Just as the Sultan was about to reprove her for her superstition, the door burst open and in dashed the rightful prince, who had managed to escape from his guards. Breathlessly he flung himself before the throne and cried: “Slay me here if you will, O cruel father, for this shame will I bear no longer.”
All present were astounded at his words, and the guards would once more have seized the unfortunate prince, but the Sultana stepped forward and, gazing at him earnestly, cried: “Stay, this is my rightful son, this is he whom my eyes have never rested on since his birth, but whom my heart recognises nevertheless.”
The guards drew back involuntarily; but the Sultan cried to them in wrath to seize the madman. “It is for me to decide,” he said angrily. “Of what worth are the dreams of a woman beside the real token which this, my son, brought me from my friend Elfi Bey. He who brought the dagger is the rightful heir.”
“It was stolen,” cried Omar furiously. “He betrayed my confidence with treachery and stole the dagger.”
But the Sultan would not listen to his son, for he was very obstinate when once he had formed an opinion, and he ordered Omar to be taken away by force, and he went to his own room violently enraged with the Sultana, with whom he had lived in peace and happiness for the last five-and-twenty years. Of course Labakan accompanied him; but the Sultana remained behind in great grief, for she was absolutely certain that an impostor had gained the affection of the Sultan and ousted their own son.
When her grief had somewhat subsided she set herself to think of means wherewith she could convince her husband of his error. This was a difficult task, for the dagger had been the token decided upon as a means of recognition, and moreover Omar had related so much of his early life to Labakan that the tailor was able to play his part without betraying himself.
She called to her presence the men who had been with the Sultan at the Pillar of El-Serujah, in order to question them narrowly as to what had taken place there, and then she took counsel with her most confidential slaves.
Many suggestions were offered, but at length an old Circassian woman asked: “Did not the bearer of the dagger say that he whom you regard as your son was in reality Labakan, a tailor’s apprentice?”
“Yes, that is so,” replied the Sultana, “but I do not see what that has to do with the case.”
“May it not be that he gave his own name and trade to your son?” said the slave. “If this is so, then I know of a plan by which we can detect the impostor, and which I will tell you of in secret.”