiar with these Beys.”
As they slowly approached the front of the palace Hassan had time to explain briefly to his father the events of the night, and the manner in which he had effected the capture of the conspirators.
On hearing his report Dervish Bey desired Reschid to ride with all speed to Shoobra to inform Mohammed Ali of what had passed, and to ask his further orders. He also sent messengers to inform Delì Pasha and the commanders of the other troops that had been drawn towards the palace that the conspiracy was already crushed.
“What news?” said the Viceroy to Reschid as the latter entered his salamlik breathless and dusty from his gallop.
“May your Highness’s life be prolonged; the conspirators are all prisoners awaiting your sentence.”