"Oh, tell us! tell us!" cried a dozen female voices at once; but the Sirdar, a shrewd and kindly autocrat who had been smoking a cigarette in silence, merely answered—
"Time will tell you, perhaps." Then turning to the Inspector-General he said—
"She has married the man, you say?"
"That's so, your Excellency."
"There must be some mistake about that, surely."
The company broke up late, and the ladies went on in light wraps and the men bare-headed through the soft, reverberant air of the southern night. But the Sirdar had asked certain of his officers to remain for a few moments, and among them were the Inspector-General, the Financial Secretary, and the Governor of the town. To the latter came his Zabit, a police officer, whose duty it was to report to his chief early and late, and as soon as the men had seated themselves the Sirdar said—
"Any further news about this man, Ishmael Ameer?"
"None, your Excellency," said the Governor.
"You've discovered nothing about his object in coming here?"
"Nothing at all."