Mustapha was beside himself with rage and terror. Now, just as he believed himself about to attain his object, why must this wretch come and thwart his designs? There was only one way left in which he could carry out his plan: he must kill the ugly monster. With one spring he leaped from the bed and tried to seize the ugly wretch; but he, doubtless having expected such an attack, let the lamp fall and escaped in the darkness, shrieking murderously for help.
He was now compelled to give up the young girls, and turn his attention to his own safety. He went to the window to see whether he could jump out, and found it was quite a distance to the ground, while opposite stood a high wall. Suddenly he heard voices approaching his room. As they reached his door, he grasped his clothes and dagger in desperation, and swung himself out of the window. The fall was a hard one, but he felt that no bones were broken, and sprang up to run to the wall, which he climbed, to the astonishment of the pursuers, and was soon at liberty. He ran until he reached a small wood, where he flung himself down exhausted. Here he considered what was to be done.
His servants and horses he had been forced to leave, but the money which he carried in his girdle was safe, and his ingenuity shortly discovered another mode of rescue. He went on through the forest until he came to a village, where for a little money he bought a horse that quickly carried him to a city. Once there he inquired for a physician, and an old and experienced man was recommended to him. By the aid of some gold pieces, he induced this physician to furnish him with a medicine that would produce a death-like sleep, that might, however, be instantly dispelled by some other remedy. When he had procured these medicines, he bought a false beard, a black gown, and all manner of little boxes and alembics, so that he properly represented a traveling physician--loaded his traps on an ass and journeyed back to the castle of Thiuli-Kos. He was certain this time of not being known, as the beard made such a complete change in his appearance that he felt doubtful of his own identity.
On arriving at Thiuli's, he announced himself as the physician Chakamankabudibaba. The result was as he had foreseen: the high-sounding name recommended him so highly to the weak old Pasha that he was at once invited to dinner. After an hour's conversation, the old man resolved to submit all his female slaves to the treatment of the wise physician. Mustapha could now hardly conceal his joy at the prospect of seeing his beloved sister again, and followed Thiuli with a beating heart, as he led the way to the seraglio. They came to a room beautifully decorated but unoccupied.
"Chambaba, or whatever you call yourself, dear doctor," said Thiuli-Kos, "look for a moment at yonder hole in the wall; each one of my slaves will put her arm through it in succession, and you can ascertain by the pulse who the sick are and who the well."
Mustapha's objections to this arrangement were of no avail; he was not permitted to see the slaves; still Thiuli consented to inform him of each one's general state of health. Thiuli then drew out a long sheet of paper from his sash, and began to call the roll of his female slaves in a loud voice; and at each name a hand was thrust through the wall, and the physician felt the pulse. Six were called off, and pronounced in good health, when Thiuli called out the name "Fatima," as the seventh, and a small white hand slipped through the wall. Trembling with joy, Mustapha seized this hand and declared with an important air, that Fatima was seriously sick. Thiuli became very anxious, and ordered his wise Chakamankabudibaba to prepare at once some medicine for her. The physician went out of the room, and wrote on a small piece of paper:
"Fatima! I will save you, if you have the strength of will to take a medicine that will deprive you of life for two days; still I possess a remedy that will restore you to life again. If you are willing to do this, speak these words: 'The medicine did not help me any,' and I shall take it as a sign of your assent."
Mustapha returned to the room where Thiuli was awaiting him. He brought with him a harmless drink, felt of Fatima's pulse once more, at the same time tucking the note under her bracelet, and passed the drink through the opening in the wall. Thiuli seemed to be very anxious about Fatima, and put off the examination of the rest until a more favorable opportunity. As he left the room with Mustapha, he said, in a sad tone: "Chidababa, tell me the exact truth; what is your opinion of Fatima's sickness?" Chakamankabudibaba replied with a deep sigh: "Oh Master! may the good Prophet send you consolation; she has a stealthy fever that may end her life." At this reply Thiuli's anger flamed up. "What's that you say, you cursed dog of a doctor! Do you mean to say that she, for whom I paid two thousand pieces of gold, will die on my hands like a cow? Know, then, that if you do not save her, I will take your head off!"
My brother at once saw that he had made a stupid mistake, so he hastened to assure Thiuli there was still hope for Fatima. While they were speaking together, a black slave came from the seraglio to say to the physician that the drink did not help her any. "Put forth all your art, Chakamdababelda, or whatever you call yourself, and I will pay you whatever you ask," exclaimed Thiuli-Kos, wild with anxiety at the prospect of losing so much money. "I will give her a little decoction that will save her from danger," answered the physician. "Yes! by all means, give her the medicine," cried old Thiuli.