"You shall have as much more money as you wish!" the Damascene insisted. "Let me get to my house, and a messenger shall take the money to you. Or come and get it."
All the answer Anazeh gave him was a curt laugh—one bark like a Fox's.
"Where are all the horses?" Grim demanded. I could only see five of six.
"I wait for them."
"Man, we can't wait!"
"Jimgrim!" said the old sheikh, with a glint of something between malice and amusement in his eyes, "I knew you in the mejlis when you watched me read that letter! One word from me and—" He made a click between his teeth suggestive of swift death. "I let you play your game. But now I play my game, Allah willing. I have waited for you. Wait thou for me!"
"Why? What is it?"
Anazeh beckoned us and turned away. We followed him, Grim and I, across the road and up a steep track to the tomb on the overhanging rock, where he had stood when we first saw him.
He pointed. A cherry-red fire with golden sparks and crimson- bellied sulphur smoke was blazing in the midst of El-Kerak.
"The home of Abdul Ali of Damascus," said Anazeh with pride in his voice. It was the pride of a man who shows off the behaviour of his children. "My men did it!"