“But she shall not,” cried Azim Bey. “Listen, monsieur; I need your help. He must be delayed in returning. He is not to be killed, nor hurt, because he saved mademoiselle and me in the riot, but simply kept back. Manage this, and I am your friend for life.”
To recover his old position in the Bey’s confidence was M. Karalampi’s great object at this time, and he was also not averse to doing a bad turn to Cecil, but he looked serious and reflective.
“Do I understand you, Bey Effendi?” he asked. “There are to be difficulties among the tribes, you say, and Dr Egerton is to be detained for the sake of his own personal safety, while he is still at some distance from Baghdad?”
“Yes, that is it,” cried Azim Bey; “and no letters must pass.”
“That goes without saying,” said M. Karalampi, “and it will not be difficult to find a cause of quarrel between the Hajar and their neighbours, the Fazz. But in the Bakhtiari country there are many robbers, and Englishmen are brave. Why should not the caravan be attacked, and Dr Egerton and the other doctor killed in repelling the thieves? That would get rid of him altogether, and no one could ever know.”
Azim Bey turned a little pale. His schemes had not reached the point of plotting murder, but the idea seemed to come so quickly and naturally to M. Karalampi that he was afraid of appearing timid and cowardly if he told him so. However, a happy thought occurred to him.
“It is no use trying to work through the Bakhtiaris,” he said. “They love the English, and might even tell him what we had arranged with them to do. And the Arabs must not kill him, for the Balio Bey would demand blood-money, and my father would be obliged to go to war with my own people to get it paid. No, they must only keep him back, protesting their love to the Pasha and to the English all the time. They will not allow him to go to his death, they must say, and no man can cross the Fazz country safely just then.”
“The Bey Effendi is very wise,” said M. Karalampi, “and it rejoices me to be able to serve him once more. But I must have some token from him to show to the Hajar sheikhs, or they will laugh at my beard, and I shall come back a fool.”
With trembling fingers Azim Bey unfastened the Hajar amulet which his Arab mother had hung round his neck when he was a baby. “It will bring all the tribesmen of the Hajar to thy help if thou art in danger, my son,” she had assured him, and his kinsmen in the tribe had told him the same thing since.
“Take it,” he said, “but give it back to me. No Hajar dare disregard it. But take care not to leave it in the tents, lest Dr Egerton see it, and perceive whose it is. Mademoiselle must never know of this.”