The Consul-General's brow grew more and more severe.
"And his name—his assumed name—what did you say it was?"
"Sheikh Omar Benani."
"Sheikh Omar Benani," repeated the Consul-General, making another note on his marble tablet.
"That is enough for the present," he said. "I have something to do to-night. I must ask your Eminence to excuse me."
After the Grand Cadi had gone, with many sweeping salaams, various oily compliments, and that cruel gleam in his base eyes which proceeds only from base souls, the Consul-General rang sharply for his Secretary.
"We have not yet made out our invitations for the King's dinner—let us do so now," he said.
He threw a sheet of paper across the table to his Secretary, who prepared to make notes.
"First, the Diplomatic Corps—every one of them."
"Yes, my lord."