It was again Zümbül Agha who spoke, turning one question by another:
"Did Shaban come with you?"
"No," replied the Pasha shortly. "He said he had a message, but I told him not to come."
"A-ah!" ejaculated the eunuch in his high drawl. "But it does not matter—with the two of us."
The Pasha grew more and more puzzled, for this was not the scene he had imagined to himself as he came up through the part in response to his wife's message. Nor did he grow less puzzled when the eunuch turned to her and said in another tone:
"Now will you give me that key?"
The French woman took no more notice of this question than she had of the Pasha's entrance.
"What do you mean, Zümbül Agha?" demanded the Pasha sharply. "That is not the way to speak to your mistress."
"I mean this, my Pasha," retorted the eunuch—"that some one is hiding in this chest and that Madama keeps the key."
That was what the Pasha heard, in the absurd treble of the black man, in the darkening room. He looked down and made out, beside the tall figure of the eunuch, the chest on which he had been sitting. Then he looked across at Hélène, who still sat silent in front of the lattice.